19th January, 7:05 a.m.
The Quiddich Pitch
Draco emerged from the broom shed onto the deserted Quiddich pitch, assessing the conditions as he did so. The sky was adorned with a thin cloud cover, which was good as it would prevent the sun from blinding them. However, a strong wind was blowing and the ground was saturated with moisture and slippery with melting snow. They would have to be extremely careful to avoid being blown off course. Sighing, Draco prepared to mount his broom. His team was due to arrive in ten minutes-he wanted to practice a bit more before the match, not that he expected it to make a great deal of difference.
Before he could take off, however, a loud whoosh sounded directly above his head. Very startled, he looked around quickly as Victoria Moran, his fourth-year chaser, landed beside him.
"Hello," she said, brushing her long, dark hair behind her ear. Draco stared.
"How long have you been out here?" he asked. She shrugged.
"Not long. A half-hour, maybe. Are the others arriving soon?"
"In ten minutes. Shall we?" he asked, gesturing upward. She nodded, and they mounted their brooms and kicked off from the ground. Draco allowed Victoria to draw ahead of him, watching her from below. Her technique was impressive-Draco himself had been doing several things wrong since he'd begun flying eleven years previously-yet she seemed oddly stiff and anxious, as if afraid of being up off the ground. She should loosen her grip a bit, he thought. And lean farther forward. He contemplated mentioning this to her, but decided against it. If she tried to alter her technique on the day of a match, she wouldn't fly as well. Besides, she was easily his best Chaser and, aside from himself, the best player on the team.
Having finished his evaluation, Draco shot upward to meet his Chaser, spinning like a corkscrew and looping her several times before coming to rest alongside her. Her eyes widened.
"Will you show me how to do that?" she breathed, looking amazed.
"Yes, but not now. Can you stay after next practice?"
"I expect so," she said, giving him an almost searching look. "You love this, don't you?" she said at length. "You make it look so easy." Unable to help himself, Draco smiled a bit. The girl's words were true; he did love this.
He'd begun flying at the age of six-he and Pansy had discovered an old Cleansweep Five in her father's shed, and Pansy had dared him to try flying it. He would never forget that incredible feeling, a combination of anxiety at being up so high and exhilaration at the freedom of flying unencumbered through the air. He loved the wind on his face, the delicious smell of the fresh air. He played Quiddich not for any aspect of the sport, but for that wonderful feeling. He could care less about being Captain-quite honestly, he didn't care what position he played. All he wanted was to fly.
As they hovered in midair, five small, greenish blurs emerged from the broom shed onto the field below.
"Come on," Draco said to Victoria, setting off to join the remaining members of his team on the ground.
"I don't see why we've got to be here so bloody early," grumbled Keeper Aiden Marshall the instant Draco landed beside him.
"Yeah," muttered Liam McKinley. "I haven't had any breakfast." Draco rolled his eyes. He'd expected complaints, but that didn't make them any less grating.
"Listen, you lot," he snapped. "It's your own fault if you haven't had breakfast. If you aren't willing to be here you're welcome to resign tomorrow, and I'll give your spot to someone who wants it. Now, let's go."
Turning his back to his team, Draco mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground. Seconds later the remaining six players rose into the air with him, and they were off.
Nearly an hour and a half later, after the most discouraging practice Draco had had the displeasure to participate in, the team retired to the locker room as the stands above began to fill. For nearly fifteen minutes, no one spoke. Looking around the room, Draco could see that everyone was thinking the same thing: they were about to be utterly destroyed by Ravenclaw.
Perhaps, he tried to convince himself, their chances might not be quite so bleak. Cho Chang had left the previous year, and had been replaced as Seeker by Angelica Thompson, a third year and an abysmal flier. Getting to the Snitch before her would not present a challenge. However, the only way they could stand a chance of winning was for Draco to catch the Snitch before Ravenclaw scored fifteen goals. With Ravenclaw's superb Chasers and Slytherin's dreadful Keeper, he knew that this would be difficult.
A whistle sounded from above, summoning them to the pitch. Draco tried to think of some words of encouragement, but all that came to mind were blatantly untrue, so he merely stood and led his team outside onto the field.
The fifteen minutes that followed were some of the most embarrassing of Draco's life. Five minutes into the game his fourth-year beaters made to hit a bludger simultaneously and instead hit one another around the head and promptly fell off their brooms. After watching this spectacle through narrowed eyes, Draco turned his full attention to searching for the Snitch. He needed to find it soon as Ravenclaw had already scored four goals, and in any case if he was focused on the Snitch he wouldn't have to watch whatever excruciating blunders the Slytherin spectators were booing and hissing about.
