A/N: So it's 3:22 in the morning and I'm still writing this. I guess it's
worth it. I'm bringing back Oliver Wood (::drools:: Sean Biggerstaff!!!).
Don't worry, it'll work. The chapter's kind of based on the quote by George
Orwell, that history "is decided on the playing fields of Eton." Well this
ain't Eton, but it's famous and English, so I'm sure there are
similarities. We'll just let history be decided on the Quidditch fields of
Hogwarts then. . .
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*The fifth letter today! He just doesn't get it!* Hermione thought to herself, crumpling up the parchment and threw it into the nearest fireplace. The library was near empty so no one truly noticed her angry outburst but the portrait of Sir Wellington Stoole , the first wizard to promote positive muggle-wizard relations. He drew back in his portrait at the poof of sparks that emitted from the fireplace-- those things happened with enchanted letters all the time, but over the course of 647 years, he still had not gotten used to it.
Hermione, on the other hand, was blatantly ignoring the flash show going on behind her. She instead focused, or tried to focus, on her arithmancy homework. But she couldn't, just could not get her mind off of what Draco had called her. And then all the letters, filled with half-excuses asking for forgiveness, all the while enchanted so only she could read them. 'I'm sorry Hermione. I had a headache, so I was angry.' Or better still, 'I took medication for that incident last night, so my mind was a bit foggy.' But the best yet had to be 'I didn't know it was you. Thought it was someone else.' Hermione nearly laughed out of insane ire. *Why didn't he just say he was nutters, just let out of St. Mungo's? Or maybe that he had just taken a potion that morning and it permanently lodged his head up his arse? Or perhaps, perhaps he could just tell the truth!* Hermione was putting ever more pressure on her quill, and in the middle of her angry thoughts, the quill tip snapped in half. With an exasperated sigh, she took a closer look, realizing that her homework would have to go unfinished for the night. She certainly couldn't write with this anymore.. Ugh, this was all Malfoy's fault. He was upending her life.
She slammed her books closed and threw them into her bag. The only thing that would brighten her life was the Quidditch match the next day. Hermione hoped that Gryffindor would win this one, but with the newest batch of members on the team, she somehow doubted that outcome.
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Draco couldn't understand it. He had sent five letters, and Hermione hadn't responded to a single one. She should have responded by now. Maybe his plan wasn't working as well as it should. . .
But that could be remedied! The plan could still work. She could still be won over. She could still like him. Draco looked in his mirror, fastening the clasp on his Slytherin green Quidditch robe. He picked up the collar, and brought it to his nose. It still smelled like her, lavender and sunflowers. He could still like her. . .
But that would never happen. Draco would never allow that. Not with a Mudblood. Not something his father would frown upon. He looked down at his latest package from home, a brand new Fire Jet 5, by Firebolt. Enclosed in the box was a letter from Lucius Malfoy, in aristocratic scrawling script. He had promised his son the newest and best in the broom-line, and he had pulled through, even from behind bars, but with the strictest of conditions that it be used to beat Harry Potter. He certainly had enough of a reason to beat Gryffindor on the threats that the disrespectful Ron Weasley had dished out to him yesterday. Draco's resolve shot right back up where he wanted it to be. He grabbed his Fire Jet fiercely and strode out the doors. It was time to take care of business.
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The crowd was roaring, creating a ring in Hermione's ears as she edged her way to the front of the viewing booth. She finally pushed her way through and slid down the row of seats to the one Parvati Patil had saved for her. Parvati, accompanied by Lavender Brown, smiled up to her as she sat down.
"Hey you. You're looking a little high strung today. Too much coffee this morning?"
Hermione smiled uneasily. "Just excited about the game!" Nervous was more like it. She was wishing upon wishes that Ron, who had been practicing all summer as keeper, could do a better job than he had done the year before. She peered across the field to the Slytherin stands. They were already rehearsing "Weasley is Our King". . .and the game hadn't even started yet.
She felt a presence sit next to her. Turning to face it, she was greeted by Oliver Wood.
