Disclaimer: Much as I'd like to, I don't own Draco Malfoy, or any part of the magical world that J.K. Rowling has all the copyrights to ... please don't sue me. There are some parts of this story that are quotes from the book - it can't be helped - events are the same as in the book, but Draco's opinion of these events may vary from Harry's.

Author's Notes: I needed to do some re-writing, after reading OotP. I have made some minor changes to this chapter, mostly spelling and grammar, but again, I will remind you, Nott's first name has changed.

Chapter 4 - Flying Lessons (not that I need them)

I am having difficulty deciding who I hate more ... Pansy or Potter ... both have managed to annoy me, to the extreme, in very different ways. Pansy won't let me talk to anything that counts as female, without her supervision - rotten little bitch. And Potter is getting all the attention - no one even notices me, if Potter is in the room ... and that is ignoring the fact that every time he sees me, he insults me - I admit that I insult him, first, but it still annoys me - he always gets the last word - damn him.

* * *

'Flying lessons for first year students will begin

this Thursday (26th September).

Slytherin and Gryffindor students are to be on the

front lawn at 3-30pm, sharp. Anyone who is late

will miss the lesson completely.

Signed,

Madam Hooch; Flying teacher and Quidditch coach.'

"Flying lessons?" Theodore Nott asked, with a sceptical tone, "With the GRYFFINDORS?" Theodore is the only other boy in my dormitory who has any brains. I can actually hold a civilized conversation with him - something there is absolutely no hope of with either Crabbe or Goyle.

"What do we need flying lessons for, anyway? I can understand that the Gryffindor-Mudbloods would never have seen a broomstick before, and I also heard that Longbottom's granny has never let him near one, either - don't blame her ... but I am insulted that they think I don't already know how to fly." I said.

Theodore nodded, "We all heard you going on about how great a flier you are, Draco." he said, "Flint finally got you to shut up by telling you he'd give you a chance for the team ... please don't start with the hell-copper story again."

I glared at him, "I will talk about what I damn well please ... and I think they're called helicopters." I said, "That's not the point, though - what's the betting that Potter makes a complete fool of himself?"

"He's done as much flying as any Mudblood-first-year ... I'd say odds are good." Theodore said.

* * *

That Thursday, I woke up with a splitting headache. "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! ..." I am going to have to figure out how to disassemble that alarm clock - I want to make it wake me up without SCREAMING at me.

"Shut the Hell up, before I throw you out the bloody window!" I snapped at the clock - it stopped shouting.

"What's wrong with you, Draco?" Theodore asked.

"My head hurts." I muttered, "I'm going back to sleep." I added, pulling the bed-sheets over my head, in the hopes of making the world disappear.

"You want to miss Transfiguration? You know McGonagall has it in for us." he said.

I made some incoherent noise, that wasn't meant to sound like anything, and remained where I was.

"You know the flying is today?" he asked.

"Yes." I mumbled.

"Do you care?" he inquired.

"Not at the moment." I managed to say - this conversation was not helping my headache.

"Get up, before you lose house-points ... you know you will lose points if you cut class." he said.

I groaned, and sat up, glaring at him - if looks could kill.

* * *

I made it into the common room, before collapsing on the nearest chair, rubbing my temples - my head was hurting even more, now - of course the noise in the room was not helping.

"What's the matter, Drackey, baby?" Pansy asked, sitting down next to me - not what I need - Pansy is the last thing anyone with a headache ever needs.

"Go away, Pansy." I muttered, not even looking at her.

The other first-year girls - Cat, Blaise, and Milli - appeared next to Pansy, "Pans ... we'll be late for breakfast if we don't go now." Milli said.

"What's wrong with Draco?" Cat asked.

"My head hurts ... please take Pansy away, before she makes it worse." I said, still not looking up.

"Michael knows a cure for headaches ... well it's meant for hangovers, but it works on the symptom, rather than the cause." Blaise said.

"Who's Michael?" Milli asked.

"My brother, you dunce - I told you last week." Blaise said.

"I'm not good with names." Milli admitted. With a name like hers (Millicent Bulstrode), I'd be bad on names, too.

"If you can fix it, I'll try anything." I said, finally looking up, but only to glare at Theodore, who had forced me to get up, and face the world - not something I felt like doing at that moment.

Blaise ran off, and returned less than a minute later, with an older boy - probably a third or fourth year, but I wasn't sure. He was saying, "... and if you ever come into our dormitory again, I'll scalp you, lil sis." he then saw the crowd of first years that had assembled around my chair, and said, "So what did you want me for, anyway?"

"Headache cure." Blaise said, simply, pointing at me as she said it.

"Easy." Michael said, and muttered a spell that I didn't quite catch, as he tapped a wand to my head - and all of a sudden, I was able to think properly again.

