Author's Note:

Sorry this is so late, I've been super busy and this chapter's been pretty difficult to write. I think I've rewritten it about five times now. Yikes! Anyways, you'll finally get to see the repercussions of Fawn's actions from last chapter. Enjoy!

The Quidditch Match

"So, I hear Potty has managed to find a new seeker out of those Gryffindorks they call wizards." A familiar drawling voice crawled down the hallway, accompanied by several pairs of clip-clopping dragon-skin shoes.

I ducked into a shadowy corner, hoping they would be too dumb to notice me there. I had been wallowing in the dungeons by myself, wondering why-on-earth I told Harry I was fine with playing Quidditch. How could I lie right through my teeth to him, my best friend?

Not to mention he would be furious at me once he found out the truth.

"Yes, I wonder who it is?" Blaise Zambini's voice made me tune back into the real world. "I mean, our timing was perfect. It should have been impossible to find a proper replacement!"

Ha. I knew it. They had done it, and they had even admitted it, right in front of my eyes. Those Slytherin prats.

"She's probably really dumb, and has zits." Pansy snickered. "Don't worry, boys, we took their main players out already, they don't stand a chance."

"She?" Malfoy said sharply. "I thought they'd pick that half-blood, what's his face? Dean?" I resisted the urge to sneer. Yeah, that's right, Malfoy. It's a she, you sexist, racist prick. And she is going to do everything she can to beat you tomorrow.

"Yeah," Pansy replied eagerly, probably realizing that she knew something Malfoy didn't. She lowered her voice a little, to a volume appropriate for gossiping. "It's a she, and they seem to think she's perfect. And apparently she's friends with Potter."

"Who isn't?" Malfoy retorted. The footsteps grew closer. Any minute now, they would pass by my hiding place. Childishly, I considered jumping out at them. But then again, the cons of that action outweighed the pros.

"Friends with Potter?" Zambini mused. I could see Malfoy now as he passed by, clear as day, and I shrank into the corner even further, hoping he wouldn't see me. The others followed him, a few careful steps behind. "There's no way it's that Granger girl, she hasn't touched a broom since first year."

At this comment, Malfoy stopped abruptly, almost tripping over himself. His eyes, one of which marred by a purplish bruise in the shape of Harry's fist (from yesterday), went wide as saucers, and he seemed to have trouble breathing. And he was standing just outside my hiding place.

"No fucking way," Malfoy breathed after a pause. I paused; appreciating the way he pronounced that word, gasping out the 'f' and the way his pink tongue darted out to wet his lips afterwards…

"Why? What's wrong, Drakey?" Pansy purred, catching hold of his bicep.

I resisted a snort, my former appreciation replaced almost instantly by a more dangerous mix of anger, bitterness, and repulsion.

Suddenly, his eyes were darting to and fro. "You guys go first. I have something I need to take care of." When they didn't move, he gestured sharply with his head. "Go!" He snapped, and the others scampered off, giving him weird looks.

Now that his cronies were gone, Malfoy seemed lost in thought. "What on earth were you thinking, Fawn?" He muttered under his breath.

I froze. Wait. Did he know I was here? Was he talking to me? He wasn't looking at me, but who knows? I had half a mind to answer his question.

But before I could, he spun around and started walking in the opposite direction, and as if I could suddenly read his mind, I knew almost instantly that he was heading towards the Gryffindor common rooms. To look for me.

There was a strange combination of thrill and terror circling in my chest. The blood pounded in my veins, and in a sudden fit of boldness, I stepped out from my shadow, directly into the middle of the hallway.

I thought I had been pretty quiet, but the moment I took that one little step, Draco Malfoy stiffened, and stopped in his tracks. His back muscles tensed, becoming well defined under that grey suit of his. His breathing echoed across that short distance, loud and clear and erratic.

"Why were you spying on me, Saffron?" He asked, after a moment. He doesn't turn around.

"Why did you push Ginny down the stairs?" I countered, not bothering to tell him that I wasn't, in fact, spying on him.