"Harry's friend, right? I think it was Hermione?" He noted, and she shook her head yes. "Heh, good to remember someone not on the field right now! Doesn't happen often."
Hermione gave a polite smile and a half-amused laugh. "Don't mean to be rude, but what are you doing here. Last I heard from Harry, you were off training with your team."
"Aye, went pro now." He said with his Scottish roll. "But we're on a break at the moment. Coach wanted to be present at the birth of his triplets. If you ask me, it was damn inconsiderate of that woman, going into labour at the start of training. At least there will be some kids around now to teach during after-season. That's what I want to do, after all the team business gets old-- teach. Anyway, Dumbledorr found out, wise man he is, and invited me to come and view the game. Said I could sit in the faculty stand with him. But I thought it would be nice to view it all from the house stands. Never actually sat here before." He knocked the bench with his knuckles. "Rather uncomfortable, eh?"
Slowly, almost impossibly, the roar of the crowd grew louder. Hermione turned to the base of the Quidditch stadium. The doors to the team halls were opened, and the players, swiftly and adeptly, flew onto the field. The decibel was deafening as each team swept over their house's stands. The students went wild, cheering and waving their house colors. Hermione tried desperately to find Ron and Harry, but she could not see them amidst the crimson and gold banners. She couldn't see Malfoy either; not that she was looking for him, she told herself.
Finally Madame Hooch blew the whistle, calling the players down to their respective half of the field. The crowd finally eased back a bit into their seats. Then she saw them. Draco and Harry head to head in front of Madame Hooch, and close behind Harry was Ron. She could practically feel the disgust between them, knowing full well that Harry knew what had happened the day before. Parvati and Lavender spoke at great length about it.
"Clean match today, you hear? I mean it! I have absolutely no tolerance for the foul tricks anymore." Madame Hooch boomed, but then began talking under her breath. "Turning Quidditch into a circus, they are. Every year something new happens. No respect for the game. Children! Humph! Honestly. . ." Realizing she was talking to herself, she straightened and set a resolute look upon her face. She picked up the golden snitch, glanced at it with admiration, and sent it buzzing into the air. "Players, mount your brooms!"
Madame Hooch released the bludgers as the teams straddled the broomsticks. Hermione could see Draco mutter something, and Harry's knuckles turn white with tightness on his broom handle.
"On my whistle. . ."
Madam Hooch fingered the quaffle with animation. The air was electric, the crowd dulling their noise even lower in expectation. The players tensed on their brooms, leaning forward slightly. She could see Harry gesture to Ron, and muttering back and forth with Draco.
::PSSSSSSSSSSSSST!:: The shrill whistle blew as Madame Hooch hurled the quaffle up in the air. In that split second, the players kicked off and thrust themselves upward, scurrying to find their places, find their respective playing balls, find where the enemy was.
Ginny Weasley, skillful in her role as a chaser, snatched up the quaffle and raced down the field, swerving to avoid the foreboding Millicent Bulstrode, new addition to the Slytherin refrigerator-like line up. Goyle launched a fierce bludger attack, but Ginny swiftly dodged it, and with a slick fake, she hurled the quaffle through the middle ring.
10 points for Gryffindor. Hermione sighed appreciatively as the crowd around her went wild. A play was made for the Gryffindor rings, and Hermione rung her scarf so tight, she nearly pulled off the tassels. But Ron, pulling through with his newfound competence, managed to block it. Again the Gryffindor stands roared, waving their pennants, and Hermione, noting Ron glancing her way, smiled broadly at him and applauded.
He burst into a grin and took a whole new confidence. Suddenly aware that there was a fan out there in the crowd, just for him, he began racing to make the saves, darting from ring to ring and making plays that he had "obviously read about in a textbook," according to Oliver. Gryffindor was racking up the points, now 110 to 70.
The Slytherin stands were now hissing in fury. Another quaffle was thrown at the Gryffindor rings, and Ron, smooth and with a slight over-confidence, flipped backward on the broom to knock it back into play. Gryffindors started screaming in excitement. Hermione cheered, but looked further upward, searching for Harry and his hunt for the snitch.
