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.
LenaLovely12: Yes, he is a delightful child, isn't he? Yes, it's a good scene, isn't it?
Caz Malfoy: I've seen a pic of Hermione threatening Draco in the movie. It looks cool. It's my fav part in the book too.
fcuking cathy: Well, Sirius doesn't know about Cat, and it's likely to stay that way ... but I haven't got that far yet so I don't know how it'll go yet. And when did Cat get weird dreams?
Akuma-sama: *giggling at that scene you wrote in the review* oh, that'd have been good. Now see how I wrote it.
dragonsprincess: hehehe - glad you like.
Exodia Himself: Well, it seemed obvious to my twisted mind that someone had to suggest that about the Hippogriff.
And here's the low point of Draco's Quidditch career.
Chapter 18 - The Quidditch Final
"You two are totally incompetent!" I yelled, "Are you telling me you didn't once get an opportunity to get him?"
"The rest of his house are always around, trying to keep him safe." Crabbe said, while Goyle nodded in agreement.
"You are a pair of useless bloody morons!" I snapped.
"Thank you." Goyle said.
"That was NOT a compliment!!!" I yelled, getting seriously pissed off with these two.
"Oh." was the dumb response I received.
"Oh, piss off!" I snapped, storming out of the dormitory. I vaguely heard Crabbe asking which way 'off' was.
I stalked up to the Great Hall in one hell of a foul mood - anyone who was stupid enough to get in my way got yelled at, or physically attacked. Crabbe and Goyle are useless ... hired help is incompetent ... if you want a homicide done right, do it yourself - I should have learned that in first year.
My anger was slightly appeased when I heard the welcome that greeted me in the Great Hall - three quarters of the school gave me the evil-eye like I was the messenger of Lord Snake-Bastard, himself - the Slytherins, meanwhile, cheered me. Flint greeted me with a mix of warmth and warning ... this was my last chance, but until I blew it I was still part of the team, and the most important player, at that. I sat next to Flint, and basked in the full glory of being a member of the 'evil team', the 'enemy', the 'anti-heroes'. Now, this is the way life should be - now all I need to do is beat the so-called hero, and my day will be perfect.
That happy train of thought was ruined by a sudden outburst of cheers and applause, from the other three houses ... the 'hero' had deigned to grace us with his presence. I glared at Potter and muttered a string of profanities that made Flint whack me in the back of the head and tell me off for my language (this is Marcus Flint I'm talking about - the boy who made Snape blush, with his use of swear-words alone). The whole of Slytherin house was quick enough on the uptake, and commenced booing, hissing and insulting, fairly promptly.
"Last chance, Malfoy - if he wins, you're off the team." Flint hissed at me. I stared at Potter with a cross between hatred and apprehension - I didn't want to lose, at the best of times, but especially not to him. While his fan-club proceeded to encourage him with wishes of luck, I took deliberate note of my lack-of-a-fan-club, and lack of any positive encouragement - only threats to discourage failure.
I couldn't afford to lose.
* * *
After Flint's usual 'inspirational' speech ("if you can't beat them, I'll beat you ... to a bloody pulp"), I found myself walking out onto the Quidditch pitch, facing Potter. The announcer picked up on the fact that Flint had changed most of the team, so that I was by far the shortest person on our side. I had told him this was a bad idea, but he had made a point of ignoring me.
When the team captains were ordered to shake hands, they tried to break each other's hands.
And so the highly anticipated, and most important Quidditch match of the year was underway.
I did my best to ignore the commentary - what was the point of listening to biased Gryffindor babbling, anyway? And instead kept a close eye on Potter, while still trying to see the Snitch for myself. This tactic proved idiotic, when he deliberately flew off after an imaginary Snitch, and I fell for it. Still, better to follow him than let him pull that stunt when it's not his imagination.
I vaguely heard the commentator saying Gryffindor were leading by 70-10 ... that meant that if the Snitch was caught now, it would matter who caught it. And at that exact moment Potter took off aiming for a point high up over the edge of the Slytherin scoring area - I followed, also looking to that area, and saw this was no feint. I couldn't catch up at this point - I knew it ... so I went for a stalling tactic, instead, grabbing the tail of Potter's broom, to stop him reaching the Snitch.
