Better Be Slytherin
III
Quidditch Fever
The following few days came as rainy and chilly as the previous ones. The dull weather and the drowning of homework made them all exhausted and weary, but the Slytherins still found ways to have fun; Draco tipped off Filch that Harry Potter was in possession of a large collection of Dungbombs that he was storing in the Gryffindor Tower – Draco himself as well as his class-mates found it hilarious.
The entire school was in whispering confusedness – was Potter a complete nutter claiming that the Dark Lord was back, or was it indeed true? Nobody knew for sure of course, and since the Ministry and the Prophet explained in detail how he and Headmaster Dumbledore as well, were indeed of their rockers, they were prone to believe it. Draco himself knew of course – his father had told him back in June about the Dark Lord having returned, but failing to mention how Potter was involved. Although, one alternative did not rule out the other one – the Dark Lord was back, not to say that Potter was not a nutter, Draco thought.
Both professors Flitwick and McGonagall preached for a long time at the start of their double-periods on Wednesday about the importance of the OWLs – how they affected their future and that they already had to start planning what they wanted to do after Hogwarts, and work hard for it. Draco simply snorted at that. There was no reason to get all stressed out, at least not for him. Luckily, he was not poor.
But as they practiced Vanishing spells in Transfiguration that afternoon and even Pansy sneered at his less than mediocre attempts, he reckoned he might actually be forced to study this year. It irritated him sometimes that he did not have very clever friends: he was stuck with Gregory and Vincent who each year kept surprising him that their marks had made them pass (he really did not know how they did it) and Pansy who was not exactly the sharpest knife in the box, even if she was a laugh. This just meant he could not count on his friends to take notes or do homework for him to copy later, so naturally he had to do it all himself. Of course, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini were both clever, but they would never let him copy them.
The day had turned windy and cold, and as they walked down the sloping lawn towards their Care of Magical Creatures lecture at the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest they felt a few raindrops on their faces.
"Ah," said Draco, sighing blissfully to his company of Vincent, Gregory, Theodore, Blaise and Pansy and her girlfriends. "Can't tell you how much I love that that oaf Hagrid isn't here this year! Perhaps we'll actually learn something this year, and without being in mortal peril, for once..."
His housemates all laughed and Potter looked back at them, the nosy git – probably thought they were laughing about him, Draco thought. As if the world revolved around him!
They gathered around a table where their substitute teacher from the previous year, professor Grubbly-Plank was standing.
"Everyone here?" she said with a loud voice and a smile as they all gathered around. "Let's crack on then. Who can tell me what these things are called?"
She pointed towards the pile of twigs in front of her and naturally Hermione Granger's hand immediately flew into the air. Bloody know-it-all. Draco made an impression of her, making his teeth big while jumping up and down, mockingly eager to answer the question. Gregory and Vincent sniggered, while Pansy gave an high-pitched laughter which almost immediately turned into a shriek as thetwigs on the table flew up into the air and turned out to be alive; some sort of tiny wooden creatures.
Professor Grubbly-Plank finished instructing them, and they all went to grab a Bowtruckle each. Draco remotely heard a voice asking their professor the whereabouts of the oaf, Hagrid, and he immediately looked up. He felt a smirk creep up on his face; it was Potter, naturally. He knew what his father's friends were off doing, and where, and that they had seen Hagrid there – his father had told him. Enjoying the feeling of knowing he knew more than Potter, he felt a yearning to tease his foe slightly. He hurried to move nearer Potter.
"Maybe the stupid great oaf's got himself badly injured," he mumbled so only Potter would hear him, as he grabbed one of the Bowtruckles. His classmate reacted exactly as he had hoped.
"Maybe you will if you don't shut up," muttered Potter threateningly. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too big for him, if you get my drift."
Draco turned to leave, grinning over his shoulder at Potter knowing he would not have a clue what Draco was on about. That felt good. He approached his house-mates and placed himself on the ground, getting slightly irritated that he was last and therefore could not choose a better spot. He muttered about not wanting to get dirty, complaining about sitting on the ground, and sent Pansy who was sitting on a stone looking down on them all, a nasty glance. Her lip curled smugly.
Not focusing at all on his assignment, he instead looked at Potter and his friends a bit further away. He narrowed his eyes, and began smiling. Oh, how he loved making Potter's life miserable. He made sure his fellow Slytherins were listening to him as he began speaking. Gregory was grinning maliciously.
"Yes, father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry's really determined to crack down on substandard teaching in this place. So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he'll probably be sent packing straight away."
Vincent and Gregory started laughing, and got even more excited as an exclaim of pain were heard from the Gryffindors, and they looked over to see that Potter's Bowtruckle was running off towards the edge of the forest, after by the look of it have bitten him. Draco joined in his friends' laughter. His life was indeed brilliant.
