Thursday, March 2, 1995

I smile at the magazine, reading it at breakfast. I don't know how she's managed to piss off Rita Skeeter, but Skeeter has retaliated.

Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy.

Pansy is giggling next to me. She had slid the magazine to me, happily awaiting my response. Tracey Davis is trying to read it over my other shoulder.

"You're in here Pans!" Tracey squeals. "You called her ugly!" Tracey cackles.

"'Really ugly,'" Pansy corrects. I can feel her watching me, waiting for praise.

My eyes stutter over the bit about Krum inviting her to Bulgaria over the summer. I tear my eyes from the page and turn to Pansy.

"Brilliant," I say. I wink at her.

She kisses me on the mouth.

I'm still trying to get used to this odd relationship Pansy's gotten me into. Apparently if I get to have sex with her once a week, she gets to kiss me in public.

"Has Potter seen it?" I ask.

It feels like the entire Slytherin table cranes their necks to peer around the Ravenclaws. The Golden Trio are chatting happily, Weasley dropping food onto himself, Potter reading a letter, and the Golden Girl is going over her Potions book.

"Let's take it over there!" Pansy grabs for the magazine.

"Not so fast!" I take it back. "In Potions." I smirk. Pansy giggles.

We stride out of the Great Hall, like a pack of wolves. Pansy shoves the magazine into Blaise's face, and he and Daphne read as they walk. Crabbe and Goyle trail behind. I can hear Goyle asking Crabbe what we're all supposed to be happy about.

We wait for them outside Snape's classroom. As they approach, Pansy is barely in control of her excitement – quite irritating actually – and tosses the magazine at Granger.

Before they can read it, Snape ushers us in. We're twisting in our seats to watch them read it.

I'm waiting to see her face change. I'm waiting for her to flush with embarrassment, and Potter to grumble. Skeeter laying their personal details out in the open, possibly ruining their future happiness, and I'm giddy. Maybe Potter will see what a slag she is and ditch her.

"I can't wait to see how this affects Weasley," Pansy chuckles.

She's sitting just to my right, and I take my eyes off of Granger's furrowed brows to look at her. "Weasley?"

"Yes!" she whispers. "I want to see if he believes any of it! See if they fight!"

I blink at her. "Believes what?"

"About her and Potter! Oh, it would be so lovely to split them all up over this," she hisses. "He's already so broken up about Krum and her."

I look back to the three of them in the back row. Weasley is frowning, ears turning red.

My brain is spinning.

"What do you mean? About Weasley?"

My eyes dig into her as she turns to look at me. She speaks slowly. "Weasley and Granger are completely obsessed with each other."

I feel like a piece of me cracks. Maybe it's a rib. Maybe is a piece of my skull, opening to allow this to pour into me.

"You mean Potter. She's Potter's Mudblood." My voice is flat, lifeless.

Pansy chuckles. "Boys can be so thick sometimes." She glances back to watch the Golden Trio again before leaning into me. "Potter and the Mudblood are friends. Nothing there. It's Weasley she's got her sights set on. I mean, I think the Weasleys are worse than Muggles really, but the thought of her trying to dilute their pure blood with her disgusting…"

Pansy's diatribe washes over me as I look back the three of them, words and phrases jumping out.

"… always fighting…"

I watch as he points at the article and she rolls her eyes at him.

"… so jealous all the time…"

He asks her a question and she blushes. He starts absently grinding his pestle onto the table, watching for her answer.

"… probably fancied each other for years."

I take in the way he's leaning into her. Closer than Potter gets. She looks up at him and averts her eyes, lashes fluttering and blush creeping up her neck.

Severus interrupts everyone. He takes points from the Gryffindors for reading a magazine in class. He then proceeds to read the article out loud.

I laugh at all the right moments. I sneer at the back table.

But I'm watching as Potter's embarrassment is not for himself, even as Severus reads gossip about his love life. He's embarrassed for his friend.

I look at Weasley. He's boiling.

I'm still trying to piece together how I missed this.

I'd always thought it was Potter. Potter with the Quidditch skills and the amazing luck. Potter with the ear of Dumbledore and every bloody teacher at this school. Potter who took her on adventures, and needed her intellect, and allowed her into their Golden Trio.

Severus separates them. She's banished to a seat on Pansy's other side, much to Pansy's delight. Potter sits up front.

I glance at the back of the room again, where I find a ginger staring at her, pouting.

Pansy turns to me, cackling at something she just said to Granger, expecting me to have heard and approved. I tear my eyes from the back row and smile at her.

Krum was a travesty, but acceptable.