Tuning out the roar of the crowd, Draco flew high above the game, gray eyes scanning the scene below for the familiar glint of gold. He slowly circled the pitch, straining his eyes for the Snitch and counting every time Ravenclaw scored. Nine...Ten...Time was running short. The Snitch must be here somewhere, he thought desperately. Eleven...Twelve...Thirteen. Beginning to panic now, Draco flew slightly lower as Ravenclaw scored their fourteenth goal. Dammit, he thought desperately. It was hopeless, he knew. Unless he caught the Snitch now...there. Several meters below, Draco spotted a shimmer of gold hovering just above Marshall's left ear. Instinctively, he dove at his Keeper, praying that the tiny ball would remain where it was for just a few more seconds. As he approached, however, he glimpesd something scarlet looming toward him out of the corner of his eye. Ravenclaw's fifteenth goal, and Marshall was obviously too busy wondering why his Seeker was attacking him to notice the Quaffle. If Ravenclaw scored, they could not win the match.
Draco acted immediately, instinctively. With his left hand he made a desperate swipe for the Quaffle, deflecting it back at the Ravenclaw Chaser as his right shot forward and snatched the tiny, fluttering gold ball out of the air. As his hand closed around the cold metal, Marshall's outstretched fist collided spectacularly with his face. Blood spurted everywhere, and Draco felt his nose break. Before he had time to fully register this, however, another large, heavy object hit the back of his head. Instantly, everything went black.
The Hospital Wing
Next thing he knew, he was lying on something incredibly warm and soft, and smelling faintly of flowers. Draco barely had time to register this before a horrible, sickening pain stole over him. His head was throbbing, and his body felt as though invisible daggers were slowly, painstakingly slicing apart his innards. His stomach ached horribly, and he felt extremely nauseous. Voices came indistinctly from above, sounding as though they were underwater.
"...be all right?" said a girl's voice fretfully.
"Madam Pomfrey says he'll be fine," a boy snapped at her. "Will you bloody let go of my arm?"
"He doesn't look all right to me," replied the girl, and Draco recognized Pansy's voice.
"Well, of course not, Pansy," scoffed another boy. "Shall we hit you round the head with a Bludger and toss you off the Astronomy tower, and then see how you look?"
"Damn sight better than she normally does, I reckon," muttered Draco, wincing as the pain in his head sharpened. There was shocked silence for a few moments.
"Are you all right, then, Draco?" the first boy asked, a bit more quietly.
"Spectacular, Blaise," Draco replied, very sarcastically. "Never better."
Blaise started to reply, but Draco barely heard him. His head hurt so badly that he could scarcely feel the rest of his body anymore. He was afraid to open his eyes. He wished his friends would shut up, but he was sure that if he opened his mouth, he'd throw up.
After a minute, however, the voices quieted and Draco felt Pansy's hand gently cradle his cheek. Her skin was freezing, and this seemed to sharpen the pain in his head.
"Pansy..." he whispered, but this was a mistake. His stomach lurched horribly, and a bitter, acidic taste consumed his suddenly very dry throat. Oh, shit. Frantically Draco tried to resist, but he was powerless to supress the vomit pouring from his mouth, tearing at his throat like shards of glass, overwhelming his tongue with its bitter, metallic taste.
With a shriek like a strangled cat, Pansy leapt back, her robes covered in Draco's vomit. Behind her, Blaise and Theo roared with laughter.
"This isn't funny!" she snapped, but this served only to increase their merriment.
"Scorgify," choked Theo, waving his wand in Pansy's direction. Instantly, she felt her robes dry and immediately felt more charitably disposed toward her best friend. When she was satisfied that he wasn't going to puke on her again, she knealt beside him once more.
"Would you like to sleep, Draco?" she whispered, gently brushing his white-blond bangs from his pale face. He nodded ever so slightly. Pansy drew her wand from inside her robes and circled above his face three times. Within minutes, he was deeply asleep.
Hours later, Draco became aware of another hand lightly cradling his face. The person's touch was incredibly warm and soft, and seemed to lull him gently toward consciousness.
"Pansy?" he whispered. Above him, a girl laughed softly.
"Good guess," she replied. "Why don't you open your eyes?" A bit confused, Draco obeyed and found to his surprise that he didn't feel nearly as awful as he had earlier. His headache was nearly gone, and the pain dominating the rest of his body had subsided significantly.
"That's better, isn't it?" said Ginny Weasley. Draco looked up, surprised.
"What time is it?" he asked after a moment, his voice slightly hoarse from sleep. Ginny glanced at the clock on the far wall.
"A quarter past eight," she said. "How do you feel?"
"Fine," he said impatiently. "What happened at the match? Who won?" To his surprise, Ginny laughed. Draco raised an eyebrow, then winced at the pain this caused in his head.
"Well, it's not funny, really," said Ginny. "You got the Snitch, but Marshall panicked-"
"And hit me around the face, I remember that. Did Ravenclaw score?"
"No, you saved the goal, it was brilliant. But then...Well, I think he was aiming for Davies, but McKinley hit you in the back of the head with a Bludger, and you fell off your broom."