His fists clenched. "I didn't, they did." He defended himself. I raise an eyebrow. The Malfoy I knew usually laps up all the credit for anything at all, even if he didn't cause it at all.

But then again, he was probably lying in this case. After all, they were his cronies. I told him so.

He spins around, and shakes his head earnestly, letting bits of blond hair fall into his eyes. "No, Fawn, they don't—" He stopped. Looked at me. Blinked.

He opened his mouth, and then shut it again, apparently thinking better of it. "Fine. I pushed Weaselette down the stairs, and I baited Potter into using his fists. I had hoped they'd cancel the game tomorrow, because I had important things to do. Now excuse me."

He brushed past me, walking fast, a weird half-smirk on his face. I breathed in, smelling bar soap and rain and sweet musk, and immediately anger began bubbling up in my chest.

"You had no right to do that." I growled, reaching out in a flash and latching onto his bicep, much like Pansy had done just a moment ago. Except this time, I was digging my (practically nonexistent) nails into flesh as hard as possible.

"I'll take you down tomorrow if it's the last thing I do, Malfoy."I spat his last name out, determined to make it taste as bitter as possible. "And then you'll be sorry." I take care to crinkle the cloth of his sleeve as much as possible before shoving him away.

There must have been something in my eyes that made him believe my bluff, because suddenly, he looks slightly apprehensive.

I'd gotten rid of his smile. Was I really that petty? Hell, yeah.

The Quidditch game came even faster than I had expected, and trust me, I was already expected it to come much too quickly. Before I knew it, Katie Bell was pushing me into the locker room and handing me a set of spare Quidditch protection equipment to wear over my school uniform.

I looked absolutely ridiculous, but for once I didn't complain. I was too busy hyperventilating. And of course, actually swallowing the rest of my breakfast.

It was too late to back out now, to do so would be a huge blow of betrayal to my closest friends, and besides, I never admit defeat to Draco Malfoy.

So I had to face my fate. Which wasn't very easy.

"Announcing… the Gryffindor team!" Lee Jordan was gone, replaced by a nerdy-looking Ravenclaw that stuck to the rules. How disappointing, I thought glumly at first. But then, she surprised us all with a rather biased poem as we stormed out onto the field, pumping our fists and leading a chant in a short moment of glory.

"They are red and gold, strong even without the foretold, Gryffindor the bold," the Ravenclaw invented on the spot, pushing her glasses up further up her nose, and shooting us a shy smile.

Our team blinked in surprise, and the loud, ecstatic cheers that followed nearly deafened me. I let a little grin creep up on my face. Yes. Even without Harry, the foretold, we could stand our own. I wouldn't let a tiny fear of heights affect my Gryffindor pride. I could do this.

"And also, announcing the Slytherin team." She added, sounding rather sarcastic. Gosh, I loved her already. There was a mixture of boos and cheers as always, and the doors slid open. Draco Malfoy, along with this bruised cheekbone, was in the lead, as do all team captains.

The sun swept up his white-blond hair, tousling it. He had cleaned up even more than usual for the Quidditch game, wearing the tailored green Quidditch uniform and his best aristocratic smirk. The uniform framed his athletic build, and the smirk... Well, the smirk had its usual affects on my traitorous heartbeat. Even with his still-bruised cheekbone (which I suspected he wore proudly), he was handsome.

His eyes locked onto mine, but the silvery pools were impenetrable.

Oh, he was going down.

My resolve as stiff as my spine, I made my way to the middle of the field. The rest of the team stood in a formation that I vaguely remembered around me. I straddled my broom, and we rose steadily to the air, hovering in the air around Madam Hooch.

"Gryffindors, Slytherins," Madam Hooch began, her voice amplified. The cheering audience gradually dulled to a faint murmur, and the hawk-eyed professor continued to speak.

"For five years in a row," she began, "I've started every game with the same speech about fair play. It never had any effect."

There were a few nervous chuckles.

"Time and time again, fouls will be made, cheaters will cheat, and my command was ignored in the name of victory. This year, I'm not going to command you."