"Thank you." I said, honestly grateful.

"No problem." Michael said, before running off to breakfast.

* * *

The girls (all four of them) accompanied me up to breakfast, that morning - Pansy was hanging onto me as if she thought all the other girls in the school would pounce on me if she left me alone for a moment. I found Crabbe and Goyle loitering in the Entrance Hall - having already eaten and apparently planning on seconds. They joined up with us, taking on their usual bodyguard positions. I managed to ditch Pansy, and her entourage, as we passed the Gryffindor table, by using the fact that I was going to torment the Gryffindors as an excuse. I found the easiest target, and struck - I snatched something away from Longbottom - it turned out to be a Remembrall. Potter and Weasley jumped up, to defend the boy (who I still think should have been a Hufflepuff). Unfortunately, I was denied the opportunity to turn this situation into a real fight, when McGonagall appeared. (I swear she has a vendetta against Slytherins).

McGonagall picked on me right through our Transfiguration lesson that morning. She took away ten house points from Slytherin, because she said I wasn't paying attention - if she'd asked me what she had been talking about, I could have quoted her word for word, but she didn't give me a chance. Then she told me off for not being able to turn a slip of paper into a stick of wood - no one else in the class could do it either, but I was the one she told off.

* * *

I had been looking forward to that afternoon - an opportunity to, most likely, see Potter make a fool of himself. Unfortunately, I think Madam Hooch and McGonagall are working together - Hooch told me I was gripping the broom wrong, and I don't think she made any negative comments about more than two Gryffindors ... she also made a deliberate note that I hadn't been able to summon my broom from the ground on my first try, and Potter had. Am I paranoid, or has every non-Slytherin in this school got something against me? After everyone (even Longbottom) had got their positions correct, Longbottom proved exactly why his granny hadn't let him near a broomstick - a second before we were ordered to take-off, he shot into the air, and fell flat on his face. Madam Hooch ran over to him, and muttered something about a broken wrist. She then helped the incompetent Squib-wannabie to his feet, and said, "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'." before leading Longbottom back to the school.

Bloody brilliant - now I don't get to see Potter falling off his broom. Still I could find a way to make him look like an idiot - I've always been good at making other people look like idiots (of course I don't need to bother trying, with Crabbe and Goyle - they look idiotic enough as it is). I laughed - well Longbottom's fall WAS funny, "Did you see his face, the great lump?" the other Slytherins started laughing too.

"Shut up, Malfoy," a Gryffindor girl (I think her name was Patil) snapped.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy asked, smirking (on me a smirk looks good, but on Pansy it just makes her resemblance to a pug even greater), "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

At that moment, I spotted something on the ground, where Longbottom had fallen - it was that Remembrall I had seen him with earlier, "Look!" I grabbed the Remembrall before anyone else could see it, "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." I said, holding it up for all to see, glittering in the sunlight.

Potter decided to play the hero - how quaint ... and how predictably Gryffindor of him, "Give that here, Malfoy," he said, in what I'm sure he thought was a dangerously-quiet voice.

I smirked (like I said, a smirk looks good on me), "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find," I said, nastily, "how about ... up a tree?"

I jumped onto my broomstick, as he repeated, "Give it here!" this time in a shout. Unfortunately for him, I wasn't listening, and had taken off.

I flew up to hover next to the top of a nearby tree - there weren't many trees around this side of the castle, but this one was un-climbable, and it would do well. "Come and get it, Potter!" I shouted back to him, wholly expecting him to try to fly up after me, and make a complete fool of himself - preferably falling on his face, like Longbottom had done.

Potter picked up the broom he had been about to use earlier, but Granger tried to stop him, "No!" she snapped, "Madam Hooch told us not to move ... you'll get us all into trouble."

He completely ignored her. Much to my horror and anger, he was able to fly as if he'd been doing it all his life. He took off, after me, and hovered a few feet away from me. I was finding this hard to believe - he had never flown before in his life - he was a natural. "Give it here, or I'll knock you off that broom!" he yelled, and I believed he could, too.

"Oh, yeah?" I asked, trying not to sound as worried as I felt, about the fact that he was more than capable of carrying out that threat.

And he tried, too - he flew straight at me, and nearly rammed into me, but I dodged just in time. He was quick to turn round, and line himself up for another attack. "No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," he said. That was another valid point - I was getting in over my head, and I didn't like that he could easily win this round.

I decided the easiest way out of this was to turn his attention in another direction. "Catch it if you can, then!" I shouted, throwing the Remembrall as hard as I could, towards the lake. With any luck he might crash-land in the lake and drown himself.