Potter I could live with.

But a Weasley?

I blink at the chalkboard, writing the ingredients down, Pansy's hand on my knee.

Thursday, October 28, 1999

She's been trying to ignore me this week. In the lifts. In the café.

When Potter appeared, looking for his blasted croissants, dragging her along behind him on Tuesday, she couldn't meet my eyes.

I'm trying to figure out if she's uncomfortable with our… "flirting" on Saturday, or if it's something else. Maybe the Gringotts project.

But when I find myself in a slowly moving lift on Thursday with Mathilda Grimblehawk, I take an opportunity.

"I hear Granger's got some excellent ideas for Gringotts," I say to her, after we've exchanged our hellos.

"Yes, yes. She's quite forward-minded, isn't she?" Mathilda says as she thumbs through the chin-high stack of paperwork in her arms, looking for something. I reach for the pile as it leans dangerously to the left. "Thank you, Malfoy. But yes, I'm reviewing it with her tomorrow." She pulls a folder from the stack and stares down at it quizzically. "Must find a compromise the Goblins will like."

I watch her as her eyes scan the folder. She's given nothing away to an untrained eye. But clearly Granger's proposal is not going through.

"I do hope a compromise can be reached," I say, grinning. "My family has a long history with dragons. I'm named for the dragon constellation, of course."

Mathilda looks up at me, almost seeing me for the first time. It looks like she only had time to brush her mascara over one eye, not the other.

"Of course. I assumed!" She grins. I send her the same smirk I graced Skeeter with a few weeks ago.

"My mother is also very interested in the project. Granger has discussed it with her and caught her attention with it. And my mother is always looking for projects to invest in…"

It was like Mathilda had galleons in her eyes.

"That's very kind of her. Your mother has always been very philanthropic, hasn't she?"

I nod. I notice that Mathilda has stopped flipping through her file, giving me her undivided attention as the lift jumps toward her floor.

"Well," she continues, "we'll do our best to prevent harm to the dragons. But Gringotts won't be budging on a few things. They want a beast."

We arrive at her floor. I help her gather her paperwork into a manageable pile and say goodbye.

A beast.

I head straight home after work. I was going to head to the field, fly around, practice some of the drills Potter will play on Sunday. But I pop through the Manor fireplaces and head into the library. I take my dinner in there, and Mother doesn't mind.

There's something about the word "beast" that hangs on my mind.

I'm digging through the stacks for the copy of Fantastic Beasts for ten minutes before I realize she has it. Borrowed it. Probably has the answer right there in front of her.

I frown at the books in front of me. There's a book on goblins from the 16th century that winks at me. I pull it, and flip through several chapters.

I'm sitting in between the bookshelves, two hundred pages in when I find it.

Substantial evidence hath proven a dislike and loathing between the race of Chimaera and the race of Goblin, such as it behooves the Chimaera to avoid the Goblin altogether.

I drop the book and jump to my feet, turning the corners to find the fables and fictions.

Three hours later I have sources from five different texts, all claiming that the Chimaera bow only to goblins. I'm itching to pull together a report and cite these books before I realize that that is Granger's job. And handing her a proposal before she meets with Mathilda today will only aggravate her.

No, this has to be her project.

I'm penning Morty a note, asking if Cornerstone carries the fairytale book, and if so, can he put it on hold for tomorrow, when Mother enters the library.

It must be late. Why is she still up?

"Breakfast?" she says.

I twist my head to look at the grandfather clock in the corner. It's 5AM already.

I look back at her in surprise. "Yes, thank you."

She's scowling at me, holding a newspaper between her fingers.

She slaps the paper down on the side table.

"I told you not to mess with that Bulgarian girl." She marches out of the room.

I approach the Daily Prophet slowly, mind racing through all of the possible things that could have set my mother off.

She has it flipped open to the society pages, and I turn the paper over, finding a picture of Granger with a sandy-haired bloke.

And Hermione Granger seems to have recovered from the sting of Draco Malfoy's womanizing ways! She was seen last night at the Galloping Griffin, drinking Butterbeer with Rolf Scamander, grandson of Magical Creature activist and author Newt Scamander. The two of them chatted for three hours, in what looks to be the first of many promising dates between the two activists.

I can't stop watching the picture move. She's flapping her hands around, telling him a story. He makes her laugh, and then continues to stare at her fixedly.

I set the paper down, and run a hand down my face. Exhaustion finally claims me. I look at the note I'm about to send to Morty.

While I was slaving through the library, filling holes in her dragon project, she was on a date.