"I'm asking you." She continued, looking straight at the Slytherin team. I guess some things never change. There was a severe look in her amber eyes, but there was a certain sadness within them. "Don't be so caught up in the petty details like which house you're from, but keep an eye on the bigger picture. One that's much darker than you think."

By now, there was no doubt about what she was talking about. Voldemort's return, something that we had somehow managed to place at the back of our minds, behind things as trivial as exams and boys and, well, rivalries. I remembered vaguely that Madam Hooch had lost a family member to the Death Eaters recently.

On that dark note, Madam Hooch lifted the whistle to her lips unceremoniously.

She blew it.

And I sat on my broom, right there in the middle of the field, in a daze, as shapes blurred around me. I felt so foolish. What had I said to Malfoy before the game, again? "I'll take you down if it's the last thing I do, and then you'll be sorry."

If that wasn't a childish, first year level taunt, then Dudley was the Chosen One.

I shook my head free of those thoughts and lifted off, concentrating on the bright blue sky. The sun pounded down on me, drawing beads of sweat. I searched through narrowed eyes for the snitch, getting my head into the game.

I owed that much to Harry—to give this game my best shot before my own weaknesses got in the way.

Unfortunately, everything was intensified by the heat, which also made the snitch even harder to find, because I had to shade my eyes from the sun.

There was a loud ding, and I realized happily that Gryffindor had scored. A second ding came almost immediately after, and it went to Slytherin. Shit. This was going to be a close game. Which meant that the Seeker would be incredibly important. Merlin's balls, why on earth had I gotten myself into this position?

I couldn't see where Harry, Ginny, and Hermione were from my viewpoint, but I could make out the hulking shape of Hagrid's weathered face, dressed in brown and pressing a pair of black binoculars to his eyes. I shot a quick glance downwards, towards the ground, and blanched. Nope. Don't look down, Fawn.

I really shouldn't waste my chance, but I couldn't bring myself to do anything more heroic than shielding my eyes. I drifted around lazily, underneath the other players instead of above them like seekers usually do. I looked stubbornly upwards, into the blinding sun, searching foolishly for the snitch.

I wasn't scared at all, I thought proudly. But at the same time, I couldn't seem to bring myself to fly upwards. And I couldn't see Malfoy anywhere. It was always a good idea to keep an eye on the other seeker during a game.

The dings came rapidly, and I realized that this was one of the most intense games I've seen in a couple of years. The Slytherins and Gryffindors were closely tied, at most only ten points apart at each time.

Everything depended upon me and Malfoy, and that pressure had my palms sweating into the handle of my broomstick. Why the hell did I have to get myself involved in such a crucial role?

It was nearly an hour into the game, and I still hadn't caught sight of the—wait. What was that? A little black spot darted across the peripheral of my vision again, and I spun around to look. A tiny black sphere blocked out the fiery burning of the sun for a moment, and I narrowed my eyes for a closer look.

Bless Merlin. It was the snitch!

A thrill was sent through me, and I leaned forwards, turning my broom around and flying full-speed towards it. I never took my eyes off it, but I did note gratefully in the back of my mind when one of the beaters blocked a bludger for me.

And I did notice when Malfoy, who had been circling high up above, rushed down to join me, going much faster than I could on that shiny Bluejay (the newest model) of his. But I had the head start, and I was determined not to lose it.

Suddenly, just as Malfoy became level with me, the snitch switched directions, heading vertically upwards. Suddenly, in a rush of adrenaline, I remembered what I did during tryouts. I gripped my thighs tightly around my broom, and tilted it directly upwards. I shot up like a rocket, going at speeds that rattled my teeth and stung my eyes, but I was caught up in the thrill of the chase.

I reached out with one hand as I gained ground. The fluttering, renowned golden snitch was only millimeters away from my straining, trembling hand. All around me, I heard the gasps of admiration from the crowd.

And of course, that was when disaster struck.

I simply glanced down.

I couldn't help it—it was instinct when I felt Malfoy's broom nipping at my heels. So my eyes darted downwards, and focused on my worst nightmare instead of Malfoy. My fear of heights came rushing back, hitting me in full-force. I screamed as I felt a jolt rock through my bones.

