Better Be Slytherin
XII
What Happens in Hogsmeade...
Following the Weasley twins' dramatic departure from the school, chaos erupted at Hogwarts, consisting of an open rebellion against Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad. There were dozens of cases of fever, vomiting or faint attacks every time Miss Umbridge walked into a classroom, each and every day, not to mention all the Dungbombs, and Peeves going mad. The Inquisitorial Squad found themselves attacked every now and then – Warrington ended up in the hospital wing with some sort of skin problem which made him look like he was covered in cornflakes, as well as Pansy with her antlers. On top of that, Montague had gone absolutely mad when he'd been found in that toilet which Draco dutifully had reported to professor Snape. He'd been mumbling dizzily about being stuck between two cabinets, which seemed like absolute nonsense, of course – and his parents had no choice but to come and fetch him off school, taking him away for a few days to get his confusedness and disorientation checked up at St. Mungo's, before finally being able to return to school.
"You can't catch the Snitch too quickly," Montague was pestering Draco patiently a couple of days later in the common room in front of the fire. It was about the hundredth time. "We've got to be up by at least seventy if we shall go on in the series. So if you see it before then – you've got to keep Potter off it, you know, fly off in the opposite direction as if you're going for the Snitch. He'll follow you… Or actually go after it, block Potter meanwhile until it's flown off again, and wait for Pucey and the rest to've scored a wee bit more. Got that?"
"Potter's off the team, Graham," Draco reminded him, not as patient. "Banned by Umbridge."
Montague was obviously still a bit scatter-brained. He blinked confusedly for a moment and then grunted: "Oh, right. Forgot."
There was a pause, and then Montague frowned at him. "Who's playing instead again?"
Draco half rolled his eyes but managed to hide it. "The Weasley girl."
It looked like a light had gone up for Montague. He gave a big nod and said, looking a bit more encouraged: "Right! Then there wouldn't be any problems would there? You're just up against a girl. That's… that's good news. I'd forgot."
Draco nodded agreeingly, and he would never have admitted that Ginny Weasley actually wasn't too bad at Quidditch – not like other girls anyway. But Quidditch was a sport dominated by men (for the most part) and Draco, along with the rest of the Slytherin team, definitely thought it should stay that way.
A couple of weeks later the very important match for Slytherin against Hufflepuff was to be played. It was absolutely mad.
Hufflepuff were leading after just about fifteen minutes into the match. Draco knew his task – do not catch the Snitch until they were leading with at least seventy points, but protect the Snitch from Hufflepuff to catch it. It was a complicated task that demanded loads of concentration and quick-acting. Instead, he tried to help score – finding himself desperate. Pucey was having a particularly bad match, not scoring anything at all.
The score was 80-70. Against the Hufflepuffs. Embarrassing. They would – should – be the easiest team to beat in all of Hogwarts. Warrington took the bat off Bletchley, riding around the air – the Slytherin team began shouting and yelling at each other, and Montague roared with anger as Warrington threw the bat away from him towards Megan Jones which such force that it was hurled through the air towards her in a second – there was a chorused gasp from the audience – but unfortunately for Slytherin but luckily for the Hufflepuff, it missed her by a couple of seconds, however it hit her broomstick – forcing it down, and she began crashing towards the ground, but Cadwallader managed to get to her in touch to catch her on the way. Meanwhile, the others began roaring at Warrington, and one of the other Hufflepuff boys raced through the air towards him – Madam Hooch blew her whistle – nobody listened – everybody shouted.
And in the midst of all of that, Zacharias sodding Smith caught the Snitch.
The embarrassing thing was that those bloody Hufflepuffs won by 10 points. Ten points. He could hardly believe it. The atmosphere in the changing rooms was quite unpleasant, to say the least.
Montague shouted at him for not managing his task. Roaring was more like it, echoing through the entire changing rooms, in front of the whole team. Not just that, everyone was rowing – complaining on each other, blaming each other. After showers they had calmed down the slightliest though – or at least the immediate rage had turned into deep bitterness.
"You coming along down to Hogsmeade to drown the sorrows?" Bletchley called after him as they left the changing rooms to make their way up to the castle. The rest of the boys seemed to be on the way down there, sneaking off through the gates at the edge separating Hogwarts from the village.
Draco hesitated, shifted his Quidditch bag from one shoulder to the other and said darkly: "Prefect duties. Might come down later, though."
"All right, yeah, bring the others," Bletchley ordered before he turned and walked down the green hill towards the rest of the Quidditch team, while Draco himself, Crabbe and Goyle made their way up to the castle. They reached the Slytherin common room and Crabbe and Goyle left their Quidditch bags in the dormitory, and brought Blaise and Theodore Nott along when they left again, going down to the village. Draco waited bitterly in one of the hard armchairs, until Pansy arrived a couple of minutes later, sending him a look just as bitter as he felt.
After patrolling the corridors for only half an hour, he persuaded Pansy that they go down to the pub instead (it didn't take much persuasion, to be fair). Only problem was that it was now past curfew, so they couldn't just stroll out the Entrance Hall, and had to use a secret passage.