For at least three hours. Maybe she's still on that date.

Maybe she's waking up just now, silencing her alarm, and turning over in his arms and asking if he'd like breakfast.

No. It was a first date. She wouldn't…

The picture of them stares up at me from the side table. She laughs.

I swallow, and head to find my owl.

Saturday, October 30, 1999

At precisely 5:30PM, I pull the door to Cornerstone, whistling some old tune.

She practically growls at me.

Oh, excellent.

"Draco, just because Skeeter writes that you visit Cornerstone every Saturday, doesn't mean that you have to."

She grabs the bag that Morty left for me yesterday and punches it down on the counter. She looks like she's been waiting all day to beat something up. Or someone.

"Why, you look positively feral today, Granger. Something new with your hair?" I snipe back, eyeing her curls pulled back into a loose ponytail.

She says nothing to that. "Will you be needing this gift wrapped, sir?"

"Naturally." She turns to pull the ledger book. I jump right to it. "Your meeting with Mathilda didn't go as planned, eh?"

She stops flipping pages in the book. "How did you know?" She looks at me, as if wondering if I am the reason the proposal didn't go through. Oh, if she only knew.

"I hear things," I say, smirking.

"She thinks the goblins won't compromise, that they want a beast," she grumbles, pulling the book out of the bag.

"That's too bad. You'll think of something else." I say it like it's timed that way.

She sees the book, and a sly smile pulls her lips. Her eyes drift to mine, ready for a battle.

"Could your girl not handle the fiction?" she says, and I watch gleefully as she thinks she's won the game. "We could also wrap up a dictionary for her?"

Her eyes are wide and happy. I lean forward, relaxing into the counter, ready to spend the next five minutes bantering with her while she wraps.

"No, no. If she learned bigger words, then we'd have to communicate more."

"Of course," she agrees, and she turns away, rolling her eyes. She grabbed the wrapping paper and scissors. "If she likes this one, Draco, there is another I'd recommend. A is for Acid Pops, B is for Broom, C is for Centaurs. It's a best seller for that reading level."

She thinks she's hilarious. She thinks she's got me beat.

"You've started calling me Draco," I hum.

Her fingers freeze on the fold. She looks up at me, like I've caught her cheating on her O.W.L.s. Some of her hair is falling into her eyes and I want to push it back for her. I wonder what she'd do.

She moves her hair behind her ear, and clears her throat.

"Well, I guess… your mother calls you Draco, so…"

"Yeah, I can't get her to stop doing that."

I see her smile down at the paper, and my chest warms. It's not like when she used to laugh with Potter. It's quieter. More like she wants the moment for herself.

I watch her wrap the book. Silly childish thing. But I'm going to make her wrap it. And put a nice bow on it.

I can feel my heartbeat in my fingertips, excited for her to realize what I've discovered. My hands almost shake, so I twist my ring around my thumb. She's pressing the fold down on the orange wrapping paper. Her fingers move quickly. And I think of how strong they probably are. Years of doing things the Muggle way, still doing things the Muggle way out of habit, and maybe her hands have little calluses or scars. How her fingers would feel on my skin.

And I'm yanked out of my meandering thoughts by the image of her strong fingers with the sandy-haired Scamander boy.

"I've not had the opportunity to meet Rolf Scamander, but I hear he's a fascinating bloke."

I wish I hadn't once it's out of me.

She looks up at me, and her strong hands fumble with the wrapping. She opens her mouth, and closes it.

"I… Yes, I mean, I hadn't met him before either." Her eyes come back to the wrapping. "He's very open to discussing his grandfather's legacy, so I found him quite… er, quite fascinating."

She's nervous. Maybe hiding something. Maybe she's embarrassed that she'd let Scamander take her home on the first date, something "she never does, really, Rolf," and after she'd examined his book collection and had another glass of wine, she let him undress her—

She's blushing. I refocus on my plan.

She'll wrap this gift in a bow. I'll ask her to retie it, since this gift is pretty special to me. She'll roll her eyes.

And then I'll ask her if she wouldn't mind addressing it for me, since her penmanship is so much nicer than my own. She'll growl and hiss at me and I'll watch her pout about which girl this was for. But I'll make her write a note about the chapter on Chimaeras. If she doesn't see it then, then I'll ask for her to address it directly to herself.

And when she looks up at me in awe and confusion, I'll smirk at her, raise a brow, and walk out, leaving her with the perfectly wrapped gift.

Maybe she'll come to her senses, remember the fable about Chimaeras, and come running around the counter –

The door behind me clicks. I sigh. I'm thinking about hexing whoever it is when she says, "Good evening."