The first days at Hogwarts went on, and their teachers had them not only working harder than ever on lectures, but also handed out homework every single day. It kept on raining and the sky was filled with a thick layer of clouds, creating a sense of gloominess around the castle, but as the week ended and Saturday came round it ceased and the sun actually peeked out.
The clouds were swirling around with glimpses of blue behind them. Draco was sleepily sitting stirring his teacup with his head supported on his hand, as he was looking up into the magical ceiling. The Great Hall was stuffed with babbly students having breakfast, which was something Draco could not handle right then – too early. The week had passed by quickly – the never-ending homework and lectures were extremely wearying, even though they had only been back at Hogwarts for six days.
Graham Montague came over followed by his mates Philip Vaisey, Caecus Warrington and Adrian Pucey.
"Oi, Malfoy!" the Slytherin Quidditch team-captain called out."Won't be any tryouts today; we'll have to do it tomorrow instead, yeah. Spread it to the rest of the team if you see 'em."
Draco raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, why?" he grunted.
"Sodding Gryffindor's havin' their first practice," replied Montague uninterestedly. "Don't forget – tomorrow morning, yeah?"
Draco lightened up. "Gryffindor's practicing this morning?"
"Tha's what I said, innit."
Draco started smirking. He suggested they'd go down and watch the Gryffindors – get a chance to laugh at Potter was never wrong! The other boys were in immediately.
Vincent and Gregory who sat by Draco eating dutifully, were naturally in as well. Montague and the rest continued on to let the rest of the team know all the change of plans.
Draco, Vincent and Gregory finished their breakfast and about ten minutes later when they were on their way out of the Great Hall, Draco saw Pansy babbling with her friends by the table, and when he hastily he mentioned where they were going, she came along.
On the way out of the Great Hall, Draco looked over to the Gryffindor table and smirked at Potter and Weasley, feeling content.
They left the crowded Great Hall, going out into the magnificent entrance hall, out of the gates, out to Hogwarts grounds. The view was actually rather okay – he could actually like Hogwarts at certain times. All they could see was green-brown hills, the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, the muddy Quidditch pitch and the dark lake.
"You've heard the Weasel got picked as Keeper, haven't you?" he threw at Pansy, whom he supposed weren't very updated in the situation. Her face lit up and she smiled maliciously.
"You can't be serious?"
He smiled contently.
They went down to the pitch, chattering evilly about Potter and his rubbish team. They reached the Quidditch pitch and settled down on the stands. The Slytherin Quidditch team, himself, Vincent, Gregory, Miles Bletchley, Graham Montague, Adrian Pucey, and Caecus Warrington, were accompanied by Philip Vaisey, Callum Yulley and James Yardley as well as Pansy, and they were all spread out in groups on the empty stands. They had a lovely chat until the Gryffindor team arrived. Seeing them entering the pitch, the Slytherins hastily erupted in whistles and shouts. It echoed around the stadium.
"This year just keeps getting better and better!" Draco called out loudly to his friends. "I mean, not only was that Weasel made prefect, but he actually made the house-team as well. It's like they want him to embarrass himself! I almost pity him," he grinned, to appreciative laughs from Miles, Adrian, Vincent, Gregory and Pansy.
"And what is that, a Cleansweep?" Draco went on, giving a derisive laugh. "What's that Weasley's riding?" he shouted loudly, wanting the Gryffindor team and especially Weasley himself to not be able to escape hearing him. "Why would anyone put a flying charm on a mouldy old log like that?"
His friends shrieked with laughter, while Weasley certainly looked bothered even though Saint Potter mumbled something to him, by the look of it encouraging. The Gryffindor team gathered and their captain began speaking to them all, completely ignoring Draco and the rest, but to his entertainment, Pansy interrupted her by shouting: "Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle, anyway? Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?"
The Slytherins all laughed, while the Gryffindors only kept ignoring them. They began passing the Quarrel round – Weasley dropped it. Draco and the rest shouted of laughter. The Gryffindors kept on acting like nothing and went on.
"Hey, Potter, how's your scar feeling?" Draco called out. "Sure you don't need a lie down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that's a record for you, isn't it?"
Potter only ignored him, but Draco did not care. They kept laughing whenever Weasley did something clumsy, which seemed to be all the time. Why in Merlin's name would he have been accepted on the team? If he's the best Gryffindor's got, then the Slytherins were sure to win the cup, Draco thought contently. Weasley just was not cut out for Quidditch, Draco thought, sneering.
They all had a lovely time openly mocking the Gryffindors for an hour or so. He enjoyed it when everyone laughed at his jokes. It went as far as that Ron Weasley hit another teammate with the Quaffle. That was funny as well. They sang their song about the Gryffindors being losers, and with self-content grin he enjoyed the feeling of knowing he had managed to ruin their day, just as he had planned.
