Huzzah, a new chapter already! Okay, so I meant to do a Draco and Hermione meeting in this chapter, but I sort of got to rambling on about Draco and a chapter break was in order. So, Draco might seem a bit mushy and emotional in this one, but remember kids, he's under a lot of pressure. In case I haven't mentioned this before, it's set in the Half-Blood Prince book. Which probably explains a few things. Well, enjoy, and comment! 3
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 4: Snitches and Solitude
The crisp morning air whipped locks of golden hair about Draco's head as he soared above the Quidditch pitch. A light mist still hovered over the grounds, and gray clouds parted to make way for him.
He took a deep breath; flying always cleared his head and gave him the time to think. Mulling about while keeping an eye out for anything that looked like the snitch wasn't exactly the most exciting of tasks, especially during a practice.
So, this was where he did his pondering, flying high above the world. Somehow, everything seemed smaller up here. He felt alive.
Something large whooshed past Draco's head as he stared out at the glassy lake. He started and dropped a couple of feet to avoid the bludger's second assault. Bored with him, it soared away to try and bludgeon some other hapless player. As he watched it circle the middle goal hoop, he noticed a fleck of gold near the ground below.
Instinctively, he dove. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and made his heart race as he sped towards the ground and reached out. Exhilarated, a whoop of joy escaped him as his fingers closed around the tiny golden bauble.
Smiling to himself, Draco located the captain and flew over to him, holding up the snitch as he drew near. Urquhart nodded in approval and, after quite a bit of bellowing, gathered the rest of the team.
"Alright you lot, I think we're done for today. Crabbe, Goyle, will you mangy mutts pay attention? I almost got knocked clean off my broom. Those bats are meant to hit the bludgers with, but they can be used on other things too, if you catch my drift. And Bletchley, see if you can't do anything about that left hoop, you've been drifting a bit to the right and leaving it exposed. Draco, nice work today, but will you get some rest? You look terrible! Honestly, I can't have my seeker falling off his broom in the middle of a match because he's fallen asleep. Get some sleeping draught from Madame Pomfrey if you have to. The match against Gryffindor is next week, and losing to those bloody idiots is not an option. And mark my words, if there isn't a Slytherin victory, practices will be doubled."
A collective groan came from the circle of players, but Urquhart had already started off in the direction of the showers. Draco liked him; he was a good captain, and he knew what he was doing. He really didn't mind the extra practices the way the rest of the team did. They were a nice reprieve from his life, and he found himself straying to the Quidditch pitch even when there was no scheduled practice. He would spend hours just circling Hogwarts' many towers. He liked to skim the lake, flying so low that he could trail his fingers in the water.
But most of all, he loved to fly over the Forbidden Forest. The ocean of trees below whispered gently to him, and on some days the thestrals would venture out to join him. The strange horse-like beasts had an eerie beauty about them, and their melancholy eyes told him he was not alone in his struggles.
Lately he had started slipping some meat into his pockets for them during meals. The herd always looked gaunt, but the previous week he had noticed a young thestral whose ribs jutted out of her sides at unnatural angles, which worried him. Also unnatural. He felt a sort of connection with the sad, emaciated creature. He always chuckled to himself as she snatched the scraps in midair, sometimes coming close enough for him to pat her thin neck.
He began to call her Bellatrix. Not after his aunt, but for the small star-shaped splotch of white on her right shoulder: highly uncharacteristic of the solid, midnight black thestrals.
When he was really down and depressed, he would fly farther into the forest and land in the thestrals' clearing. There he would spend a few solitary hours, with only the thestrals for company. They mostly stayed on the other side of the clearing from him, but Bellatrix often ventured closer and allowed him to touch her.
He told her everything. All his troubles, his fears, his hopes, his dreams. She was the only living creature that knew the real Draco Malfoy. The only one he confided anything in. She always listened, and would never betray him. Sometimes, when it all became too much and he collapsed crying under an oak tree, she would nuzzle his hand and he would bury his head in her ebony mane.
His "friends," or whatever one wished to call them, would probably laugh at him. "Oh yes, that Malfoy seems as though he's lost his nerve! Talking to thestrals… It's sad, really. The dumb beasts can't even understand him."
However silly, mad, pathetic, or anything else it may have seemed, Bellatrix was still one of the small comforts in Draco's life. And those were few and far between, so best not to fret over small trifles like insanity.
"Draco!"
A loud shout drew him out of his reverie. He looked up to see Goyle jogging over to him, a very flat-footed and noisy jog. He sighed. "What?"
"You said you wanted Crabbe and me to be lookouts again after practice."
"Oh, right, I remember…" He'd forgotten. "Erm, perhaps tomorrow Goyle."
Not looking terribly disappointed, Goyle shrugged his massive shoulders and trotted off. Thundered off would be more accurate, he sighed to himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose; he had a headache again. Wonderful. He had been to the hospital wing so often lately for headaches, Quidditch, insomnia and the like, that Madame Pomfrey had threatened to send him to St. Mungo's for a checkup. He shuddered and rubbed his forearm at the thought of the disastrous events such a mere checkup would entail.
No, the hospital wing was out of the question. He would just have to wait it out the old-fashioned way. And what better place to do so than "his spot."