I need to make up an excuse to stay. To walk around the stacks for bit until this customer has left. I look past her and don't see any other books on reserve. Who is this idiot?

"Ron. Hi."

Every muscle in my body freezes. My eyes snap up to her to make sure she's kidding. She's not.

I stand up, and turn my head to find Weasley on her welcome mat. His hand is still on the door, like he's not sure he's fully entered the space yet. He looks between me and her. And his eyes come back to me.

I feel my body humming again, drunk on testosterone. I smirk at him, and turn back to my comfortable position, right where I was before he so rudely interrupted.

"Well, what do you know. They do get the paper in Ireland."

She slowly drops the work she was doing on the wrapping paper, and comes around the counter. My eyes track her as she approaches him. His eyes are still on me. I smile at him.

They hug, exchange pleasantries. And still I stand here. Leaning really. Seeing as this is a book shop, and I am purchasing a book, there's really no reason for me to leave.

She tries to pull back from him and he holds her close, his eyes sliding to me.

So he knows.

I wonder if it was the pictures that did it.

Or just my presence here, cementing the wild thoughts running through his mind for the past few weeks.

Finally, she's able to escape him, coming back around the counter. He looks at me.

"Malfoy."

"Weasley," I say. I make sure to look as "at home" as I possibly can. "Excellent game last week."

I can't help myself. He scowls at me, ears turning red.

"So, you'll be here tomorrow morning for the Quidditch scrimmage?" she asks, fingers moving quickly on the wrapping. I wonder if I should still tease her about making the wrap and bow perfect. "You can sit with me and Katie Bell."

Weasley is still glaring at me when he says, "No, actually. I just finished speaking with Harry and Mr. Acorn." His lips twist into something that must be "smug" on him. "Seems like Magical Transport's Keeper has fallen ill today, and instead of canceling the event all together, Acorn's asked me to step in tomorrow."

I show him what "smug" is. I return the smirk tenfold.

He's a lousy Keeper, and I plan on reinforcing that with him tomorrow.

"Oh, wonderful."

Oh, Granger was still here.

"Yes, wonderful," I repeat. "It's so nice that they'll let in just anybody… when there's a need like that."

"Yes, evidently." He nods in my direction.

I smile at him. He's gotten better at this since Hogwarts.

She rips the black ribbon from the wheel, bringing both of our attention back to her as she scrambles to finish wrapping.

I won't be able to give it to her here. I frown as Weasley steps closer to the counter.

"Buying a Halloween gift for someone?" he asks, like it's something to tease me for.

Her strong fingers pull the ribbon tight and flip the book over.

But the idea of Weasley knowing I've given her a gift…

"Yes," I say. "Someone special to me."

I glance up at him, ready to tell him more about how important the recipient of this book is, perhaps drop a few imagined details about her strong hands and her shapely hips—

Granger snorts.

Both of us turn to look at her.

She blushes, and quickly finishes with the bow, dropping the present into a Cornerstone bag.

"Here. Thank you."

Her eyes beg me to just go away, but not so fast, Granger.

"Oh, thank you, Granger." I smile at her, the charm I give to Skeeter, and Mathilda, and Jeannette and Jacqueline. She blinks at me. I turn to Weasley, letting that smile fade slowly. "I'll see you on the field tomorrow, Weasley."

"Looking forward to it, Malfoy."

And really, it was his fault for trying to have the last word.

I take the bag from her, and reach across him, grabbing up a mint – Miss Granger discovered that Icicle Pops were Mr. Malfoy's favorite after-dinner mint, and personally stocks the register at Cornerstone with them – and twist it between my fingers as Weasley's small mind tries to comprehend.

"'Til tomorrow," I sing.

I'm popping the mint between my lips, not daring to glance back.

Monday, September 2, 1996

The scent of her hair is overwhelming today. She must have done something to it.

Or perhaps it's that I haven't been in her proximity for two months, and the scent of her has faded from my mind.

It's the first day of classes, and she's already bouncing on her heels, begging Slughorn to give her house points for reading ahead.

And as much as I've prepared for today, as much as I've meditated and closed my mind and focused on my task this year, I still can't look away from her.

"It's Polyjuice Potion, sir." She correctly identifies the roiling cauldron in front of her. Her eyes brighten when Slughorn agrees.

I've tried not to think of her since I received my assignment. Severus is pleased with my progress, my ability to separate her from the mission, but that was in the Manor, before school started. Before I shared classes with her again, and before the scent of her smothered the rooms I was in.