She spotted him, crimson robes beginning to swing over his left shoulder as Draco, perched next to him, repeatedly shoved him over with his broom. He must have said something nasty, because Harry started pushing back. The driving was gaining in momentum, and Draco began to go beyond muttering. It looked like he was all out shouting.
Hermione raised her wand discretely and whispered an incantation to hear them. Suddenly, their voices grew loud in her right ear. She could hear everything they were saying, or at this point, screaming.
"You've always been a filthy fucker, Malfoy! You and your fat arse girlfriend!" Harry shouldered Draco again. "Bit of a crumpet, ain't she!?"
Draco laughed menacingly and violently shoved back with each statement. "The Mudblood Granger's the only one here who's a crumpet. Everyone wants to fuck her. Even you want to fuck her. Only reason you're all gamed up about it is because Ron's going to get between those legs first. He always gets everything-- the credit when you do the work, the family when you have no one, the girl when you got rejected last year, the support, the friendships, the romance. So why don't you do it? Why don't you attack him instead of me? What do you have to lose?"
Harry snarled in resentment, but did not say a word. Draco knew he had him where he wanted him. At that moment, Crabbe flew past him, slightly slowly because of his growing mass. Draco lunged out for the beater stick. "Here, Potter, I'll do it for you!"
With precise aim, he caught the next bludger and sent it sailing toward Ron, who had made another astonishing play. Hermione stood up in desperation, gripping the railing in front of her. In the midst of his achievement, the growling ball hurtled to the back of his skull, and a low crunch could be heard. The crowd gave a collective gasp as the crimson cloaked keeper slowly tipped to the floor.
Hermione quickly averted her eyes, so she would not see Ron land on the grass below. Instead she brought them quickly up to Draco and Harry. Anger surged through her. *He's a asshole!* She thought, peering up at Draco. *A goddamn asshole!*
Harry was looking at him in disbelief. Draco smirked evilly. "There, Potter, all done. Just what you wanted to do."
"That's not what I wanted to do." Harry said firmly.
"Oh, and do tell, what was it you had in mind?"
Harry's eyes brightened. "This!" He hand shot out toward Draco's left ear. Thinking that he was intending to hit him, Draco ducked. But Harry never had that in mind. Instead, his fingers closed around the cold golden ball.
Harry had caught the snitch.
Draco came back up, face in amazement, as Harry shook the snitch in his face triumphantly.
"Do us all a favor, and stay far away from any Gryffindors, you Voldemort- loving bastard." Harry flew down toward the ground, to where his friend was lying. Madame Hooch had blown the whistle, and announced the winner to the raving crowd, then rushed over to help the injured Ron.
"Did you see that!? Did you see that!? Got what he deserved, dirty playing little bugger he is! Right behind his ear! Did you see that!?" Oliver was howling in happiness. Hermione held up her wand to her ear, and muttering the counter-incantation, shoved the elated Oliver Wood aside and ran down the stands to the field.
Harry was talking fiercely to Professor McGonagall as Hermione passed, pointing and hissing about Malfoy's misbehavior during the game. All she could do was nod and try to allay her emphatic seeker. Professor Snape stood nearby, looking down his long nose in disgust as the fuming friend.
Ron was lying there, head slightly bloodied, and looking obviously dizzy. He tried to pick his head up as she neared, but set it back with a groan. Hermione knelt next to him and grabbed his hand.
"Are you alright?" She said with worry.
"Of course I am. Just fine." Ron tried to brush it off. Eager to change the subject away from his less-than-strong state, he eagerly asked her, "Did you see those plays? Fred and George helped me all summer to learn those. I. . .oww!" Madame Pomfrey had lifted his head and was poking around at the site of the smash. "Easy there! May have lost a few brain cells, but I didn't lose any feeling!" He squeezed Hermione's hand to the point of pain, and when she finally pulled herself from his grip, her fingers were red and throbbing.
Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes and motioned to four house elves, each manning a corner of a stretcher. They jumped to attention and half-heaved, half-rolled Ron onto the pallet. He moaned in pain as they strained to lift him. Madame Pomfrey laughed under her breath. "Boys are usually the biggest complainers with these things." She said to Hermione, who smiled politely back. Pomfrey looked down at her patient. "We can get you fixed up, but it may take a few days in the hospital wing. Earliest I can say you'll be out is perhaps Monday."
"But. . .but. . .what about Hogsmeade?" Ron looked flustered.
"Hogsmeade can wait for another weekend, dear. You could have a concussion! Let's think about your skull rather than the sugar ones in the candy stores, alright?"
Hermione, still in a kneeling position, whispered to Ron. "Don't worry about Hogsmeade tomorrow. Health is more important than butterbeers."
Ron nodded in response, still somewhat sullen, and the house elves began to carry him across the grass back into the castle. Hermione stayed seated, feeling somehow to blame for the altercation between Draco and Ron. Harry saw the look on her face and came over.
Balancing on the balls of his feet, he patted her on the shoulder. "I spoke to McGonagall, and had a few words with Hooch, and although they can't technically punish Malfoy, because there's risk in the game, they're going to be keeping a very close eye on him. So everything will be fine." Harry stood up and began walking toward the castle. He called over his shoulder. "I'll see you back in the common room."
Hermione, for all her frustration, anger and anxiety, couldn't handle much more of the drama. She stood up violently, incensed with herself, with the way she had handled Ron and Draco, with the things that Fate was throwing her. It wasn't fair! She had to worry about more in the past few days than she had to in a long while. She just wanted to manage things the right way. But it didn't look like she was doing such a great job at it.
Staring at the grass, she saw two boots approaching her. Looking up, it was Draco Malfoy. He stopped no less than a foot away from her. She could smell the sweat, the musk of his cologne, only this time, Hermione curled her lip in disgust. Without a word, she raised her chin, and pivoting, strode off the field, leaving Draco standing solitary, silently and stupidly.
Draco raised his brows, too in shock at the confident move to focus on the plan. Hermione had acted in a very un-Granger-like action.
In fact, it was something he would have done.
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*The fifth letter today! He just doesn't get it!* Hermione thought to herself, crumpling up the parchment and threw it into the nearest fireplace. The library was near empty so no one truly noticed her angry outburst but the portrait of Sir Wellington Stoole , the first wizard to promote positive muggle-wizard relations. He drew back in his portrait at the poof of sparks that emitted from the fireplace-- those things happened with enchanted letters all the time, but over the course of 647 years, he still had not gotten used to it.
Hermione, on the other hand, was blatantly ignoring the flash show going on behind her. She instead focused, or tried to focus, on her arithmancy homework. But she couldn't, just could not get her mind off of what Draco had called her. And then all the letters, filled with half-excuses asking for forgiveness, all the while enchanted so only she could read them. 'I'm sorry Hermione. I had a headache, so I was angry.' Or better still, 'I took medication for that incident last night, so my mind was a bit foggy.' But the best yet had to be 'I didn't know it was you. Thought it was someone else.' Hermione nearly laughed out of insane ire. *Why didn't he just say he was nutters, just let out of St. Mungo's? Or maybe that he had just taken a potion that morning and it permanently lodged his head up his arse? Or perhaps, perhaps he could just tell the truth!* Hermione was putting ever more pressure on her quill, and in the middle of her angry thoughts, the quill tip snapped in half. With an exasperated sigh, she took a closer look, realizing that her homework would have to go unfinished for the night. She certainly couldn't write with this anymore.. Ugh, this was all Malfoy's fault. He was upending her life.
She slammed her books closed and threw them into her bag. The only thing that would brighten her life was the Quidditch match the next day. Hermione hoped that Gryffindor would win this one, but with the newest batch of members on the team, she somehow doubted that outcome.