The Gryffindors had their fits and finally left the pitch. The sun had just gone down behind one of the mountains, so it was getting a little darker. They hung out there for a while, but eventually, most of the Slytherin team left as well.
It was the four of them left; Draco, Pansy, Vincent and Gregory. The two oafs did nothing but to beg to go back to the castle, so Draco told them to "leave, then!"
Vincent grunted something Draco did not hear, and they climbed down the stand.
Not until they were actually alone did Draco realise that they were actually alone. That could be rather awkward.
Luckily it wasn't. Pansy babbled on about something, new robes she'd bought and gossip her friends had just told her. Draco mostly nodded in response.
It was Sunday morning and Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table having breakfast with Vincent and Gregory. Luckily enough Sunday came as another clear, beautiful day. The last day of leisure.
He finished breakfast and made his way out of the castle, followed by Vincent and Gregory. It was a clear and sunny late-summer day, but with a clear chill in the air. The grounds were green and the view, he could not deny it, was spectacular.
They got down to the stadium where Graham Montague and the two others left from the old team –Miles Bletchley and Caecus Warrington – were waiting.
Montague did it like they always did in Slytherin. He kept the old players – himself, Draco, Bletchley, Pucey and Warrington; exchanged the beater spots from Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole who had finished school and put Vincent and Gregory in their place; and finally added horse-teethed Adrian Pucey as their new third chaser. All of this took about fifteen minutes (he only had to see Pucey try-out – Vincent and Gregory got in trough plain persuasion from Draco's side); Draco felt pleased not having to try-out again; he had just only woken up, hadn't he?
The Slytherin team was scheduled for hard training right after that, not wasting any time. Draco was surprised of the eagerness and aggressiveness of Montague, who as a chaser had probably been the least pushy one. This bloke really wanted to win. His ambition rubbed off and made Draco work harder. His own job was rather simple – he just had to stay in the air looking out for the small golden Snitch, not at all getting dirty or getting into fights because of a Bludger that "mistakenly" or "that was intentional!" hit one of the other team-mates.
Ah, sighed Draco, life was good.
The weekend ended and lessons started again and Professor Umbridge was reported as "High Inquisitor". Draco read the article about it in the Daily Prophet – he smirked as he read the part about the "deficient education" and he strongly agreed. He reckoned it would be interesting to watch the other teachers get their inspections from Umbridge. He was hoping that finally something would be done about this school. Umbridge seemed like the right person to fix these errors.
Lessons went on in a blur; Draco was so bored that he nearly fell asleep several times. Both Quidditch practice and homework kept piling up, which was a bother, Draco reckoned. Along with his prefect badge forcing him to patrol every bloody night – although he did find himself perfect for the job. He had not even been surprised when he had received the badge. Well, who else? Vincent or Gregory would hardly fit any criteria not to mention that they weren't exactly authoritarian – or Blaise Zabini? Draco could laugh.
Draco was having problems with the Transfiguration homework McGonagall had assigned them with. He wished the stupid ruddy mice would just vanish already! He supposed the Mudblood Granger was probably vanishing elephants by that time (pity she wouldn't vanish herself, Draco thought). On top of it all, Pansy managed her homework well before he did; he'd liked to vanish that smirk right off her stupid face.
Umbridge began inspecting the teachers, which had her coming to a few lectures, and one Tuesday she inspected their Care of Magical Creatures period, and Draco thought disappointedly that it had been perfect if she had inspected it when the oaf, Hagrid had come back instead!
Umbridge walked about the students, asking them about the lecture. Then she turned to Gregory, and said: "I've heard students have gotten hurt in this class, is that correct?"
Goyle began grinning, but Draco hurried to answer: "That was me; I was ripped to pieces by a Hippogriff."
"A Hippogriff?" said Umbridge, writing feverishly on her board.
"Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do," came Potters angry voice. Draco looked up. He just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut, did he? Umbridge slowly turned to look at Draco's classmate. "Another night of detention, I think," she said before she abruptly left. Draco felt a huge smile spreading on his lips.
She started to grow on him.
One morning a couple of days later, they all woke up to find all of the notice boards filled with messages of a new rule of Umbridge's – no teams or clubs were allowed whatsoever at Hogwarts.
When Draco saw it, he snorted, frowning, and did not give it a second glance – why should he care that some bloody first-years weren't allowed to play Gobstones anymore? He commented so to his surroundings of Vincent, Gregory and Pansy who all murmured in agreement, but he was interrupted by the voice of Graham Montague from behind them.