My thighs slipped, and I found my body pressed against the full length of the broom, still being carried upwards. My head began to spin, and suddenly I felt as if I were looking down on my flailing, fumbling, falling body from far away.

In my ignorant terror, I paid attention to some of the oddest things.

The faded chime of the Clock Tower, from far, far away.

When my scrambling fingernails scraped a piece of paint off the handle.

The fact that Hagrid was wearing grey, not brown.

And of course, in too much detail, I felt the sweaty fingers of my palm slipping and sliding downwards, threatening to let go at any moment.

The sound of a bruising scream echoed in my ears and no doubt it was my voice. I clawed at anything solid, and the broomstick spun, taking me along for a terrifying ride.

Malfoy's robes brushed against mine as he rushed past me, his broom carried on by momentum. They were warm and solid, a sharp comparison to the emptiness around me. He was going for the snitch. He was abandoning me, I thought irrationally.

My hands reached out to grab at him. I missed. My hands slipped even further.

Oh Merlin. Oh Merlin. I was going to fall. I was going to die.

I was choking on my own saliva, eyes brimming with tears as I pleaded for anyone to help me. Bits and pieces of a sentence escaped my trembling lips, words that sounded suspiciously like "help," and "please," and "Draco." Weren't Gryffindors supposed to be brave? Where was the bravery in me now?

It had been swept away by that battering wind and was now lying in pieces on that brutal green grass under me.

My legs kicked, trying to propel me back onto my broom.

I slipped. I was lost.

Suddenly, a pale, smooth hand caught me by the front of my robes. And just like that, I was found again.

"What's happening up there, Hagrid?" Harry asked tentatively, tugging on Hagrid's arm. He was currently hiding under Hagrid's large coat, having been smuggled out of detention by his friends.

Ginny was trying to steal Hagrid's binoculars away, having been released temporarily from the hospital wing, while Hermione was trying to perform an intricate spell that involved heightened vision for a short period of time. Neville, Seamus, and Luna were crammed into the booth with them, all squinting up at the girl with the flowing honey-brown hair.

Or more accurately, squinting down.

"Oi, whas she doin' down 'er?" Seamus mumbled, sharing a piece of bacon pie with Neville. "Me mam told me seekers ought to fly as high as possible to look for the snitch."

"Yes, that's usually the case. But in this case, Fawn is actually being quite strategic. The sun is too bright today for her to see something just as golden and shiny as everything else from up high." Hermione explained. "So if she's under the sun and looking into it, she'll see a black shape if the snitch flies over her."

Neville tugged on her sleeve, and with a sigh, Hermione began the spell on him, too. There was a faint lull in conversation.

"Well lookey here, that Ron is a pretty good keeper, eh?" Hagrid commented. "Look at 'im doing those flips and—oi! Gimme my binoculars back!"

Ginny had managed to snatch the binoculars away from Hagrid and was now redirecting them downwards, towards Fawn. "She looks awfully bored, but if you say she's being strategic, Hermione, so be it."

"She is!" Hermione insisted. "Fawn's a smarter girl than any of you give her credit for."

Ginny redirected the binoculars again. "Well, at least Malfoy doesn't seem to be having much luck up there, either."

Hagrid made a grab for the binoculars again. "No, let me watch, Hagrid!" Ginny whined, holding it as far away from Hagrid as possible. "Please!"

Harry sighed. "Can someone please tell me what's happening?"

Suddenly, a large cheer rose from the audience all around this little dysfunctional group. Aforementioned group looked up just in time to see Fawn shooting after something that remained invisible to them at this distance, but there was no doubt about it—she was chasing the snitch, and Malfoy was still quite a distance away.

Harry jumped up and began pumping his fists in his excitement. "Come on, come on," he muttered under his breath, emerald eyes shining with anticipation.

"Fuck off, Malfoy!" Ginny screamed happily. "That snitch is ours!"