"It's Amortentia!"

I look up at the sound of her cheery voice. She's standing in front of a cauldron barely five paces from me. The blood drains from my face as I watch her and the professor rattle off information about the love potion.

The love potion that's been wafting the scent of her hair towards me.

She's bubbling, preening under Slughorn's attention. It's always nice to watch her in class, when she's proud and bursting with knowledge, and she's not aware of eyes on her.

"—and it's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and –"

She cuts off, blushing. Probably about to say something foolish about the smell of Weasley's feet or Potter's armpits. Or Gilderoy Lockhart's morning breath.

Or more likely, something resembling Weasley's aftershave. I clench my jaw, and turn my eyes to find him, see if he's grown a brain over the summer. If he's possibly smelling her hair throughout the room as well.

I find a ginger head on the other side of the room, across from me, Granger in the middle of us. How poetic.

I lift my gaze to see if he's heard her slip, her almost confession.

He's watching me, eyes tight. His arms across his chest, he looks at her once, then back at me.

I scowl back at him. Then turn my head away, wondering what my face was doing as she answered questions and blushed and described the qualities of a love potion.

I resolve to visit Severus's office tonight. I'm underprepared for the beginning of the term.

I manage to make a remark to Theo next to me when Slughorn asks her if she's related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, sneering about her dirty blood.

Sunday, October 31, 1999

I haven't heard from her.

I thought I would have heard from her by now.

I pull on my undershirt, and pack up any clothes I'd like to wear after the match.

Maybe she threw the gift away. She took one look at it and became so furious that she didn't even read the card.

I spray my cologne, apply my sunblock cream, tousle my hair.

Maybe she and Weasley are still laughing at me.

I grab my cloak and head downstairs.

Maybe she never got a chance to open it. She and Weasley have been wrapped up in each other all evening.

I take my broom from Mippy and head through the front door, past the gardens and to the main gates. I walk twenty more paces and feel the Apparition wards dissolve. I Disapparate.

I'm the first one to the field. I check my timepiece. 6:30AM.

Perhaps I was a bit overzealous.

I drop my bag, discard my cloak, and jump on my broom, wearing only a thin shirt. The wind bites at me but I use this time to warm up, executing complex moves to strain my muscles, Quidditch plays I haven't needed since I was a Seeker.

I practice my version of a Wronski Feint, something I've been trying to execute for years since I saw Viktor Krum pull one at the Quidditch World Cup when I was fourteen. Potter got quite good at it over the years too – not that I'd ever tell him that – but I'd never had the stones to try the move in a real match. If I couldn't pull it off, and crashed into the ground in front of everyone in the school… Well that wouldn't be worth it.

I hurtle as close to the ground as I dare – not as low as Krum would go – and pull up sharply, my knees grazing the grass.

I hear a pop!

I look down and several players from Magical Transport are arriving. I see a red head among them.

I start my cool down, simple circles around the field, as several D.M.T. players jump on their brooms. About five minutes later, Weasley and Potter and she-Weasley are at the edge of the field now, near my bag. I drop and walk back towards them. Ginny is stretching, while Potter gets ready to mount his broom to warm up. I glance up to the stands and see Granger sauntering up, trying to find seating.

"Robes are in the cabins, Malfoy," Potter says as he takes off.

I grab up my bag and cloak, noticing that while his sister is stretching, doing sit ups, running in place, Weasley is simply standing there, taking in the field.

I wonder if he's even going to bother warming up, or if that's beneath a professional Quidditch player like himself.

I turn to the cabins and hear, "Fancy flying, Malfoy." I look back. Weasley is surveying the field, arms crossed. "You've certainly kept up. Didn't know they had a Quidditch pitch in Azkaban."

I feel my already heated blood start to boil. I narrow my eyes at him. I see Ginny Weasley stop mid-sit up, and stare at her brother. She opens her mouth but I can handle this myself, thank you.

"They don't," I say calmly, watching Weasley's self-satisfied grin as he keeps his eyes on the field. "I'm so glad to be back at it. I really can't thank Granger enough for getting me out."

His eye twitches.

I turn to head to the cabins, briefly seeing Ginny Weasley's brows pop up.

Forty-five minutes later and we're all changed into our uniforms. Potter's giving us the pep talk, but I'm concentrating on leveling my breathing. Goldstein says that Skeeter is out there. A huge crowd.

I'm not nervous for the publicity or the stadium. I just desperately want to score one on Weasley. Just one. Maybe Skeeter's photographer will catch just the moment, and I'll ask her office for the original, just to frame it next to my bed.