"Are you daft?" the latter accused as Draco turned to face him. Draco narrowed his eyes. "It goes for Quidditch as well, course. We've got to ask permission to escape the rule, or we'll have no choice but to stop playing!"
Suddenly Draco lit up, and a few images of himself laughing politely along with Umbridge, his teammates seeing that he got their permission back looking at him with admiration, and a big Captain's badge shining on his robes, passed by in his mind and suddenly he knew exactly what to do. He pushed his way through the disgruntled common room and made his way to their new High Inquisitor's office.
On his way down to the dungeons, surrounded by Vincent, Gregory, Pansy and the rest, Draco told them contently about how he simply made his way through professor Umbridge's office to ask if she could approve of Slytherin's Quidditch team's existence. How she had invited him in for a cup of tea and small-talked with him, asking him what he felt about the school and the teachers and the headmaster. And, naturally, they had got back their permission to play – Draco had made that sure; leaving Umbridge's office with a signed document – achieving it all in about fifteen minutes. He felt outermost content, and made sure to tell his classmates that.
They all left for Potions down in the dungeons, all the while Draco was proudly describing how he had gotten the permission back, waving the parchment in everybody's face, and when he saw Potter, Weasley and Granger coming down the stairs he felt even better about himself.
He took the opportunity to speak loud enough for his enemies to hear clearly what he had to say. "Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway, I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well – he's always popping in and out of the Ministry... It'll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, won't it?"
Vincent, Gregory and Pansy sniggered heartily, and Draco sent a smug glance towards Potter. Both the latter and the Weasel were watching him hard-set with their fists clenched. The Mudblood whispered something to the both, but it did not seem to make them calmer.
"I mean," Draco went on, encouraged by their reactions, his eyes focused on Potter and Weasley, "if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance... from what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years... and as for Potter... my father says it's a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo's... Apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic."
Vincent and Gregory grunted in laughter and Pansy shrieked of cheerfulness when Draco made a horrible grimace with a limp gaping mouth and rolling eyes. But suddenly, before he had time to register what was happening, something rushed forward towards him and in a split second it pushed past Gregory and tried punching his face. Pansy cried out. It was Neville Longbottom, Draco confusedly realised as Potter held his friend back. He was punching his fists in the air, trying to get to Draco, who hastily backed off, shocked. Longbottom? That great lump? As Potter pulled a murderous-looking Longbottom back, Vincent and Gregory stepped in front of him and clenching their arms, ready to attack. Everyone around seemed to be in shock. Potter continued to remove Longbottom, with additional help from Weasley. Longbottom was shaking with anger and trying to get words out but it seemed to be a babbling mess, because nothing could be made out.
Suddenly Snape was there (Draco immediately felt safer), and reprimanded his enemies.
"Fighting, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom? Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Potter, or it'll be detention. Inside, all of you."
Pansy was gaping at Draco, as shocked as him, before they went inside and sat down at the front and brought out their books. Their fellow students were whispering about the scene that had just occurred, but when Snape slammed the door shut and turned to the class, it ceased immediately and the room became as silent as the grave.
Professor Umbridge was there for evaluation of the class, and kept questioning Snape who seemed to get frustrated but Draco could hardly focus on that, even when she was right by their table asking Pansy questions on the lectures and their teacher (on which she naturally answered approvingly). He kept glancing towards Longbottom whose breathing did not slow down until well into the lesson.
The week went on and Draco could not well focus on Longbottom and Potter's mad behaviour, since both school work and Quidditch were piling up. The upcoming match between Slytherin and Gryffindor was the most popular topic for conversation in the common room.
The first visit to Hogsmeade was planned on that Saturday. It was a clear but windy morning, and after breakfast they all formed a line in the Entrance Hall where Filch controlled that they had permission to go. Then they went down to the village. He was with Vincent and Gregory, looking through the shops, walking around, it was rather dull if he were to be honest – it was a bloody village, what could you possibly do? He'd rather go to London on his weekends, Draco thought and snorted. Pansy was with her gang of Slytherin girls, and he never saw her. He could never know where Theodore Nott and Zabini were – they were always sneaking off somewhere doing Merlin knows what by their respective lonesome. Life at school was, indeed, Draco reckoned, boring.
"Remember, no magic in the corridors!" shouted Flitwick, pointlessly trying to make the students listen to him, after them as lecture ended and everyone scraped together their belonging and lunged out of the Charms classroom for lunch the following Monday.
"Oh, please, of course you'll win," Pansy ensured Miles Bletchley ten minutes later. The Great Hall was vivid and loud, the Slytherin table all talking about the upcoming match between them and Gryffindor. Malfoy was a couple seats away, eating his stew and leading a conversation with Vincent.
"You think so, eh?" smirked Bletchley, obviously not in need of validation from anybody.