"Go Fawn, you can—oh!" Hermione began, only to be cut off by her own gasp as Fawn began flying vertically, straight into the air. Malfoy's momentum carried him past her, and his struggle to change directions was clear even from this distance.

A huge, shit-eating grin grew on Harry's face. This was it. This was supposed to be his moment of glory, but at the same time, he was so proud of Fawn, it was crazy. Who knew she had it in her?

Beside him, Hagrid gave a rather anguished bellow. "Whats tha matter?" Seamus asked, straining to see.

Harry couldn't see anything either—that was until he noticed that Fawn's progress had halted.

She gave a loud scream, and Harry couldn't stand it anymore. This was his team, for Merlin's sake! He should know what was going on! He grabbed the binoculars unceremoniously from poor Hagrid (who had just gotten it back), and plastered it to his face.

What he saw surprised him. Fawn was caught between screaming and pleading for anyone to help her. There were tears streaming down her face unashamedly. The expression on Fawn's face; her blind panic and terror made her look so vulnerable that if he didn't know better he would've thought…

He would have thought that she was afraid of heights. Which made no sense. But… it does make sense. A little voice in Harry's head said. She came to you yesterday, what did she say? That it wasn't the best time to tell you this, but…

"Oh, bollocks," Harry breathed, already standing up and rushing towards the stand where the commentator and Professor McGonagall stood. He had to stop this game. Now.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Neville asked, on his feet and following him within seconds. The rest of the group stood and turned partially, while trying to keep an eye on Fawn, in the sky.

"She'safraidofheights!" Harry panted, squeezing past crowds of people.

"What?" Hermione blinked in confusion, shouting to where Harry was quickly disappearing. She was unable to follow him due to her heightened eyesight. "What did you say, Harry?"

Out of instinct, she glanced over to check on her endangered friend. To her surprise, Malfoy, who had managed to get his broom to go vertically as well and had gone past Fawn's writhing form, was beginning to twist in midair.

He stopped, hovering expertly in midair, looking torn. Heightened brown eyes scanned the sky, and Hermione realized that the snitch was still heading upwards.

"The snitch never changed directions!" Hermione exclaimed, touching about blindly for her friends. Seamus winced as her hand smacked him in the ribcage.

"Wha? Then whas Malfoy doin', waiting for Fawn or something?" He asked sarcastically, choosing to ignore her unintentional smack. The heightened eyesight spell hadn't worked on him, after all, and he was desperate to know what was going on.

"I have no idea." There was a strange look on Malfoy's face, and if it had been on anyone else's face, Hermione might have said it was concern.

"Maybe he saw a nargle," Luna mumbled, but her usually dreamy blue eyes were uncharacteristically focused for once.

"He's flying towards her—wait no, he just went straight past Fawn…" Hermione reported, eyes wide, glued to the scene unfolding before her. "No, wait, Malfoy's turning around, it was the momentum—"

"So he was heading for Fawn after all!" Seamus exclaimed.

"Why would 'e do such a thing?" Hagrid rumbled from beside Hermione.

Up in the sky, victory had been just within reach for Draco Malfoy. That is, until he heard a panicked shriek that tugged at his heartstrings, and as if he were some sort of fucking puppy on a leash, Draco Malfoy turned back. He hated himself for it.

Draco could see her clearly from this distance. She was thrashing, trembling, and generally making her situation worse. Eyes wide and vulnerable, pink lips puckered in an 'o' shape and pleading something.

You see, he knew she was afraid of heights, and that's why he had been so shocked earlier, when he realized Fawn would be taking Potter's place. He also knew that no one else knew her secret phobia. Which brings him to his next thought:

Why would he want to help the enemy?

For the same reason you saved her life in Diagon Alley.

So he went, even though he still wasn't quite sure why he helped her on both accounts. It took a few tries, too. The first time, he flew too fast and went straight past her, forcing him to curse and spin his broom around, the rough motion making his head spin.

Suddenly, Fawn's hands slipped, but this time Draco was ready. He steadied himself and reached out, catching her by the front of her robes, right between the breastplates that was her so called 'protection gear.'

