I was awake at 6am to prepare to meet Malfoy and it was a horrible experience. I had gone to bed closer to 1am and with hardly any sleep I was bitter making my way down to the pitch through a thick, cold fog. The Quidditch uniform at least provided some warmth against yesterday's rainy fallout. The stone steps were slimy but I once again intended to use the walk there as a means to warm up.
I had several theories as to why he'd picked such an unreasonably early time to train with me. To avoid being seen training me by other people, to punish me with the early start time, or perhaps because we both had no morning classes on Friday's immediately afterwards.
By the time I was nearing the bottom of the mossy hill my blond hair was soaked from the dew and air and I raised a gloved hand to smooth the long wisps at the front that weren't tied into the braids. I had taken the time to further alter my uniform that morning to get on Malfoy's nerves even more. It now hugged me in an even more flattering way that complimented my breasts and thin waist. My pants were basically in the shape of leggings instead of the baggy, unsightly trousers. The long green Slytherin robes fell silkily from my shoulders. I felt tired, but ready for action. I wanted to make it as hard as possible for these boys to truly despise me being on their team, starting with Malfoy.
When I reached the bottom however I couldn't see anyone. I walked to the center of the field and took in just how much fog was out there. It was difficult to see the stands and pillars such a short distance away. It was like being lost in a gray sea of mist.
It was 6:54 am. I guessed that it was fair to give him more time to arrive, trying to remove the growing fear that this had all been a joke to set me up while he was back at the dorms sleeping in late. I climbed onto my broom and tried pulling some tricks to pass the time. Standing on the broom handle while it hovered a few feet high. Performing a rescue by hanging from the handle with two, then one hand, then climbing back on. Riding side saddle. Doing a perfect backwards loop.
It reminded me of waiting around at my previous school for training to start. Most of the other girls had stood respectfully chatting to one another but I could never stay still. Not that they were any less vicious in the actual game, I was just... helplessly restless.
I pulled my broom up, arching my back into the next loop when suddenly a force smashed into my side which winded me. I gasped and fought not to lose my balance with little avail. Before I could hit the ground a hand grabbed my hood and then let me fall the final foot onto my face.
I sat up on my knees choking, and rubbing dirt from my face. I struggled to breath for a few moments before my pride could contain itself. I looked at Malfoy who was hovering above me tossing a bludger up and down. He had a demonic look on his face and he shook his head, "This isn't the circus, Desrosiers. You're cheap tricks won't help you out here. Get up."
"You - play dirty, Malfoy. I was - waiting." I wheezed, still recovering from the shocking impact. I would not puke in front of him.
"Precisely. Never assume you can let your guard down, Frenchie." He smirked and brought himself back down to the ground, dismantling from his black broom with ease, "This is Hogwarts. This is where champions are made. No more games, can you actually fly competitively?" He was taller than me by several inches and I stared up at him with a hard expression, feigning recovery. I was acutely aware that I probably had dirt all over my cheeks, while his face was smooth and clean, aristocratic. Cunning.
Even his hair took well to the moisture in the air. I probably looked like I'd just crawled out of a swamp.
I blew hair out of my eyes, "I am, quick... and how do you say, artistic? Creative? I can block most anything. Defensive is my strength."
He seemed contemplative for a moment, taking in my renovated uniform with a raised eyebrow. He sucked air through his nose as he inwardly contained his humored reaction. His eyes gleamed in a way that seemed menacing, and mocking. I tried to prevent myself from laughing out of the sheer discomfort of the situation. I had really hoped for a different reaction than that from him.
He sighed in aggravation, probably realizing he was wasting his own time by fighting with the inevitable requirement to let me play. I watched as his blue eyes went up to the sky, his sharp jawline accentuated by the posture of him hanging backwards in defeat. The silent pause was awkwardly long, "Well, you have a really good broom. At least you won't be an embarrassment in that department. Let's get you in the air and see what you can block." He reached his gloved hand across the space separating us and scuffed up the top of my hair.
It wasn't meant to be endearing. He laughed at the jolt in my eyes and took off.
After an hour of Malfoy chasing me to test my speed and throwing absolutely anything he could conjure at me, he finally blew a whistle using his fingers to signal he was done. The fog had nearly completely cleared and the sun was invading through with a soft yellow glow.
As much as he had made the morning difficult for me, I couldn't help but start to feel the same feeling of desire towards touching him that I'd had earlier in the year. Being chased around a sports field by him had certainly had its affect on me. I watched him hovering in place in the center of the field and decided against restraining myself. The opportunity was there to strike. He was looking away towards the castle with his hand above his eyes to block the newly radiating tendrils of sunlight when I collided into him causing both of us to spiral towards the ground about seven feet below.