He predictably flew off after the worthless trinket, because it belonged to someone who couldn't stand up for himself, and it was the heroic Gryffindor's duty to rescue the defenceless item.

I landed next to Crabbe and Goyle, who both looked like they had been being too stupid to take in what had just happened - nothing new there then. Pansy was all over me like a shot, saying how wonderful I was, and how clever, and any other words she could think of that she thought I was likely to take as a compliment. The Gryffindors were watching Potter. I turned my attention to him, only when I heard McGonagall's voice calling, "HARRY POTTER!" I saw that she looked livid - what had Hooch said? 'You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'.' - Potter was for it now.

* * *

So, naturally, I had to gloat. Gloating is a hobby, and an art that I have perfected over the years. That dinnertime, I waited for the Weasel-twins to leave Potter alone, before advancing on the Gryffindor table, accompanied by my Professional-Shadow-Impersonators. "Having your last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?" I taunted.

He looked up at me, with an air of smugness that rivalled my own - something definitely was not right about that, "You're a lot braver now your back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you." What 'little' friends? Those two cannot be classified as 'little' by any stretch of the imagination.

"I'd take you on any time on my own. Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only - no contact." don't want him punching my face. He's giving me a blank look, at that, "What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course he has!" Weasley snapped, turning on me. Was I talking to you, Weasel? No, I wasn't - speak when spoken to. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

Huh? Second? I cannot believe Weasley thinks I'm playing this that far - seconds are only for duels to the death. May as well play along, though. I looked at the two oafs behind me, and picked the slightly less stupid of the two ... not that there's much difference. "Crabbe. Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room, that's always unlocked."

With that spur-of-the-moment act of stupidity, I left them to it. I couldn't believe I had just agreed to a wizard's duel in the middle of the bloody night. And come to think of it, I never did figure out when he was leaving ... he had to have been expelled, right?

* * *

"You are NOT going to go through with this, are you?" Theodore asked, watching as Crabbe and I prepared for the duel, throwing minor hexes across our dorm room.

"Yeah - why not?" I asked, dodging a too-bloody-well-aimed shrinking charm, which ended up shrinking the chair behind me, instead. "Yes, Crabbe - do that to Weasley ... like it'd make much difference." I said, grinning.

"You are twisted, Draco." Theo noted, fighting a smirk off his face, "But seriously - I don' think it's a good idea."

"Give me a reason why not." I said, stopping the little sparring match, and turning to face Theo.

"One: Filch. Two: Peeves. Three: Lose Slytherin house points if caught. Now look at the pros of NOT going. One: Filch catch Potter. Two: Peeves attack Potter. Three: Gryffindor lose house points when they get caught. Convincing enough argument?" Theo asked.

"Good point. Now this. I want to flatten Potter. I want to beat him at this duel, to prove I'm better than him. I will go, in spite of all that, just because I want to beat him." I said, adamantly. There was no changing my mind. Nothing. I was going.

* * *

"Is it clear yet?" Crabbe whispered, from behind me.

"No, you nitwit. I don't get it. Why hasn't Filch come and dealt with them yet?" I whispered, in response. We were hiding in the doorway of a disused dungeon classroom, watching Peeves playing a game that resembled what Muggles call paintball, with the Weasley twins ... the Weasleys appeared to be winning, but there was no way we were going to get caught in the crossfire.

"Are you sure there's no other way out of here?" Crabbe asked impatiently.

"There's a doorway behind the bookcase, in the back of the classroom, but it only leads back to the common room, and we'd still have this lot to get past." I muttered.

"So? Let's just give up and go back. I'm tired." Crabbe said, emphasising it with a yawn.

"Fine, fine. Whatever. I'll still have that duel ... just not tonight." I said, turning away from the view of the carnage, and showing Crabbe how to use bookcase-doors.

I do remember one of the Weasleys yelling, "He's getting away!" we probably could have gotten past them, then, but I'll never really know, will I?

* * *

"Lousy bloody karma!" I yelled, kicking my trunk, and collapsing onto my bed. "I can't believe they didn't expel him."

"What's worse, though - they actually rewarded him for breaking the rules." Theo said, quietly.

"Yeah - he gets to play for their Quidditch team without even a try-out. Flint let me go to the try-outs, and deliberately knocked me off with the f***ing Bludger before I had a chance." I snarled.

"I really don't want to picture Bludgers f***ing, thank you very much." Theo said, trying not to smirk at said mental picture.

"Flint did it on purpose, you know." I said, "And the smug Gryffindor git was given a free pass to play, without try-outs at all."

"So you've already said. A dozen times." Theo sighed, before quite deliberately throwing a textbook at me, "Snap out of it, and get back at him."

"Who? Flint or Potter?"

"Both?" Theo suggested, shrugging.

* * *

End of chapter 4