He heaved her onto his broom, so that she was sitting behind him, with her trembling arms curled in a crushing grip around his waist. Sobs wracked her frame, and tears soaked into his shoulder.

"Oh sweet Merlin," she sniffled after a moment, keeping her vice-like grip around him.

"Circe's right tit!" He snapped back, trying to maintain his cruel, I-don't-give-a-rat's-ass demeanor, even as he twisted in his seat, trying to make sure she was okay. "You stupid girl!"

She just grinned weakly at him, looking both relieved and baffled at the same time. "Thanks, Draco." She mumbled a little belatedly, licking her chapped lips, her lashes fanning out prettily over demure eyes.

Just like that muggle story—what was it called again? The appalling one with that baby deer and his dead mom and singing skunks and birds and flowers.

Draco had just decided that he should spend a little time researching this later, when that idiot Potter's voice blasted into his eardrums. "STOP!" He shouted. Draco winced. "Stop the game! Someone get Fawn out of there! Someone—Malfoy!?"

"Harry Potter, what is the meaning of this?" Professor McGonagall's stern voice was carried out through the speakers. The crowd tittered a little, even though they, too, were clearly baffled by the events on the Quidditch field.

"Hey, Draco?" Fawn tugged on his waist a little, forcing his attention as well as making his breath hitch a little. Her firm, smooth thighs squeezed against his back unintentionally. Silently, Draco prayed that her arms wouldn't move just a little bit lower. Or maybe he prayed that she would.

Suddenly, his pants felt a little too tight. Which was a bad idea, seeing as he was on a broom.

"Why did you come back for me?" Fawn asked firmly, craning her neck to peer over his shoulder at him. Apparently, she had recovered quickly from her shock. "Why didn't you just let me fall?"

"You're fucking afraid of heights, Fa—Saffron, you think I didn't know that?" Draco answered distractedly. Oh Merlin, she was beautiful. He decided to face the front again.

"You—what—how did you find out?" Fawn was shocked, to say the least.

"Oh no, how did he find out my deepest, darkest, weakness?" Draco mocked her in an exaggerated high-pitched voice. "Is he going to use it against me? Is he going to humiliate me?" Somehow, it was easier to mock her when he wasn't actually looking at her.

Fawn flushed, a pink color blossoming over her cheeks, something that Malfoy didn't miss, even though he was pointedly looking away from her. "Shut up, Malfoy," she snapped. "I asked you a question."

"Oh stop, Saffron, I was testing my legilimency skills," Draco snarked back. But he answered her question anyway. "Just so you know, nightmares are a pretty good indicator of what someone is afraid of." He tilted his head a little, knowing that Fawn would be insulted.

She was.

"But—you were in my mind?" Fawn's voice rose to a shriek. Fortunately, the two of them were too far away from the ground for anyone else to hear them.

"I saw an opportunity, and took it." Draco shrugged. "What? Did you expect me to ask?" He paused, letting this sink in. "And aren't you glad that I took a little peek? Otherwise, I wouldn't have known that you needed saving. I would have just let you fall, gorgeous."

Fawn seethed. "Put me down, Malfoy."

Draco let a slow smile grow on his face. "Sure, your Highness. Shall I just toss you over the side, then?"

"NO!"

Panicking, Fawn practically molded herself to Draco, and grasped the front of Draco's Quidditch robes with trembling fingers so tightly that she ripped a little seam in its intricate hemming.

"Bloody hell, calm down Saffron!" Draco snarled as he heard the tearing sound. "I'm not actually going to drop you! What kind of person do you think I am?"

Draco bit his tongue harshly, but it was too late. The question was out, and it hung in the frosty air between them, taunting him. What kind of person did Fawn Saffron think he was? Well, the answer wasn't too hard to guess.

"Sure, I'll put you down," Draco said before Fawn could answer his badly thought-out question. His voice was distinctively colder than it had been before, and it made him wonder why he cared what Fawn thought of him. "But let me remind you of a teeny little fact before I do: you owe me, Saffron, big time."

~Nightingalelynx