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Draco couldn't understand it. He had sent five letters, and Hermione hadn't responded to a single one. She should have responded by now. Maybe his plan wasn't working as well as it should. . .
But that could be remedied! The plan could still work. She could still be won over. She could still like him. Draco looked in his mirror, fastening the clasp on his Slytherin green Quidditch robe. He picked up the collar, and brought it to his nose. It still smelled like her, lavender and sunflowers. He could still like her. . .
But that would never happen. Draco would never allow that. Not with a Mudblood. Not something his father would frown upon. He looked down at his latest package from home, a brand new Fire Jet 5, by Firebolt. Enclosed in the box was a letter from Lucius Malfoy, in aristocratic scrawling script. He had promised his son the newest and best in the broom-line, and he had pulled through, even from behind bars, but with the strictest of conditions that it be used to beat Harry Potter. He certainly had enough of a reason to beat Gryffindor on the threats that the disrespectful Ron Weasley had dished out to him yesterday. Draco's resolve shot right back up where he wanted it to be. He grabbed his Fire Jet fiercely and strode out the doors. It was time to take care of business.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
The crowd was roaring, creating a ring in Hermione's ears as she edged her way to the front of the viewing booth. She finally pushed her way through and slid down the row of seats to the one Parvati Patil had saved for her. Parvati, accompanied by Lavender Brown, smiled up to her as she sat down.
"Hey you. You're looking a little high strung today. Too much coffee this morning?"
Hermione smiled uneasily. "Just excited about the game!" Nervous was more like it. She was wishing upon wishes that Ron, who had been practicing all summer as keeper, could do a better job than he had done the year before. She peered across the field to the Slytherin stands. They were already rehearsing "Weasley is Our King". . .and the game hadn't even started yet.
She felt a presence sit next to her. Turning to face it, she was greeted by Oliver Wood.
"Harry's friend, right? I think it was Hermione?" He noted, and she shook her head yes. "Heh, good to remember someone not on the field right now! Doesn't happen often."
Hermione gave a polite smile and a half-amused laugh. "Don't mean to be rude, but what are you doing here. Last I heard from Harry, you were off training with your team."
"Aye, went pro now." He said with his Scottish roll. "But we're on a break at the moment. Coach wanted to be present at the birth of his triplets. If you ask me, it was damn inconsiderate of that woman, going into labour at the start of training. At least there will be some kids around now to teach during after-season. That's what I want to do, after all the team business gets old-- teach. Anyway, Dumbledorr found out, wise man he is, and invited me to come and view the game. Said I could sit in the faculty stand with him. But I thought it would be nice to view it all from the house stands. Never actually sat here before." He knocked the bench with his knuckles. "Rather uncomfortable, eh?"
Slowly, almost impossibly, the roar of the crowd grew louder. Hermione turned to the base of the Quidditch stadium. The doors to the team halls were opened, and the players, swiftly and adeptly, flew onto the field. The decibel was deafening as each team swept over their house's stands. The students went wild, cheering and waving their house colors. Hermione tried desperately to find Ron and Harry, but she could not see them amidst the crimson and gold banners. She couldn't see Malfoy either; not that she was looking for him, she told herself.
Finally Madame Hooch blew the whistle, calling the players down to their respective half of the field. The crowd finally eased back a bit into their seats. Then she saw them. Draco and Harry head to head in front of Madame Hooch, and close behind Harry was Ron. She could practically feel the disgust between them, knowing full well that Harry knew what had happened the day before. Parvati and Lavender spoke at great length about it.
"Clean match today, you hear? I mean it! I have absolutely no tolerance for the foul tricks anymore." Madame Hooch boomed, but then began talking under her breath. "Turning Quidditch into a circus, they are. Every year something new happens. No respect for the game. Children! Humph! Honestly. . ." Realizing she was talking to herself, she straightened and set a resolute look upon her face. She picked up the golden snitch, glanced at it with admiration, and sent it buzzing into the air. "Players, mount your brooms!"
