I followed behind Stevos, Theodore and Blaise as they made their way to the Slytherin stands, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle could be heard guffawing behind me. I rolled my eyes as Draco made a particularly harsh critique of Potter's flying skills which we all knew were nothing to be sniffed at. My godbrother was the jealous type; always in the shadow of his father, of Stevos and now the legendary Harry James Potter. Since I had come into the household towards the end of the war he couldn't even seek comfort in being the youngest and the attention that came with it, something that was still a sore topic for him, not that he would admit to it. He would never be as recognisable as his father who was feared and respected in equal measure, nor would he be the refined and political minded Stevos, groomed by his father to fill his shoes, gushed over by his mother who wished to enjoy every second of childhood she could cling onto before Stevos was entirely polluted by the world. Draco wasn't so much a prodigy as the prodigal son; wasteful, sour and arrogant. This year was supposed to be his time to shine, his big debut, his moment to break from the shadow of his elders and prove his worth. Unfortunately for him, he was in the same year as Saint Potter, 'The Boy Who Lived', our saviour and the chosen one, and if you thought for one minute that Draco would understand why he wasn't the one in the spotlight, you would be wrong. Draco was a Malfoy and he wasn't used to not getting his own way. That being said, it was unheard of for a first year to even entertain the thought of joining the quidditch team let alone being scouted and handpicked by his head of house; there was a high likelihood of him being knocked off his broom straight into the infirmary within five seconds of the first whistle. Opinion was divided but it seemed my own house had gone for brawn as opposed to speed or ability and my galleons were resting on a Gryffindor win, something I intend on keeping close to my chest.
As soon as we had reached the top of the stairs Draco shoved past me and ran to the front of the barrier, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, sending me into the looming figure of Blaise Zabini. The Italian turned and eyed me silently with cold disdain, I had always known Blaise was tall, but it was not until this moment I had realised how truly imposing he could be. "Apologies Blaise" I managed with a polite smile, smoothing down my robes as I regained my footing. He said nothing but eventually turned his back to me when Stevos laid a hand on his shoulder, signally him to step down from the confrontation, fully aware of the effect a stony-faced glare would have on me, a personal favourite of his father and my godfather. "Watch where you're going" hissed the eldest Malfoy accusingly before turning back to face the pitch. Swallowing a barrage of choice insults I turned dejectedly and found a seat between Pansy and Meredith who continued their conversation over my head.
I drowned out the authorative bark of Madame Hooch who seemed more interested in giving Slytherin a lecture than actually setting-up game play and I was alerted to the start of the match by the players zipping into the air and finding their positions. The whistle was blown as the quaffle was released, immediately finding itself in possession of Angelina Johnson who barely made it out of the start position before Marcus Flint was hurtling towards her at break-neck speed, before colliding into her with a shoulder heavy body slam, Johnson had flung the quaffle behind her with a rather unladylike throw, similar to someone bailing water from a sinking boat. Fellow Gryffindor seeker Alicia Spinnet rocketed from beneath the slow-motion car crash and snatched the quaffle from the air and from the waiting hands of our chaser, Adrian Pucey. Spinnet dropped backdown, twisting over her right shoulder to spiral and drop in the air just as Flint crashed into Johnson who spun on her broom and hit the unsuspecting Pucey in the face with the bristle-end of her mount. Pucey was bleeding from the nose and mouth, clearly hit harder than it looked, but he wiped his face with his elbow, smearing the crimson over his face like ineffective car window wipers before spitting a mouthful of blood into the face of his assailant. Angelina lost her balance and wiped her red spittle covered face with her sleeve, trying to regain her vision– if only Pucey was that accurate when it came to the quaffle.
Pucey was on Spinnet, shoulder to shoulder, more grappling than marking her, stuck in a mid-air battle, leaning their weight against each other. Pucey lost Spinnet as she leant forward and accelerated with the quaffle secured under her arm. Pucey went overhead and dropped in front of her forcing Spinnet to stop and slamming her against the Hufflepuff tower causing an uproar in the stands, Spinnet was sliding down the banners but Pucey was on the wrong side of the chaser as she threw the quaffle at her teammate. Johnson was still rubbing her eyes and Slytherin Captain Flint rocketed past Angelina, pushing her away with pure unbridled speed and he dropped under his broom to catch the quaffle. The stand erupted with cheers and I suspect there was a few shouts from the other stands as you couldn't deny the expertly pulled off move. Flint swung one arm up to his broom and pulled himself upright with a grin, quaffle still in hand, still zooming ahead. Flint was at the rings now and went for a strong over arm assault. Blocked by Wood, Gryffindor cheered, Oliver Wood smirked at Flint who mouthed something stolen by the wind, but I imagine it wasn't anything that one would hear in polite conversation.