"Definitely," Pansy went on, waving with her hand as if the matter was nothing.
"I mean the chances of us losing..." pondered Caecus Warrington "Sure, they've got Potter, but we've got this lad," he punched Bletchley in the back appreciatively. Pansy smiled contently.
"I would rather trust Snape to send Potter a Valentine, honestly, the Gryffindorks will not win," declared Pansy firmly.
"WARRINGTON! Give that bat back to Goyle and return to your sodding hoops!" roared Montague with a raspy voice. The rain was pouring down over the dark and muddy Quidditch pitch. The wind was so powerful that it nearly put Draco out of course when he hovered upwards in the search for something he imagined had been the Snitch. He ignored whatever was happening around him; how Bletchley, furiously bellowing that he was going to kill him, was shooting Bludgers towards Warrington while Montague was roaring at them both.
"Oi! You bloody git, what did you do that for?!" he distantly heard Pucey's squeaky voice, who apparently had been hit as well; whether it was by accident or not, he could never know with these lads. Their practices were both wearying and dangerous. Perhaps their team-play and focus were not the best, but at matches it was completely different – that was when their loyalty and team spirit came forth.
Draco was irritated. They seemed to always have their practices when the weather was a bloody disaster – when it was jet-black and raining and the pitch muddy and the grass slippery. Ugh. He had been looking forward to practice because he was so incredibly excited to win the game, and all day he had not cared that the weather outside was a great storm and that everything was wet – it had been cosy being inside in an armchair in front of the fireplace in their common room. He had had a brilliant mood all day, mainly because the Gryffindors had cancelled their practice because of the weather and Montague had grasped the opportunity and booked the Slytherin team a hard training.
According to Pansy, Draco did not look as happy when he returned to the common room a couple of hours later with Vincent and Gregory by his sides, as soaking wet as Draco himself.
He groaned and sighed and sank down into the sofa and smelled of sweat and complained about how muddy he was and about muscle soreness and torture.
"Montague put together a bloody workout after the real practice," said Draco, exhausted and slightly whingy. "So after an hour and a half of riding around in the pouring rain, he had us all do push-ups and the likes, while he was walking about giving us instructions. While we were lying in the mud! He's absolutely mental..."
Pansy saw very little of Malfoy the following few days. On Thursday evening it was time for Prefect patrols and he was nowhere to be seen. She was sitting by the fireplace with Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode and Queenie Wilkes, trying to write their Potions-essay, but they were easily distracted by one another. Finally Malfoy jogged into the common room forty minutes late, panting and with messy hair and searched for her with his eyes.
"Pansy, let's go," he breathed out, stressed.
"Merlin," she said, frowning, "you've been sweaty every single time I've seen you the last few days."
"Yeah, I told you about Montague and the workouts he's putting together, didn't I?" replied Malfoy as his panting started to fade, "Are you coming or what?"
"Get a bloody shower first!"
He gave her a sarcastic, crooked smile and jogged out of the common room.
"...besides the regular practices on the field, which we're having almost every day... As well as he's forcing us to run half an hour every day. I've thought about strangling him in his sleep more than once... "
They were walking up from the dungeons, halfway into their patrol. Pansy laughed in the pause of his story, and then he continued, "But you know, he wants us to be in shape for the match, and we all want to win, so..."
"Yeah, of course. You've really got to win. I can't stand the Gryffindors' self-righteousness any longer..."
Malfoy looked at her with the hint of a smirk. "I'll try."
A couple of weeks passed when Snape had booked the Quidditch pitch as often as possible for the team to prepare for the match, and the Slytherins and Gryffindors all taunted each other in hope of making the other team nervous before the match. Bletchley cursed one of the Gryffindor chasers in the library and they all swore they saw nothing when asked by professor McGonagall; Pansy passed Potter in the corridors and sneered that Warrington would throw him off his broom Saturday; Peregrine Derrick, Philip Vaisey, Linus Urquhart and Darius Berrow all mocked Ron Weasley to the point where he looked mentally broken down, especially after Malfoy's usual charade of dropping a Quaffle every time they ran into each other.
The spirits in the Slytherin common room was high. Draco, and his team-mates, knew they were going to win the Cup. They could feel it, despite how short into the school-year they had come thus far.
"As long as that Weasel keeps embarrassing himself the way he's done up till now, we'll easily outscore Gryffindor," said Miles Bletchley excitedly. "Despite Goyle being the worst bloody Beater in all of Britain!" he added to the amusement of his team-mates. Adrian Pucey laughed slowly with a sly look, showing his horse-teeth.
"Oh, yes, finally, the Cup shall go to Slytherin," Draco said, leaning back in his armchair, feeling quite content of himself. "I caught the Snitch within, what, five minutes tonight at practice. And I might add it was dark and raining!"