We landed with a heavy thud, Malfoy on the bottom, groaning loudly. I quickly took advantage of his shock by straddling him and pinning his arms above his head. He looked up at me coughing and confused, not really fighting the pin down. My face was so close to his I could feel his ragged breathing against my skin. He smelled like pine needles and sweat. I leaned in close to his lips and whispered, "Never assume you can let your guard down, Malfoy." Our eyes locked and his eyebrows furrowed.
We stayed like that for about ten seconds, our breath mingling, before Malfoy finally had recovered from being winded. His expression quickly regained its power and he snarled as he broke his wrists free easily and pushed me off with both hands. He scrambled to his feet, wiping the dirt streaks from his bright green robes pointlessly. It looked more as though he were deepening the stains with the effort.
"You're such a freak!" He screamed, but this was the first time his voice had slightly faltered with emotions. It almost seemed he didn't believe his own words as he said them. He was evidently disheveled from the close encounter to being kissed. My mind explored the notion that he was much more of a virgin than I had anticipated, or maybe he really just wasn't physically attracted to me.
"What do you want from me?" He had morphed suddenly back into the leering, strong Malfoy I usually saw. His voice had deepened and concentrated, his eyes narrowing in on me. I stepped forward and he stepped back, maintaining at least four feet between us.
I stood where I was and he stood where he was, hand extended at his side threatening to grab his wand from his robes.
"Well? I know you can bloody speak, so speak!" He shouted, his lip curling up in agitation. He waited, staring, like he had all day. His lime green Quidditch robes blew softly in the wind around his ankles.
I shot him a flirty smile, winking, "Guess?" I pulled at one of the ties holding my braids together and let my long hair collapse down my back, then undid the other one.
He waited a moment and rolled his eyes away, "Oh, please," His response was injected with sarcasm. I stepped slowly towards him.
"And...," he gestured at my figure, "What is this? I don't remember our uniforms ever being so, tight?" He winced. His voice was weak in his throat and he tried to look skyward, "I don't know if Snape will allow it."
"Hmm, it's for you. Do you like?" I practically batted my eyelashes at him as I stepped closer again.
He weakly faked disgust on his face as he traced my body, his gaze getting caught on certain areas by accident. Then his eyes found mine and he shook his head back and forth while maintaining eye contact, "No, they have to be fixed. This will be...distracting."
I closed the gap between us honestly shocked that he hadn't fought to maintain it. My heart was pounding hard at this point as I looked up at him. He was looking away to the side with a bizarre expression on his face. Like he was afraid I would hit him.
"Oh distracting, because, you like dis?" I asked dreamily in my French tone.
He swallowed hard, "They can't stay like that, it's not appropriate. Who cares what I think." He said it in a clipped voice, sounding so small now, his voice almost a whisper. He continued to stare away from me, stealing small, uneasy glances out of the corners of his eyes.
"I do." I said in a singsong voice. I brought my hands slowly up to his chest and slid them around his neck. He froze, stiffening like a board. He sharply in-took air and held his breath. I pressed my body against his firmly.
Then as quickly as he had been paralyzed he snapped out of it and his gloves were around my wrists, pulling my hands down to his shoulders again, "No, I can't." He gazed down at me sternly and I knew my face was stricken with disappointment and confusion. His face was twisted and a new thought occurred to me that maybe he was actually gay.
"Okay," I tried to sound casual and lighthearted as I pulled my arms back, but they were stuck. He was gripping my wrists with active intention while still staring at me.
His hooded eyes dropped down to my neck, and my chest, lingering, "You need to stop this. I have other... commitments, to attend to."
Then his gaze moved over my face before I heard him whisper, "Fuck it," under his breath. He pulled me into him and his lips pushed into mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck again as he moved his hands down around my waist, crushing me against him. It was messy and wet, he stuck his tongue in my mouth playing with mine, his lips were so soft it felt like kissing a cloud. I ran my fingers up into his messy white blond hair. I could feel him pressing hard against my leg, growing rapidly. It was like being drunk, I couldn't get enough of his firm body and forest scent.
My hand slid down his robes and before I could get close to his pants he suddenly jerked away, "Okay, that's enough!" The depth of his threat sliced through the tension. He was breathing rapidly but trying to disguise it.
"Accio, Nimbus!" He yelled, his hand outstretched. The broom slapped into his glove obediently and then he was gone like smoke in the wind. I stood there touching my lips wondering if I had just taken a bludger to the head and imagined the whole event instead.