Wood threw out the quaffle, past the still immobile seekers, it whistled into empty space and was claimed by Katie Bell, back with a vengeance. She turned and soared along the ringside looking for an opening, she darts across the diagonal towards the Slytherin keeper and the rings, THWACK, out of nowhere she gets a bludger to the lower back. She bends over double and drops the quaffle, it's out of her hand for a millisecond before it is the hands of Pucey, Pucey loops over himself and makes his way to score, he's barely out of the gate when a Gryffindor beater sends a quaffle into his broom, suspiciously close to his crotch, Fred and George knock clubs and whoop before circling away from each other. Angelina Johnson has the quaffle again and makes it along the diagonal to the rings, the field is open as everyone had placed themselves one step ahead of Pucey. Our beater sends a quaffle straight at her, but she leans hard and loops over herself at the last minute, Slytherin keeper Bletchley dives for it but misses by a fraction of an inch, 0-10 to Gryffindor. Meanwhile the bludger hits Pucey in the knee, it looks painful, but is sent back across the pitch by a quick-thinking Flint who bats it back with the end of his broom, unobstructed it collides with the Slytherin beater and Flint laughs, it didn't look like an error but more like poor captaining.
The bludger has been hit back, it's heading straight to the golden boy who is too absorbed with scanning the air for the snitch to notice, last minute blocked by one of the Weasley twins and whacked across the pitch to Flint where it bounces off his shoulder. Flint is glaring and the aforementioned Weasley pats Harry on the back before returning to the carnage. Pucey has the quaffle again, he skirts to the side suddenly and a bludger whistles past his head. It ricochets off a club wielded by a Weasley with a fierce backhand, it comes hurtling below Pucey at a diagonal, but he must of sensed it as he twists and loop-de-loops and so the bludger rockets into the sky. That's going to hurt on the way back down. Everyone freezes, and I scan the field frantically looking for the distraction, Potter and Higgs are neck after the snitch, hurtling downwards. Potter gets a head width, then an arm ahead, he nearly has the elusive golden ball, his fingers graze the snitch, but Flint comes out of nowhere and rams into the skeleton of a boy, sending Potter across the pitch as if he was hit by a demolition ball. Slytherin laughs until Madame Hooch announces a foul and awards Gryffindor a penalty. Alicia Spinnet has the quaffle, with no competition she sails past the grimacing Slytherins and scores. 20-0 Gryffindor.
Game play resumes as Bletchley throws in the quaffle, chaos ensues, and the nearly-successful Gryffindor seeker blocks a bludger to the head. He loses his balance and grips with his hands and knees but doesn't steady the broom. I can't help but smirk at the pathetic loss of control, I bet Draco is having a field day. Harry zigzags across the pitch and nearly careers into Flint who dodges and takes possession of the quaffle. He's closing in on the rings now and Wood is flitting from side to side sizing up Flint. Weasley sends a bludger at Flint and it hits him square in the face, the force knocks Flint back, but he turns it into a skilful loop-de-loop and scores. Flint is gushing blood from his nose which just adds to the maniacal effect of his smile as he fist-pumps the air in triumph. 20-10 Gryffindor.
Wood throws out the quaffle which goes to Pucey and back to Flint, the Gryffindor team seems to be congregating at one end of the pitch, clearly overly-assured by a ten-point lead. Flint sails unobstructed through the air and scores. Wood doesn't make a dive as he's looking at the commotion. Slytherin and Gryffindor are drawn with 20 points each. I direct my attention to the all-Gryffindor skirmish and see Potter still struggling with his broom which seems to be bucking him side to side. The redheaded beaters are to one side trying to pull him off the wild broncoing broom, onto their barely safer clean sweep models. A ding from the scorekeeper announces another goal. 20-30 Slytherin. And another, nearly immediately afterwards, 20-40 Slytherin. The well-intentioned Weasley twins seem to be doing more damage than good as they are pulling Potter from his centre of gravity. The broom continues to leap and jerk. Ding, 20-50 Slytherin. It jerks again, more violently, the broom goes one way and the boy wonder goes the other, he's now dangling 90 feet in the air holding onto his careering broom with one feeble-wristed hand. There is a collective gasp from the crowds and tensions are high. I had only ever been to important matches in the minister's box, so I hadn't seen any novice quidditch players before, but I had never seen a broom behave like this. Ding 20-60 Slytherin.
"Fire, Fire!" I launch out of my seat and crane to see the source of the commotion. In the teachers stand Quirrell is shrieking like a woman and flapping his arms around before dropping to the floor with a signature faint. Uncle Severus is stamping at his cloak with a face like thunder trying to extinguish the flames. Blue magical flames. My eyes attention is diverted as the crowd gasps, Harry is back on his broom and hurtling to the ground, landing in an unceremonious heap, sending up a dust cloud. Everybody is on their feet and McGonagall is pushing through the teacher stand, including past a still smouldering Snape, to get to the stairs. "He's up. Potter's stood up" Pansy and Meredith and staring at me, desperate for the news but too lazy to stand up and see for themselves. "He's – I think he's going to be sick!"
"Ew"
"Shut up!" I snap frustrated, not looking away from the first year Gryffindor. I grimace as he heaves, hand clasps to his mouth. Then he holds out his hand, he's holding something. There's something glinting, something golden.
"Merlin's beard, you can't be serious?!"
"What?!" Pansy barks, pushing through me to stand. I shove her back down by her shoulder.