"And don't let the crowd get to you," Potter says to us. "Just keep the plays as we've always done them. Ron's a great Keeper, a professional player, but he has his weaknesses, just like all of us –"

"He can be an arrogant hothead," Ginny says. A few of them laugh.

"And he favors the middle and right hoop," I say.

It's quiet, and I see Potter looking at me.

"He does?" Ginny's brows pull together.

I nod. Potter looks like he's considering the new information.

Just then our referee walks in. "Everybody ready?"

It's Oliver Wood. My immediate reaction is disdain. A Gryffindor ref to favor the Gryffindor players.

It takes me a moment to realize that I am one of those Gryffindor players, dressed in red and everything.

"Alright," Potter says, as Wood leaves. "I'm hoping for a fifty point lead by the forty-five minute mark, and an eighty point lead at the whistle!"

The team cheers. I focus my energy on re-lacing my trainers.

At eight on the dot we rocket out of the cabin. The crowd is large. I haven't flown before this big of a crowd since Hogwarts. I keep my eyes off of the spot where I saw Granger choosing her seats earlier.

We come to a mid-air circle around Wood. He makes some joke about how proud Madam Hooch would be of all of us playing on the same field again. Eleven broomsticks laugh. I find that my gloves need tightening.

I'm centering my mind, trying to get rid of any wandering thought that isn't about my broom, the wind, the hoops.

I wonder if they spent the night together last night. So soon after Rolf Scamander?

I brush that away, like dirt under a rug.

I look up at Weasley and find him waving at someone in the crowd. I don't need to look to know she's waving back at him.

Keepers to their posts. Beaters to theirs. Wood tosses the Quaffle, and we're off. Magical Transport takes control of the Quaffle first, per Potter's strategy, and I'm tailing a dark-skinned woman down the field, giving her room to be open.

Our Keeper is quite good. He blocks the first shot easily, swooping down to grab the Quaffle and tosses it out to Ginny Weasley. She dodges a Bludger and swings low, tossing the Quaffle blindly upwards, and there's Potter to catch it. The Chasers are trying to readjust, having swept low with her, and I'm heading toward the hoops as a backup. Potter swerves, aiming for the left hoop and I see Weasley jerk the wrong direction before lurching back and barely batting away the throw.

Weasley sends Potter a playful jibe while Potter rolls his eyes, smiling. Potter turns to me as we head back down the field. He nods, seeing firsthand that Weasley favors the right hoop. I raise a brow and zoom away.

Ten minutes later I'm zipping down the field with the Quaffle. I'm three seconds away from the hoops, and Weasley is ready for me, tense, arms in the air. The D.M.T. Chaser is tailing me, and I see her pull back.

Which means a Bludger is coming my way. I look to Weasley, wondering if I can make it. He smiles.

"OPEN!" I hear over the wind, and I chuck the Quaffle in the direction I heard Ginny Weasley's voice, then diving low. The Bludger kisses my ear.

I wouldn't have made it. The Bludger would have taken my head off.

I look up to see the Quaffle go through – the left hoop again – as he tries to lunge for it.

I grin, as the crowd cheers. The Bludger ricochets back towards me and I swerve away, listening merrily as the Weasley siblings verbally assault each other.

The Quaffle gets tossed out, and I intercept it. My other two Chasers are already on defense, so I rocket toward the hoops, half a field away. I hear the crowd humming, and the smack of a Beater's bat against a ball. I come from the left, curving the Quaffle at the center hoop. Weasley almost misses it. His fingertips tilt it away.

He smirks at me, and I turn before I lose my focus. Reset. Players in place.

Magical Transport gets past us a few times, but our Keeper stops them. It's 10-0 and we're already twenty minutes in.

Every time Potter gets close to the hoops and doesn't score, Weasley shoots something smarmy at him. It's starting to grate him, I can tell. He takes it on the chin though.

One of the D.M.T. Beaters has it out for me. He's tailing me as close as the Chaser, always swinging Bludgers at me. His aim is good too. He four or five years ahead of us at Hogwarts. Slytherin, actually.

Potter calls out a play we've been practicing. All three of us will hurtle down the field at the same pace, tossing the Quaffle back and forth, trying to trick the Keeper and the defensive players.

Just before the Quaffle is thrown back in, I turn to the Beater who's been after me.

I wonder if this will be worth it…

"Oi, Williams!"

He glares at me.

"Now I know why Flint wouldn't let you on the team. Your aim is shit."