Madame Hooch released the bludgers as the teams straddled the broomsticks. Hermione could see Draco mutter something, and Harry's knuckles turn white with tightness on his broom handle.
"On my whistle. . ."
Madam Hooch fingered the quaffle with animation. The air was electric, the crowd dulling their noise even lower in expectation. The players tensed on their brooms, leaning forward slightly. She could see Harry gesture to Ron, and muttering back and forth with Draco.
::PSSSSSSSSSSSSST!:: The shrill whistle blew as Madame Hooch hurled the quaffle up in the air. In that split second, the players kicked off and thrust themselves upward, scurrying to find their places, find their respective playing balls, find where the enemy was.
Ginny Weasley, skillful in her role as a chaser, snatched up the quaffle and raced down the field, swerving to avoid the foreboding Millicent Bulstrode, new addition to the Slytherin refrigerator-like line up. Goyle launched a fierce bludger attack, but Ginny swiftly dodged it, and with a slick fake, she hurled the quaffle through the middle ring.
10 points for Gryffindor. Hermione sighed appreciatively as the crowd around her went wild. A play was made for the Gryffindor rings, and Hermione rung her scarf so tight, she nearly pulled off the tassels. But Ron, pulling through with his newfound competence, managed to block it. Again the Gryffindor stands roared, waving their pennants, and Hermione, noting Ron glancing her way, smiled broadly at him and applauded.
He burst into a grin and took a whole new confidence. Suddenly aware that there was a fan out there in the crowd, just for him, he began racing to make the saves, darting from ring to ring and making plays that he had "obviously read about in a textbook," according to Oliver. Gryffindor was racking up the points, now 110 to 70.
The Slytherin stands were now hissing in fury. Another quaffle was thrown at the Gryffindor rings, and Ron, smooth and with a slight over-confidence, flipped backward on the broom to knock it back into play. Gryffindors started screaming in excitement. Hermione cheered, but looked further upward, searching for Harry and his hunt for the snitch.
She spotted him, crimson robes beginning to swing over his left shoulder as Draco, perched next to him, repeatedly shoved him over with his broom. He must have said something nasty, because Harry started pushing back. The driving was gaining in momentum, and Draco began to go beyond muttering. It looked like he was all out shouting.
Hermione raised her wand discretely and whispered an incantation to hear them. Suddenly, their voices grew loud in her right ear. She could hear everything they were saying, or at this point, screaming.
"You've always been a filthy fucker, Malfoy! You and your fat arse girlfriend!" Harry shouldered Draco again. "Bit of a crumpet, ain't she!?"
Draco laughed menacingly and violently shoved back with each statement. "The Mudblood Granger's the only one here who's a crumpet. Everyone wants to fuck her. Even you want to fuck her. Only reason you're all gamed up about it is because Ron's going to get between those legs first. He always gets everything-- the credit when you do the work, the family when you have no one, the girl when you got rejected last year, the support, the friendships, the romance. So why don't you do it? Why don't you attack him instead of me? What do you have to lose?"
Harry snarled in resentment, but did not say a word. Draco knew he had him where he wanted him. At that moment, Crabbe flew past him, slightly slowly because of his growing mass. Draco lunged out for the beater stick. "Here, Potter, I'll do it for you!"
With precise aim, he caught the next bludger and sent it sailing toward Ron, who had made another astonishing play. Hermione stood up in desperation, gripping the railing in front of her. In the midst of his achievement, the growling ball hurtled to the back of his skull, and a low crunch could be heard. The crowd gave a collective gasp as the crimson cloaked keeper slowly tipped to the floor.
Hermione quickly averted her eyes, so she would not see Ron land on the grass below. Instead she brought them quickly up to Draco and Harry. Anger surged through her. *He's a asshole!* She thought, peering up at Draco. *A goddamn asshole!*
Harry was looking at him in disbelief. Draco smirked evilly. "There, Potter, all done. Just what you wanted to do."
"That's not what I wanted to do." Harry said firmly.
"Oh, and do tell, what was it you had in mind?"