Draco stared at her. She couldn't be serious.
"Brilliant," he said savagely. "Really brilliant. And I suppose we lost the match as well?"
"No," said Ginny. "Actually, the final score was one hundred forty to one hundred fifty, your favor." She looked at him levelly for a moment. "You were billiant, Draco," she said softly. A bit surprised by her change of tone, Draco looked at her, and instantly felt the world around him melt into a blur. Her brown eyes seemed to spin slowly, pulling him deeper and deeper inside them. Before he was fully aware of it, he extended a hand to gently cradle her cheek, bringing them closer, closer...
"Oy!" instantly they broke apart, startled. Madam Pomfrey was marching toward them, her expression livid.
"I don't care how many Quiddich games you've won, Mr. Malfoy, I won't have snogging in my infirmary! Miss Weasley, visiting hours ended twenty minutes ago! Five points from Gryffindor and Slytherin! Out! OUT!"
Ginny hastened out of the hospital wing, her face crimson. Muttering darkly under her breath, Madam Pomfrey retreated to her office and drew the curtains. Chortling behind his hand, Draco watched them go, thinking of Ginny's face, and her voice. You were brilliant, Draco. Suddenly, in spite of the pain in his body, he felt very good indeed.
Seventh-Floor Corridor
As soon as she was out of the hospital wing, Ginny paused to catch her breath. She wondered what explanation she should give Neville for her absence. Perhaps she could pretend-Fuck it. She had to tell Neville sometime, so why not now? It wasn't as though she could keep her feelings for Draco secret forever-Neville certainly wasn't stupid. Besides, if they started going out together (her heart leapt at the thought), Neville was bound to notice.
Having made her decision, Ginny started off toward Gryffindor Tower, mentally reconstructing the morning's Quiddich match. Her words in the hospital wing were true; Draco had flown brilliantly. She'd watched him for years, even played Seeker against him once. He was at least as good as Harry, though Ginny doubted even Harry could have managed what Draco had done that morning.
When Ginny entered the crowded common room, she spotted Neville at a table beside the roaring fire and made her way over.
"Where have you been all this time?" he asked, looking up from his Herbology essay. Ginny sighed, glancing around the room to make sure no one was listening.
"There's something I've got to tell you," she said quietly. Neville frowned.
"What is it? Are you all right?" She swallowed hard.
"Neville," she whispered. "Last night, I kissed Draco Malfoy in the owlry."
There was a loud thump as Neville's Herbology book hit the floor.
"You did what?" he gasped. "But-Ginny-Malfoy?"
"I know," she whispered. "But, Neville...He isn't anything like I've always thought, he-"
"Ginny," Neville interrupted, his expression extremely grave. "I don't mind if you..." he swallowed. "Just...Be careful, will you?"
Ginny, who had been expecting an argument, stared.
"All right," she said. "I will."
The Hospital Wing
Hours later Draco lay awake, staring at the darkened ceiling. He didn't know what time it was, but he knew it must be very late. The castle was silent, and seemed completely devoid of human presence. Occasionally a ghost flitted across the ceiling, and Peeves had been past several times-Draco was relieved that the poltergeist hadn't seemed to notice him.
He felt extremely confused about Ginny. He knew very well that no relationship between them could possibly work, and it would be foolish to try. Even so, however, try as he might he could not banish the image of her face from his mind. In this dark room he could see her smile, her brown eyes twinkling with laughter. He could smell her hair, feel the touch of her skin, taste her lips against his. He wanted her more than he could remember wanting anything in his life, but he knew it would never be. For a start, their families famously loathed one another. Draco shuddered to think of his father's reaction if he knew of his son's feelings for Ginny Weasley. Lucius would be absolutely furious, and would probably leave Draco to fend for himself. Draco knew there would be no question in his father's mind of associating, however distantly, with the Weasleys. All his life he had been taught to fear and loathe such "blood traitors." Draco knew that his mother and Bellatrix had another sister-Andromeda, he believed she was called. However, since her marriage to a Mudblood they hadn'd seen her or her family; Draco had never met his cousin.
When he was small, all this had confused him enormously. He didn't see why he should fear Muggles. Indeed, as he had never actualy met one, he felt a bit fascinated by the idea of a life so different from his own. Having lived around magic his entire life, he couldn't imagine anyone getting along without it. As for Mudbloods, he didn't see that it held any bearing on his own life if two Muggles produced a witch or a wizard. It wasn't as though this detracted from anyone else's magic.
No, Draco was not concerned with blood. His dislike for Ginny's elder brother stemmed not from his family but from his grating personality. However, he had learned long ago not to voice this in front of his parents-or, indeed, in front of anyone other than Pansy. A relationship with Ginny would cross a boundary that had been in place Draco's entire life, so firmly that he scarcely dared contemplate it. It pained Draco enormously, but he knew that he must not allow his thoughts of Ginny to continue