He narrows his eyes at me as the whistle blows. I take off, middle of our Chaser formation. Potter passes over my head to Ginny Weasley, Weasley dodges her Chaser and tosses to me.

I see her brother at the hoops, staring us down, waiting to see if we'll get taken out by Chasers or Bludgers. Waiting to see who will have the Quaffle once we're in throwing distance.

I toss back to Ginny Weasley, she quickly throws back to me and I toss over to Potter at the last minute.

I hear a whistling behind my head.

Williams's Bludger.

Potter aims for the right hoop, Weasley bats it away, and I dive, turning up in time to watch the Bludger aimed for my head narrowly miss Ron Weasley, smashing through the hoops, splintering the wood and spraying everywhere.

Damn. So close. Good shot, Williams.

Wood's whistle blows. I look to the crowds, finding half the stadium on their feet.

I find her immediately. Sitting with Katie Bell, mouth open.

I wonder if she's concerned for him.

I drop to the grass, going to grab water from the cheery young girls manning the fountain, giving out paper cups.

"Close call there."

I turn, paper cup to my lips, and find Weasley. His eyes are hard as he grabs up a cup without a glance to the girls.

"Yes, it's a shame about the hoops." I glance up, seeing Wood trying to pull the pieces back together. "Williams's aim really needs some work." I toss the paper cup in the rubbish bag and move back toward my broom.

"If only your friends could see you now, Malfoy." He follows me. "In Gryffindor red, playing side-by-side with Harry Potter."

"Well, I'm sure they'll see it in the papers, Weasley," I chirp back. I turn to face him. He's prowling, waiting for the attack.

"I'm just sorry you don't have anyone rooting for you in the stands. To see all your fancy tricks," he taunts.

"I don't know," I say, and my eyes drift to her where she's noticed the two of us. "I think I'm pretty well represented today." I look back at him and he's seething.

I can do this all day, Weasley.

He steps into me. I hold my ground.

"I think it's time you found a new bookshop, Malfoy."

I hate that he's still taller than me. And he knows it.

"I quite like Cornerstone Books, actually." I tilt my head at him.

"Don't you have a whole library at home?"

"I do. It's huge."

He doesn't miss the innuendo. His nostrils flare.

"I'm sure it's not that big."

"No, it is. Ask Granger," I say. "She's seen it."

His eyes are dark. I see arms ripple as he clenches his fists. That's good, Weasley. Hit me.

"She's been over a few times now," I continue.

He looks at her, a quick tilt of his head, and he steps into me again.

"Stay. Away. From her." Low and a pretty good job at threatening.

"Why?" I say calmly. "You've stayed away enough for the both of us."

He shoves me.

I smile.

"Ireland's a long way away, Weasley." My skin is humming. "I was just keeping her warm for you."

I see the punch coming a mile away. I welcome it.

He cracks across my jaw.

Thank you, Weasley.

Now, it's my turn.

My head swims back to front and I charge him, knocking his feet out, making sure to land hard on him. I hear the air leave his lungs, and I get enough distance to land my fist against his jaw. He pushes at my face, and I get on top of him. I can't see anything but his freckles and blue eyes and then her body under him, running her fingers through his wiry hair, moaning for him.

He hits me hard against my eye. I knock his head again with my fist. I'm about to slam down, break his nose, when two arms pull me back, and I'm tilted away, scrambling to my feet, fighting to get back to him.

"That's enough!" Potter's voice against my ear. It brings me back to the Quidditch field, the grass, the uniforms.

He's dragging me back by my arms. I can see Weasley's blood from his split lip and I almost smile. He's up and running for me, no one to stop him. He gut-punches me.

My vision is black. I hear yelling. I can't breathe in.

My arms are released and I fall to my knees. Then someone is lifting me, throwing my arm over their shoulder and turning me away. I stumbled to keep up with them.

We're in the cabins before I realize it's Potter. He's murmuring apologies about not meaning to hold my arms back, and didn't think he'd sucker punch you, and let's get ice.

"I'm sorry I ruined the game," I wheeze.

I look up, half my vision shut by swelling. He shakes his head. "You two on the same field was a bad idea to begin with."

"You and I do fine," I say.

"Well, yes. I'm a saint."

I chuckle, and it hurts my stomach.

Ginny Weasley bursts through the doors. I ready myself for another Weasley attack.

She takes one look at me and giggles, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

"Well," she says. "Whose was bigger?"

She cackles; I almost smile.

"Ginny…" Potter whines, his face twisting in disgust.

The rest of our team files in. We'll be rescheduling the match.

I apologize to them. Most of them shrug it off.