Though no one congratulated him or looked at him admirably (Miles Bletchley merely sent a sniggering look at Quidditch captain Graham Montague), Draco smiled merrily.
October ended with whistling wind and constant rain, and November came, cold as ice. Down in the dungeons, it was so freezing that Pansy needed to sleep with not only her pink flannel pyjamas but with double blankets and teal socks on. Living in the dungeons was inhumane this time of year.
It was the night before the match and Draco and Pansy were down in the boys' dorm, fully occupied with an, according to them, brilliant idea. It had just come to them while they were lounging around the common room, making jokes at that Weasel's Quidditch skills expense, when Pansy said: "He'll make sure we win if he keeps on playing like that."
"Let's hope he does. It's like he's playing for our side for Merlin's sake!" Draco said and Pansy laughed. He smirked. "Perhaps he wants us to cheer for him."
Pansy laughed again. "Let's do that Saturday! Go on, Weasley, miss that one again, you're doing so well, yeah!" she mocked. They both laughed.
Then it had hit him. "We should do a song!"
They praised their idea straight away – Pansy wanted to take credit for it as well, claiming that she had a part in it as well, by making Draco think of it – but Draco knew he had been the one with the revelation. Yet he let her think so.
They got to work on the lyrics straight away – they couldn't find anything to rhyme with "ugly ginger face" which was really too bad, in Draco's opinion, because he would've liked to bring out that fact strongly. Instead they were able to fit in that he was born in a bin, which was important as well. The next thing was to make badges that they would make all the other Slytherins wear, as well as teach them the lyrics. When Draco or Pansy wanted something, it happened.
"Hold it still," said Draco focused, through pressed lips – but Pansy could not stop laughing. "Pansy!"
"Sorry," she laughed.
"You're going to ruin the whole thing!" he said but he could not help but to start laughing as well.
"That's why Slytherins all sing," sang Pansy in a mumble.
"I've got it now!" exclaimed Draco. He had transformed the badges to take on an crown-shaped form and managed to put writing on them as well. They now read 'WEASLEY IS OUR KING'. "Merlin, are we brilliant, or what?" he added with a self-satisfied smirk.
Pansy only laughed. "Born in a bin... Didn't know you could rhyme that well."
"Same to you. We are geniuses, in fact!" Not often could Pansy spot the same blissful happiness in Malfoy's eyes.
"How do I look?" Pansy beamed mischievously, holding up the badge over the robe on her chest.
"It's brilliant," he breathed, smirking and feeling very satisfied.
"Do you want to go hand them out to the others?"
"All right, so everyone knows what we'll do tomorrow?" said Pansy loudly, with a huge smile on her lips. The crowd assured her and then just before Draco went into his dorm, he called out: "Who's our king?!"
"Weasley!" the Slytherins cheered. He could hear Pansy laughing heartily as the door shut behind him. He slept well that night. Victory was upon them, he could feel it. He praised his cleverness once again.
Victory would most certainly be theirs, Draco thought smugly as he finished his breakfast, his heart beating fast with adrenaline. Montague spent the entire breakfast talking tactics and telling them to "just go for it"; the Slytherins had never been this set on winning. They would show those Gryffindors, by Merlin, they would.
There was a lovely feeling around the Slytherin table, or so Draco reckoned – not only the team were excited, but almost all of their house-mates were as well (except Theodore Nott and the likes – he simply did not care, and Draco could not possibly understand why. House spirit and loyalty was definitely something Nott had never heard of). Several Slytherins from the year above were practicing the lyrics for Draco and Pansy's song about Weasley while having their breakfast, Draco noticed, feeling very content.
He cast a glance over to the Gryffindor table and after seeking for him among the crowded table, he found Ron Weasley who was looking sickly nervous, much to his expectation (and appreciation).
Draco was feeling well. Very well, to be exact. It was a beautiful morning; he was well fed and had been training for this day for weeks. The team was in top shape – even his faithful two friends had been trained to hit Bludgers in the right direction. His and Pansy's brilliant example of a song had been taught to almost the entire Slytherin house. Everything was lovely.
"Are you excited?" Pansy asked him with her crooked smile, spreading pumpkin marmalade on her toast.
He rolled his eyes, smiling. "You've got no idea. It'll feel so good, finally putting Potter and the likes in their rightful place... In the mud!"
He and Pansy laughed heartily at that, until Graham Montague interrupted them.
"Getting a bit cosy with my Seeker, are we, Parkinson?"
Pansy rolled her eyes, and Graham continued: "Big boys are talking tactics now," in a rejecting manner.
"Vince, Greg, come on," said Draco ten minute later as the team were leaving. He glanced back at his classmates and fellow house-mates. They were all wearing his and Pansy's badges, and cheered the team on as they left.