They emerged in the cellar of Honeydukes, gigglingly sneaking up the staircase and through the dark sweet-filled shop and out on the cobbled street outside. Draco swore under his breath and sent his companion a worried look – the door gave a ting when they opened it and passed by. They hurried out and took a hasty turn into a back alley nearby. They stood quietly, in the dark, waiting. Nobody came. They looked at each other triumphantly, before heading out to the high street again. The village was at peace – it was dark, abandoned and silent. Hogsmeade was sleeping. The only sounds were voices far ahead, men drinking by the sound of it – and the only light in the village (except for someone's bedroom window in one of the dark houses) came from the same place – the place they were headed. They walked through it, chatting and feeling very free.
They finally turned left onto another street, walked ahead a little bit, and reached the place they were looking for. A rusty-looking sign was hanging over the door, with the image off a chopped off hog's head. The sign moved with a slight squeak from the wind. The two of them stepped inside, hoping they'd get served, to see a small, dark and very dirty room, smelling strongly of… goat.
Occupying one of the few large wooden tables lit by stubs of wax candles were the Slytherin Quidditch team – Montague, Bletchley, Pucey, Warrington, Crabbe and Goyle, accompanied by Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Callum Yulley and James Yardley, Philip Vaisey and rabbity one-year younger Timothy Morcott. They were all leading a loud, very angry conversation about the match, all except one – Montague, who was sitting by the side, looking like he was close to tearing his own hair out, staring into the fireplace like a madman, a big glass with the remnants of a dark liquid in his hand, his eyes read. They all greeted the newcomers, and Draco slung his cloak off, before heading to the bar. The only other visitors of the bars were a couple of drunken-looking wizards in their late fifties, scattered around the small room with their pints in front of them.
The barkeep reached in under the counter and pulled out two very dusty bottles of Butterbeer and placed them on the counter with a bang. Draco frowned and slung a couple of galleons onto the surface of the bar, grabbed the two bottles and made his way through the small room back to his fellow Slytherins. That was why they liked the place – they could get served, he thought contentedly, as he sat down and reached Pansy the other bottle and took a swig of his own, and joining the vivid conversation, bashing the Hufflepuffs.
Later on in the evening, Pansy had tried to calm them all down, and Draco had started on his fourth glass of Dragon Rum – a very strong, boiling hot drink, that made him see things dizzily and his throat burn. He ignored Pansy's attempts at a casual snog, and instead sat muttering about the match with Crabbe and Goyle. He didn't want to kiss her in front of the entire Quidditch team, that should be fairly obvious, he reckoned. Not to mention how frustrated he was of the turnout of the match. Bloody Hufflepuffs…
Apparently, however, his cool mood had irritated Pansy, and suddenly she was in his face, her eyes blazing.
"Bloody hell, what did you even bring me down here for!" she accused. He saw two of her, moving very fast around in circles before his face. He frowned, the light pricking his eyes.
"Dunno," he slurred, and he heard Blaise Zabini's muffled snigger on his left. Pansy snorted.
"It's just a bloody match."
The comment made Draco angry. He put up a sway-e finger in her face, pointing angrily. "It's not only a match. Bloody girls!" he slurred. He didn't know where it came from, but she was so annoying. Liquid courage, that was the one. He tried to tell himself it was not her fault they had not beaten Hufflepuff, but somehow it really felt like it was. Perhaps if she had led the cheer better. And perhaps if she was not so utterly clingy and her voice was not so high pitched at the moment, he would not have become as angry as he had.
Pansy gaped at him. "You don't have to take your anger out on me, Draco!"
Her voice cut into his ears – yes, she was so incredibly annoying sometimes. "Just sod off, Pansy."
Pansy gaped and dramatically said: "Sorry?!" her voice raised and high-pitched. He winced.
"Yeah!"
"You sod off!" she exclaimed back. He realised, even in his state that it was quite childish of both of them – but she made him so angry!
"You're the most immature person ever, Draco!" she accused, throwing her hands up, in an upset movement, and accidentally hit her bottle of Butterbeer, which fell and splashed all over Draco's lap.
He instinctively jumped up quickly, immediately sobering up at least a bit. Anger beginning to boil in him and the sticky liquid started soaking through his robes, he looked at her murderously: "What the fuck are you doing?"
It almost frightened her – he had never swore at her, he was so different, not her sweet, nice boyfriend – he was cold and hard and it upset her. "It's not like I did it on purpose!"
Draco rolled his eyes angrily. They now had the attention of the rest of the pub. "So typical of you," he groaned, trying to wipe the squidgy liquid off the front of his robes.
"I said I didn't mean to!" she said angrily.
"I know how you're like!" he snarled back. Suddenly an emotion filled Pansy and she wasn't frightened anymore and she didn't want him to not be angry anymore – now she was the angry one. Dramatically, before she knew what she was doing, she grabbed her bottle of Butterbeer, hear heart beating fast with rage, adrenaline pulsating through her veins, stood up in a split second and poured the rest of her Butterbeer over his head – turned it upside down and just poured, and called out: "Have fun, you prick!" before leaving the pub on her own, running back through Hogsmeade and dramatically beginning to cry.