Madam Hooch was yelling, "Penalty to Gryffindor!" So Gryffindor got a penalty - big deal - the point was that the Snitch was no longer anywhere to be seen - Potter hadn't caught it, so the game was still on, "I've never seen such tactics!" Look in Quidditch Through the Ages - the technical term for that sort of foul is Blagging.
The Gryffindor commentator was yelling, "YOU CHEATING SCUM! YOU FILTHY CHEATING BASTARD!"
"Thank you." I muttered, smirking ... the penalty missed, anyway.
After that incident, I decided to get as far away from Potter as possible ... of course, as soon as I do that, he starts following me - probably intent on stopping me from catching the Snitch. He was keeping so close to me, I hadn't a hope of seeing anything, let alone catching it ... unless you count the plague he's carrying (joke). He bumped into me a couple of times, and at every turn he tried to block me - he was doing an excellent impersonation of a very annoying shadow.
I turned away from him, and somehow he managed to be right in my way again - bloody Firebolt - how fast is that damned thing anyway? "Get out of it, Potter!"
I was amazed when he actually flew off, in the opposite direction ... turns out it wasn't because I told him to (not that I had expected him to listen to me, anyway), but because he had decided to ruin Flint's latest defence strategy, by taking a kamikaze dive at the entire Slytherin team, forcing them to scatter, and let the Gryffindor Chaser get to the goals unobstructed.
Stupid bloody suicidal Gryffindor ... the worst thing is it worked.
I turned around, with the simple intent of putting more distance between myself and Potter, when I saw it - a few feet above the grass just outside the Gryffindor scoring area - the Snitch. Potter was still trying to kill himself - this time trying to take half the audience with him - so I dove for it - catch this and we win.
I pushed the Nimbus 2001 as fast as it would go, lying flat against the broom, to get more speed - I was almost there when I felt more than saw Potter catching up - I debated between racing him and kicking out at him, but the aerodynamic distortion of kicking would throw me off as well, so I just tried to push the broom faster - he drew level, as I reached out for the Snitch - I literally felt the cold metal of one of the Snitch's wings brush against my finger-tips, before Potter shoved my hand out of the way and grabbed the Snitch himself.
Is it just my imagination, or did the Gryffindor just cheat? I wondered, and I pulled up just short of crashing into the ground.
I watched, detached, as the Gryffindor team dog-piled on top of Potter, in mid-air, and sank to the ground, to be mobbed by their fans from three houses. I flew off over the crowd, and landed at the entrance to the Slytherin changing rooms.
"You lost." Flint growled.
"Your troll-impersonating Chasers got it to the point where we could lose." I snapped back, sidestepping him, and disappearing down the corridor - I didn't go into the showers, this time - instead, I grabbed my school robes, still carrying the Nimbus 2001, and took off over the forest, to land on the edge of the lake.
* * *
I sat and stared out across the water, sulking. No one tried to follow me.
"You lost, huh?" a hoarse yet recognisable voice asked - Black.
"Yeah." I muttered, "Potter cheated."
"That's hardly likely."
"He cheated - I had the Snitch and he knocked my hand out of the way - the thing touched my hand - he grabbed it from me, when I should have won." I said coldly.
"Hmm ... ok - that does sound like him ... takes after his father ... you should have seen the hissy-fit Snape took when James beat him to the Snitch in almost the same way." Black said, sitting down beside me.
I smirked faintly, "I'd pay for photographs of THAT, if you have any."
He shrugged, "Sorry - everything I owned got confiscated by the Ministry. Any word on my rat?"
"Nothing heard so far." I said honestly.
I swear I heard him growl without changing into the dog first.
"Don't worry ... I'm sure everything'll work out fine." I said, not sure whether I meant he'd get caught, or he'd get acquitted. I didn't much care either way.
"Yuhuh." he muttered, "Look at it this way - I hear things - the cat tells me things, and I know that your team captain tried to get you kicked off the team ... well, he's not gonna be here next year, so he can't carry out his threat."
"You think awfully logically for someone who's been in Azkaban for twelve years." I noted.
"Yep ... that always did puzzle me." he muttered.
"You genuinely believe you're innocent, don't you?" I asked.
"Yes ... of bloody course!" he said, affronted that I might think he was lying.
"Well, maybe it's that belief that's kept you sane." I said, wryly, "Surely being stuck in that place when you're innocent must be better torture than making you lose your mind for it."
He made a grunting noise that could possibly be agreement. "Anyway - no offence, but I'm pleased with the outcome of the match - I was a Gryffindor, and I'm Harry's godfather, so I was rooting for the Gryffindors."
