NOTE: I would just like to take a moment and remember someone. I met a wonderful person by the name of Annie through the writing of this fic. She seemed amazing and I would have loved to have met her. She loved this story and read it while in the hospital. Annie passed away 3 days ago. I so wish I would have had this fic finished for her before that happened.

This story is for Annie.


Chapter 28

"I let Mr. Timmons know she fell ill. He sent his regards." Nigel gave the damp wash cloth to Michael, who placed it on Hermione's forehead. Had she not made her confession of feelings for Draco known to him only a few weeks before, it would have been easy for Michael to believe that Hermione had suddenly grown ill especially after the interrogation she just received from the reporters.

"Where the hell is she?" Michael's attention quickly went from Hermione to the players reentering the locker room. Never before had he seen Draco Malfoy so red in the face. His eyes quickly scanned the rest of the teams faces, looks of disappointment splashed across each one.

"What happened?" Michael's voice was timid, scared to hear the answer.

"Bloody Malfoy was too distracted looking for Granger up in the box, that the new seeker they brought on caught the bloody snitch within five minutes. We'd only managed to score ten points. We lost to the Cannons. We'll be a laughing stock of the league." Kenneth dropped down on the bench sinking his face into his hands.

"Cheer up mate. This is all Malfoy's fault. No one will give two shits about the rest of us. He's the fuck up." Rhys' cheery tone did nothing to help the morale of the team.

"Where the fuck is Granger?" There was a collective groan from the team as Draco once again requested information. Michael, noticing his tone, threw an arm up in the air to catch his attention. This action however, did not go unnoticed by the rest of the guys.

"Michael, what's going on?"

"Why is she so pale?"

"Is she alright?"

The men huddled up around Michael and Hermione's sickly looking form. Rhys received a hard elbow from Draco as he made his way to Hermione, dropping down beside her.

"Don't worry gentlemen. Miss Granger just appears to have caught a cold. Tis the season you know. How about you all back up and give her some space. We don't need any of you getting sick before the holidays now do we?" There was a mummer amongst the men as most turned away to strip themselves of their quidditch gear and the stench of failure. When they were out of ear shot, Michael leaned towards Draco.

"She told me." Draco's face went noticeably pale. "A few weeks ago, she had feelings for you. I'm going to assume those marks," he pointed to the small, purpling spots on her collar bone. "Are a gift from you. Do not ruin her."

Although pale, Draco's facial expression had not changed. He reached, brushing Hermione's bangs from her sticky forehead. Michael placed his hand on Draco's forearm, his grip tight, begging Draco to stop.

"This is not the place." His voice was low and the sound came out like a hiss. "She's not sick. The media attacked her with questions about you. She panicked. If you have feelings for her, you won't ruin her career." Releasing his grip, Michael stood, scooping Hermione up into his arms once more. This was no longer a safe place to keep her, what with the constant, curious glances of the team. Giving a nod, Michael disappeared with Hermione's form leaving Draco on his knees by the bench her limp body just vacated. Closing his eyes, he exhaled deeply before dropping his head with a thud on the wooden plank.


The holiday season brought a three week break for the Falcons. It seemed Quidditch did wait for something. Games wouldn't resume until after the New Year. Apparently practice was the same way. Hermione had found it odd when the pitch was empty the first few days following the game.

"Nigel!" There was a rustle of paper and Hermione heard him a scramble to his feet.

"Yes Miss Granger?" His hair was ruffled and he appeared to have been in deep in thought before she interrupted him.

"Why isn't the team practicing?" Nigel cocked his head slightly to the side as if trying to determine if she was joking with him or not. When all he received was an impatient look, he quickly spoke up.

"It's winter holidays. No teams practice during this time. It's an unwritten rule amongst them." Her lips pursed in annoyance and her eye fluttered closed with a roll.

"Fine. I want them in training then. Laps, gym days, the works. No one on a broom." Nigel looked at her with uncertainty. He began to speak up but one look from her dark eyes silenced him immediately. He scurried quickly from her office, off to contact Coach O'Kelly with her instructions.

Letting out a long breath, Hermione slammed her pen on her desk in frustration. She had put herself out there, risked her job and reputation for Draco, but she hadn't heard a word from him since Michael removed her from the locker room a week ago. He hadn't come to see her, hadn't sent one owl and to be honest, she was more than a little upset.


"What are we doing here coach? It's holiday break for fucks sake."

"Language Hawksworth." Avery let out a groan at O'Kelly's words.

"I've got a little girl at home. Promised her I'd be with her all break. What are we doing Coach? We never meet over holidays?" O'Kelly approached Avery, grasping him on the shoulder.

"We are doing whatever the higher ups request Avery. Unfortunately, that is how the world works. No need for your brooms though gentlemen. I've been informed you won't be here all day either. Just until noonish if you are all on time." Like clockwork, Draco walked in to catch the end of O'Kelly's words. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy, so kind of you to grace us with your presence this morning. Now, like I was saying, if you are all on time, I can let you go on time. If you continue to be late, I will hold you all for the tardiness of one. Is that understood?"

"Yes Coach."

"Excellent. Hit the field. I want ten laps before we hit the stairs." Plopping his whistle into his mouth, O'Kelly gave a hard blow and a high pitched sound filled the locker room. "Let's go! For Mr. Malfoy's tardiness, I want half your laps ran backwards with high knees."

A collective groan filled the room as the men filed out one by one.

"Way to go Malfoy." Rhys leaned in to hit Draco hard in the shoulder as her jogged by. Draco angrily rubbed the spot.

"Just because your fucking the GM doesn't mean you can do whatever you want Malfoy. Just remember that." Draco stared open mouthed at the retreating figure of Dillon.

"Fuck."