"It doesn't matter if you win or lose – what matters is that I win!" Draco was firmly explaining to Graham Montague on the way down to the pitch, over the green hill. He was fed up with the constant babbling of his captain.
"We're on the same bloody team, Malfoy!" Graham scoffed.
"He means over Potter," Adrian Pucey interjected, stating the obvious, according to Draco, who only rolled his eyes. Gregory gave a grunting laugh.
"Tosser," muttered Caecus Warrington.
The day was chilly and clear – it was perfect weather for Quidditch. This is it, thought Draco as he watched the Gryffindor team come out of the changing room on the other side of the pitch. The crowd was already roaring and cheering – the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match was always exciting because of the rivalry. Draco spotted Potter and smirked and patted the badge on his chest. He knew it aggravated Potter. Montague and the Gryffindor captain, Jones, shook hands. Draco's heart was beating quickly with adrenaline and he could barely stay on the ground, and finally Hooch blew her whistle and they all lifted from the ground, quickly and forcefully.
Draco flew higher as the game began. He immediately started searching for the Snitch and noted Potter doing the same on the opposite end of the Pitch. A Bludger flew past him with just a few centimetres and he felt the rush of wind by his cheek as he dodged it. He avoided the rest of the players and flew even higher. Below him, he saw Pucey flying in for the hoops, violently shoving the Quaffle towards Weasley, and... GOAL! The Gryffindors groaned as the Slytherins started laughing and cheering, and Draco could just make out their song.
The thought of Pansy directing their house-mates to sing "Weasley Is Our King" made Draco smile smugly. He started singing too, and as he flew past the crowd, he saw Pansy and Greengrass waving their green and silver flags, their crown-shaped badges glittering in the sun. They were all singing, which made Draco smile to himself. With still no sign of the Snitch, he circled the pitch and watched what Potter was doing to see if he had caught a glimpse of it yet.
Finding nothing, much as expected (it was all too early in the match), he flew by the stands, feeling for a little encouragement. All the Slytherins were singing. It was beautiful to his ears.
He cannot block a single ring,
That's why Slytherins all sing…
As he flew past, the Slytherins including his classmates cheered, as they did any of the team-members. It made him smile contently, as he flew higher. He distantly acknowledged that Bletchley scored another goal for Slytherin, and he smiled to himself, riding around the air in a big circle high above the rest of the players.
...Weasley will make sure we win
Weasley is our king...
The match went on, and Montague managed to save it as Alicia Spinnet tried to score, but his mirth was abruptly destroyed, and he swore as Angelina Johnson scored for Gryffindor. No matter, no matter, he told himself, although he cursed Montague silently. Couldn't even outplay a girl, could he. Not to mention how Warrington hadn't scored once since the match began! Draco would have to see to it that the match went their way, he supposed.
Fifteen minutes later they were leading with 70-40, and it felt wonderful, just as it should, just as he'd planned. And all of a sudden he spotted something goldish flickering by one of the Gryffindor hoops and without hesitating one second, he dived for it. Problem was, Potter had seen it just as he had. His heart's pace was quickening in his chest, this was his moment. He cursed his broom to go faster, setting off towards the quick and inconsistent Snitch which was flying higher and higher.
He and Potter were soon locked in a battle of the Snitch, flying side by side, both with their arms outstretched, just inches away from the small, golden ball, reaching for it as if their lives depended on it. Faster, Draco mentally cursed his broom. He scratched at Potter's outstretched arm, but in a matter of seconds, it was too late, Potter grasped it in his hand, and suddenly he disappeared.
"Sod it!" shouted Draco angrily, and then looked back and saw Potter twirling to the ground. Vincent had sent a Bludger after him just as he had caught the Snitch. Draco's blood was boiling and he wanted to cause Potter any pain possible. They had written a song and everything – they were supposed to win!
He hurried across the pitch and landed by Potter. He thought feverishly for a second: he could not momentarily insult Potter logically because Potter just had received success... therefore he should just go with Weasley. Yes, he thought he had something...
He managed to press out a sneer when he looked at Potter who got out of an embrace from some girls in their team. "Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?"
Potter looked up immediately but did not answer. Draco continued, "I've never seen a worse Keeper... but then he was born in a bin... did you like my lyrics, Potter?"
"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" he called, as Potter still ignored him. "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly – we wanted to sing about his mother, see... We couldn't fit in useless loser either – for his father, you know..." He would have to go all the way, Draco decided. He would get to Potter. Gryffindor's captain and the Weasley twins all glared at him but he ignored it. "But you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" he sneered. "Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasley's hovel smells all right."