"Sure you weren't rooting through the trash?" I asked.
"Ha bloody ha." he muttered, looking at the filthy state of his hands, "It looks like it, though - doesn't it?" he added, thoughtfully.
I shook my head, trying not to laugh, "I like you - I don't care which side you're on, I still don't know if I believe you - but I like you."
"Oh, bloody brilliant ... a Malfoy likes me ... that's great - just great ... means everyone'll be more keen to believe I'm on the wrong side. Thanks." he said sarcastically.
I laughed, "Thank you, very much." I said, also sarcastically.
He shrugged, smirking, "Keep an eye out for the rat ... please." he said, looking at me, now with a grave expression, "I'm running out of time."
I nodded, "Yeah ... I'll see what I can do." I said, more inclined to believe him, now, but still unsure about it.
* * *
End of chapter 18
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.
LenaLovely12: Yes, he is a delightful child, isn't he? Yes, it's a good scene, isn't it?
Caz Malfoy: I've seen a pic of Hermione threatening Draco in the movie. It looks cool. It's my fav part in the book too.
fcuking cathy: Well, Sirius doesn't know about Cat, and it's likely to stay that way ... but I haven't got that far yet so I don't know how it'll go yet. And when did Cat get weird dreams?
Akuma-sama: *giggling at that scene you wrote in the review* oh, that'd have been good. Now see how I wrote it.
dragonsprincess: hehehe - glad you like.
Exodia Himself: Well, it seemed obvious to my twisted mind that someone had to suggest that about the Hippogriff.
And here's the low point of Draco's Quidditch career.
Chapter 18 - The Quidditch Final
"You two are totally incompetent!" I yelled, "Are you telling me you didn't once get an opportunity to get him?"
"The rest of his house are always around, trying to keep him safe." Crabbe said, while Goyle nodded in agreement.
"You are a pair of useless bloody morons!" I snapped.
"Thank you." Goyle said.
"That was NOT a compliment!!!" I yelled, getting seriously pissed off with these two.
"Oh." was the dumb response I received.
"Oh, piss off!" I snapped, storming out of the dormitory. I vaguely heard Crabbe asking which way 'off' was.
I stalked up to the Great Hall in one hell of a foul mood - anyone who was stupid enough to get in my way got yelled at, or physically attacked. Crabbe and Goyle are useless ... hired help is incompetent ... if you want a homicide done right, do it yourself - I should have learned that in first year.
My anger was slightly appeased when I heard the welcome that greeted me in the Great Hall - three quarters of the school gave me the evil-eye like I was the messenger of Lord Snake-Bastard, himself - the Slytherins, meanwhile, cheered me. Flint greeted me with a mix of warmth and warning ... this was my last chance, but until I blew it I was still part of the team, and the most important player, at that. I sat next to Flint, and basked in the full glory of being a member of the 'evil team', the 'enemy', the 'anti-heroes'. Now, this is the way life should be - now all I need to do is beat the so-called hero, and my day will be perfect.
That happy train of thought was ruined by a sudden outburst of cheers and applause, from the other three houses ... the 'hero' had deigned to grace us with his presence. I glared at Potter and muttered a string of profanities that made Flint whack me in the back of the head and tell me off for my language (this is Marcus Flint I'm talking about - the boy who made Snape blush, with his use of swear-words alone). The whole of Slytherin house was quick enough on the uptake, and commenced booing, hissing and insulting, fairly promptly.
"Last chance, Malfoy - if he wins, you're off the team." Flint hissed at me. I stared at Potter with a cross between hatred and apprehension - I didn't want to lose, at the best of times, but especially not to him. While his fan-club proceeded to encourage him with wishes of luck, I took deliberate note of my lack-of-a-fan-club, and lack of any positive encouragement - only threats to discourage failure.
I couldn't afford to lose.
* * *
After Flint's usual 'inspirational' speech ("if you can't beat them, I'll beat you ... to a bloody pulp"), I found myself walking out onto the Quidditch pitch, facing Potter. The announcer picked up on the fact that Flint had changed most of the team, so that I was by far the shortest person on our side. I had told him this was a bad idea, but he had made a point of ignoring me.
When the team captains were ordered to shake hands, they tried to break each other's hands.
And so the highly anticipated, and most important Quidditch match of the year was underway.