Harry's eyes brightened. "This!" He hand shot out toward Draco's left ear. Thinking that he was intending to hit him, Draco ducked. But Harry never had that in mind. Instead, his fingers closed around the cold golden ball.
Harry had caught the snitch.
Draco came back up, face in amazement, as Harry shook the snitch in his face triumphantly.
"Do us all a favor, and stay far away from any Gryffindors, you Voldemort- loving bastard." Harry flew down toward the ground, to where his friend was lying. Madame Hooch had blown the whistle, and announced the winner to the raving crowd, then rushed over to help the injured Ron.
"Did you see that!? Did you see that!? Got what he deserved, dirty playing little bugger he is! Right behind his ear! Did you see that!?" Oliver was howling in happiness. Hermione held up her wand to her ear, and muttering the counter-incantation, shoved the elated Oliver Wood aside and ran down the stands to the field.
Harry was talking fiercely to Professor McGonagall as Hermione passed, pointing and hissing about Malfoy's misbehavior during the game. All she could do was nod and try to allay her emphatic seeker. Professor Snape stood nearby, looking down his long nose in disgust as the fuming friend.
Ron was lying there, head slightly bloodied, and looking obviously dizzy. He tried to pick his head up as she neared, but set it back with a groan. Hermione knelt next to him and grabbed his hand.
"Are you alright?" She said with worry.
"Of course I am. Just fine." Ron tried to brush it off. Eager to change the subject away from his less-than-strong state, he eagerly asked her, "Did you see those plays? Fred and George helped me all summer to learn those. I. . .oww!" Madame Pomfrey had lifted his head and was poking around at the site of the smash. "Easy there! May have lost a few brain cells, but I didn't lose any feeling!" He squeezed Hermione's hand to the point of pain, and when she finally pulled herself from his grip, her fingers were red and throbbing.
Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes and motioned to four house elves, each manning a corner of a stretcher. They jumped to attention and half-heaved, half-rolled Ron onto the pallet. He moaned in pain as they strained to lift him. Madame Pomfrey laughed under her breath. "Boys are usually the biggest complainers with these things." She said to Hermione, who smiled politely back. Pomfrey looked down at her patient. "We can get you fixed up, but it may take a few days in the hospital wing. Earliest I can say you'll be out is perhaps Monday."
"But. . .but. . .what about Hogsmeade?" Ron looked flustered.
"Hogsmeade can wait for another weekend, dear. You could have a concussion! Let's think about your skull rather than the sugar ones in the candy stores, alright?"
Hermione, still in a kneeling position, whispered to Ron. "Don't worry about Hogsmeade tomorrow. Health is more important than butterbeers."
Ron nodded in response, still somewhat sullen, and the house elves began to carry him across the grass back into the castle. Hermione stayed seated, feeling somehow to blame for the altercation between Draco and Ron. Harry saw the look on her face and came over.
Balancing on the balls of his feet, he patted her on the shoulder. "I spoke to McGonagall, and had a few words with Hooch, and although they can't technically punish Malfoy, because there's risk in the game, they're going to be keeping a very close eye on him. So everything will be fine." Harry stood up and began walking toward the castle. He called over his shoulder. "I'll see you back in the common room."
Hermione, for all her frustration, anger and anxiety, couldn't handle much more of the drama. She stood up violently, incensed with herself, with the way she had handled Ron and Draco, with the things that Fate was throwing her. It wasn't fair! She had to worry about more in the past few days than she had to in a long while. She just wanted to manage things the right way. But it didn't look like she was doing such a great job at it.
Staring at the grass, she saw two boots approaching her. Looking up, it was Draco Malfoy. He stopped no less than a foot away from her. She could smell the sweat, the musk of his cologne, only this time, Hermione curled her lip in disgust. Without a word, she raised her chin, and pivoting, strode off the field, leaving Draco standing solitary, silently and stupidly.
Draco raised his brows, too in shock at the confident move to focus on the plan. Hermione had acted in a very un-Granger-like action.
In fact, it was something he would have done.