I shower slowly, wincing as the water hits my eye. When I'm dressed, Goldstein has a cream for it to help the cut.

Potter waits for me. We exit and there's a small crowd there, but then she's in front of me, eyes on fire.

"Are you alright?" she asks.

I see her take in my face, my bruises. More pity from the Golden Girl. I frown down at her.

"I'm fine."

"Good." She nods at me. She shoves me, and it makes me stumble harder than when Weasley did it. I fall against the cabin door. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

My eyes are wide. "Me?"

"Yes! Why are you giving Skeeter more ammunition?!" She shoves me again! "You know the pictures of you two brawling will be all over the papers tomorrow!"

I haven't thought of Skeeter and the photographer this whole time, but suddenly they are right behind her, taking a picture of us now.

"And what makes you think that was all about you, Granger?" I scowl, but her eyes are doing that thing again. That fire thing.

"Of course it was about me, because you can't leave well enough alone!" She's panting, heaving angry air in and spewing acid back out at me.

I roll my eyes at her. She's not nearly as important as she thinks she is after all. "For your information, I've been aching to pop him since the day we met."

"Yes, and I'm sure whatever you said to get him to hit you first had nothing to do with me." She rolls her eyes back at me. "You've been baiting him all weekend!"

Her voice is doing that screechy thing. That thing that isn't attractive at all.

"Baiting him?" I smile. "I sure I don't know what you mean—"

"Oh, please, Malfoy. The mint?"

She puts her hands on her hips and I can't help but smirk.

"Those are my favorite mints, Granger. However did you know?"

"And you knew he'd be with me when your present arrived –"

He'd be with me. My jaw clenches.

"And you're welcome for that, by the way," I say. "Or have you not figured it out yet."

It's like I've physically hit her. Her jaw drops. "'Have I not figured it out!?' Of course, I have! Even someone as vapid as your Tuesday girl could figure that out –"

"Oh, I was curious, seeing as I received no 'thank you' card –"

"Well thank you, Malfoy, for swooping in and saving me from my ignorance—"

"It's back to Malfoy, is it?" I watch as her cheeks bloom with heat, and her eyes dance across my face. "I thought we were getting somewhere, Granger."

"Yes, when you're being an absolute moron, it's Malfoy," she hisses at me, still panting like I'm making her run a marathon.

"And when is it Draco?" I drawl, looking down at her with careful eyes as she huffs.

"When you're being an absolute asshole!" She shoves me again, and I almost grab her arms, pull them to me. I glare down at her and she points a finger in my face. "Don't you dare bring me into this petty behavior again."

"I didn't bring you into it at all, Granger. He did," I seethe. It's always going to be my fault, isn't it.

"If you want to hit him, hit him. Don't use me to get him to hit you first."

Well, she has me there.

She marches away, even as Skeeter takes pictures and tries to ask her questions. Weasley's just returning, and he tries to say something to her. At least we're both in the doghouse. I watch as she goes, and I'm breathing deep, half-hard, and watching her hips as she stomps across the grass.

I run a hand down my face, forgetting about my eye, and I wince.

I turn to grab my bag, and Potter's watching me. He snaps out of whatever he'd been thinking, and grabs my bag for me, helping me get it on my shoulder.

"Thanks," I say. I walk away, Disapparating before Skeeter can corner me. I go to a bar.

I wake up the next morning to an owl tapping at my window. My head is splitting, and my eye is swollen shut.

I took a Dreamless Sleep potion at 6PM, and now twelve hours later, I'm finally rousing. Mother laid out a pain potion and a concealing cream last night on my nightstand.

The owl taps again.

I go to my window. The nondescript bird flies in.

A letter. I rip it open. A page of the Daily Prophet and a small note. The newspaper catches my eye, and I see that it's today's date. I turn it open.

"THE FIGHT FOR HERMIONE GRANGER'S HEART!"

by Rita Skeeter.

It's the front page. There I am, tackling Weasley to the ground. Like an animal.

I see her in the picture, at the edge of the field, screaming for us to stop. I see her shoving me against the cabins, my eyes drinking her in.

Nowhere in the paper does it say that Draco Malfoy is opening a consulting firm, becoming his own man, and clawing his way out of his father's shadow.

I pull the small note. It's not addressed, or signed, but I know Father's handwriting.

I thought you were announcing on November 1st.

I blink my good eye. It's not a question.

It's an accusation.

No word from him for weeks. Nothing when the Fortescue's pictures were printed. No follow up on our discussion last month.

The Howlers I receive for the rest of the day don't weigh as heavy on me as that one sentence.