The hate that radiated from Potter and the Weasleys made him retreat slightly, for they looked ready to attack – but he could not help crossing that line. "Or perhaps you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it—"
Potter and one of the Weasley twins suddenly burst at him and he could feel nothing but pain and confusion and his first instinct was to claw after Potter's head and aim a kick towards the twin, but they were two against one. He shrieked and heard a whistle. The girls were screaming. Weasley swore and someone called "Impedimenta!" and finally the punches in his stomach and face ceased, when Potter was thrown off of him. Draco stayed on the ground, groaning and moaning and tasting blood. A stern voice shouted at Potter and Weasley and they disappeared away. The crowd resolved, and Draco started heaving himself up, thinking "Bloody wankers, two on one...".
He looked angrily up at Vincent who suddenly was there, muttering things about Potters and blood traitors, just about to let Draco support on him to get up, when he heard a girl's voice shout: "Draco!"
Not now, thought Draco, when he was embarrassed and hurt and bleeding. She rushed forward out from nowhere and pushed Vincent away, which was a great achievement because of the latter's size, and asked him in an upset voice: "Are you all right?" He did not want Pansy to be there just then, not when he just lost the match and was lying on the ground with a bloody nose – but she helped him up nonetheless; he could actually get up on his own, he did not need her, but he let her just for her sake. Pansy was shouting at some teacher that they should expel Potter and Weasley. Draco straightened up and wiped the blood of his nose with his sleeve.
"Honestly, they're both mental!" Pansy was shaking of anger and bashing Potter and Weasley all the way to the changing room, with Vincent and a few others from the team walking just behind them. Ugh, Draco did not want to look at anyone in Slytherin because he was so ashamed that they had lost. He just wanted to get out of there.
"Attacking you like that, what bloody right have they got? Sodding Potter, always seeing himself above the rules. He's no better than any of us! He's below us, if anything!"
The boys all agreed to Pansy's angry rambling, and when they were close to the changing rooms, Pansy's friends appeared. "I'm going off with them," said Pansy and nodded towards her friends. "See you lot back at the castle. Draco, are you sure you're all right?"
"Merlin, Yes," he emphasised, ashamed of losing and not wanting her to make that clear to the entire team. She left, but on the rest of the way to the changing rooms, he limped a little extra just in case she was looking.
They showered and changed and Draco had to retell his story several times to his teammates who all wanted to hear about the fight. Draco had never appreciated coming back to the castle so much. Just as he had got back to the common room, though, Minerva McGonagall came dashing in and commanded: "Malfoy, Parkinson, I'd like a word in my office. Now!"
As if Draco had not gone through enough. She turned on her heel and he and Pansy looked at each other and he shrugged.
"Take a seat," ordered McGonagall as they reached her office, and motioned toward two chairs in front of her desk. They dared naught but to obey.
"First of all, Mr. Malfoy, fist-fighting is forbidden at Hogwarts if you had not yet noticed. That scene on the pitch cost you and your house fifty points. I hope you think severely before attempting anything similar in the future." She looked like she could kill; Draco had never seen her as angry. Draco swallowed. 50 points... He hadn't even been the one to start... Very much unfair.
"Now, is it true that it's the two of you who came up with this absolutely ridiculous song about Ron Weasley?"
Draco noticed that Pansy started smiling from the corner of his eye, as if she could not hold it back. Draco pressed his lips together, forcing himself to keep a straight face.
"This is not funny, miss Parkinson!" said McGonagall fiercely. "You're both attending your fifth year at Hogwarts – you have got to stop with this childish nonsense!"
Both of them were silent, and Pansy looked away. Draco was not often spoken to in this very stern and severe manner, and he reckoned he could say the same for Pansy.
"Professor," said Draco. "Isn't this really in the responsibility of our Head of House? Not should you—"
McGonagall only looked angrier: "Well, yes, but—"
Draco looked around and then said: "Well... I can't see Snape around."
Pansy hastily agreed: "Yeah." Both of them nodded. It was their usual way of getting out of trouble – insisting that Snape should take care of them, knowing that Snape only ever told them to "possibly don't do it again" and that was that.
"I did inform Severus," said McGonagall angrily, "and he did not take the matter seriously – which I believe you both know quite well. My students in Gryffindor are being bullied by you two, and it's unacceptable. Both of you will receive detention with Mr. Filch for six weeks."
Draco and Pansy both immediately cried out of repugnance. "Six weeks?!" shrieked Pansy. "For a stupid song?"
Draco tried another strategy. "Professor McGonagall," he said, "surely this is a bit of an overreaction. We only did write a song, I'm sure the other teachers would agree that this is outrageous..."
So, detention, six weeks. McGonagall had been harder to convince than he had realised. Bugger. The day that Draco had figured was going to contain victory and celebrating in the common room just turned to rubbish, basically.