"No. that's imposs- how did h- I can't believe it"
"HARRY POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH!" Lee Jordon roars into the microphone and the Gryffindor stand erupts in the cheers. 170-60 Gryffindor wins.
"Beginners luck" admonishes Stevos as Theo groans, his hands over his face as he half sinks to his knees dramatically, before being pulled up roughly by the collar by a silent Blaise.
"That can't be allowed, he didn't catch the snitch, he choked on it!" whined Theo, earning amused grins from the surrounding housemates. I approached the trio with renewed confidence as Theo seemed to have claimed the title of 'annoying first year embarrassment'. "Uncle Severus was on fire" I noted flatly, it earned a nod of acknowledgement from Stevos and Blaise. "Blue bell flames if I am not mistaken". My god brother looked deep in thought for a second, gazing off into the distance, calm amidst the chaos, "Hmm, I was too busy watching Quirrell have a panic attack to notice the particular variety of flames… it doesn't surprise me, he's not exactly anyone's favourite professor. If it wasn't for knowing Draco and yourself were in the stands with me, I would have suspected one of you had been behind it" he grinned mischievously, presumably imagining himself setting fire to his godfather's signature cloak. "We should probably make our way back to the common room before we get stuck on the stairs for the rest of the day"
"Indeed" remarked Blaise, fulfilling his daily quota for public speaking.
"Draco!" called Stevos brightly beckoning him over, much to his brother's displeasure. Draco frowned slightly but weaved his way towards us without objection, conditioned to obedience to a fault when in public settings such as quidditch matches. Stevos placed himself with Blaise on his right and Theo to his left, Draco filed in behind them and offered me his arm grudgingly. "Adorable" I mocked, and he shoved me in the ribs with his already bent elbow. "ow!", Stevos looked over his shoulder accusingly, Draco coughed straightening before inclining his head to me, I placed my hand over his bicep delicately before nodding in faux thanks. We looked forward together, we had seemingly appeased the Honorary Lord Malfoy as he looked ahead and began the slow procession back to the castle, revelling in the simultaneously surreptitious and ostentatious show of wealth and power as the crowds parted for him respectfully.
"I cannot believe you nearly caused a scene!" hissed Draco under his breath.
"Me! You attacked me, god brother"
He let out a snort of derision, "I was provoked; besides it was not I who brought it to the attention of our superior"
"Stevos, really?! You never seemed one to advocate fraternal respect".
"You have never been one to acknowledge respectful conduct"
I raised my eyebrows abashed, "oh, really?!"
"really"
I glared at my god brother dangerously, "You are entitled to your opinion Master Malfoy, esquire"
"I am not so easily beguiled by titles god sister, you are a Lady by law, but not in execution"
"Do not tempt me with executions Draco, I must admit that I am of a rather suggestible disposition"
"Then may I suggest you shut up" Draco smirked at the reprimand, upon entry to the stairways beneath the stands our hushed whispers had become perfectly audible, amplified by the acoustics of the hollow, high-ceilinged, wooden corridor.
"You may suggest" I replied casually, earning a grin from Draco.
"The fault is mine brother, I am as you would say a –"
"insufferable clown?" I suggested with a lopsided grin.
"Do not make me come back there" warned Stevos, his voice lacking any genuine threat.
"Hmm, I always imagined you more as a receiver rather than a giver… Blaise?" retorted Draco. We were too focused on sharing grins and stifling our laughter that we were knocked backwards when Stevos and his companions came to an abrupt halt.
"It is not so funny now, is it?" growled Stevos as he stood over us, his face white with rage.
"You really shouldn't end those types of sentences with questions god brother" I laughed weakly.
"It. Was. Rhetorical." Draco and I shared a nervous look, our expressions equally timid despite our previous jocular temperament.
"Now for the love of all that is sacred, get to your feet and walk back to the castle with some decorum!" It was hard to tell if it was an order or a plea, but we helped each other to our feet quietly.
"touchy" mouthed Draco with raised eyebrows.
I rolled my eyes and shot Draco a warning look, "Leave him alone, your father holds him accountable."
Draco sighed but said nothing else on the topic. It had been a long day and regardless of how easy it was to wind up Stevos, we didn't really do it intentionally, it was more of a test to see whether he would revert to his previous demeanour of boyish mischief. He held onto his quick wit and there was the occasional glint in his eyes but now his plans to deviate from the rules seemed more planned and meaningful; his current venture as a black-market apothecarist for example. Before it was foolish impulsiveness, needless recklessness and the innate inability to heed warnings, to ward off boredom, just for the sake of it, for the exhilarating lack of reason. Lucius always told him that a fish rots from the head down and that remains true for all institutions, even in the childish comradery of mischief. Without our most acclaimed troublemaker it was becoming all too hard to stick together, all too hard to enjoy being young. Although, with Lucius Malfoy breathing down your neck I imagine it was becoming far too hard to enjoy being anything other than what he wanted you to be.
He wasn't lost though, it wasn't his time to turn his back on youth, not just yet. The more he tried to deny it and the more his father tightened the tailoring of the façade he wore, the more stress was put on the seams and it would become apparent soon enough that you cannot internalize mischief. Not when it came to Stevos anyway.