I did my best to ignore the commentary - what was the point of listening to biased Gryffindor babbling, anyway? And instead kept a close eye on Potter, while still trying to see the Snitch for myself. This tactic proved idiotic, when he deliberately flew off after an imaginary Snitch, and I fell for it. Still, better to follow him than let him pull that stunt when it's not his imagination.
I vaguely heard the commentator saying Gryffindor were leading by 70-10 ... that meant that if the Snitch was caught now, it would matter who caught it. And at that exact moment Potter took off aiming for a point high up over the edge of the Slytherin scoring area - I followed, also looking to that area, and saw this was no feint. I couldn't catch up at this point - I knew it ... so I went for a stalling tactic, instead, grabbing the tail of Potter's broom, to stop him reaching the Snitch.
Madam Hooch was yelling, "Penalty to Gryffindor!" So Gryffindor got a penalty - big deal - the point was that the Snitch was no longer anywhere to be seen - Potter hadn't caught it, so the game was still on, "I've never seen such tactics!" Look in Quidditch Through the Ages - the technical term for that sort of foul is Blagging.
The Gryffindor commentator was yelling, "YOU CHEATING SCUM! YOU FILTHY CHEATING BASTARD!"
"Thank you." I muttered, smirking ... the penalty missed, anyway.
After that incident, I decided to get as far away from Potter as possible ... of course, as soon as I do that, he starts following me - probably intent on stopping me from catching the Snitch. He was keeping so close to me, I hadn't a hope of seeing anything, let alone catching it ... unless you count the plague he's carrying (joke). He bumped into me a couple of times, and at every turn he tried to block me - he was doing an excellent impersonation of a very annoying shadow.
I turned away from him, and somehow he managed to be right in my way again - bloody Firebolt - how fast is that damned thing anyway? "Get out of it, Potter!"
I was amazed when he actually flew off, in the opposite direction ... turns out it wasn't because I told him to (not that I had expected him to listen to me, anyway), but because he had decided to ruin Flint's latest defence strategy, by taking a kamikaze dive at the entire Slytherin team, forcing them to scatter, and let the Gryffindor Chaser get to the goals unobstructed.
Stupid bloody suicidal Gryffindor ... the worst thing is it worked.
I turned around, with the simple intent of putting more distance between myself and Potter, when I saw it - a few feet above the grass just outside the Gryffindor scoring area - the Snitch. Potter was still trying to kill himself - this time trying to take half the audience with him - so I dove for it - catch this and we win.
I pushed the Nimbus 2001 as fast as it would go, lying flat against the broom, to get more speed - I was almost there when I felt more than saw Potter catching up - I debated between racing him and kicking out at him, but the aerodynamic distortion of kicking would throw me off as well, so I just tried to push the broom faster - he drew level, as I reached out for the Snitch - I literally felt the cold metal of one of the Snitch's wings brush against my finger-tips, before Potter shoved my hand out of the way and grabbed the Snitch himself.
Is it just my imagination, or did the Gryffindor just cheat? I wondered, and I pulled up just short of crashing into the ground.
I watched, detached, as the Gryffindor team dog-piled on top of Potter, in mid-air, and sank to the ground, to be mobbed by their fans from three houses. I flew off over the crowd, and landed at the entrance to the Slytherin changing rooms.
"You lost." Flint growled.
"Your troll-impersonating Chasers got it to the point where we could lose." I snapped back, sidestepping him, and disappearing down the corridor - I didn't go into the showers, this time - instead, I grabbed my school robes, still carrying the Nimbus 2001, and took off over the forest, to land on the edge of the lake.
* * *
I sat and stared out across the water, sulking. No one tried to follow me.
"You lost, huh?" a hoarse yet recognisable voice asked - Black.
"Yeah." I muttered, "Potter cheated."
"That's hardly likely."
"He cheated - I had the Snitch and he knocked my hand out of the way - the thing touched my hand - he grabbed it from me, when I should have won." I said coldly.
"Hmm ... ok - that does sound like him ... takes after his father ... you should have seen the hissy-fit Snape took when James beat him to the Snitch in almost the same way." Black said, sitting down beside me.
I smirked faintly, "I'd pay for photographs of THAT, if you have any."
He shrugged, "Sorry - everything I owned got confiscated by the Ministry. Any word on my rat?"
"Nothing heard so far." I said honestly.
I swear I heard him growl without changing into the dog first.
"Don't worry ... I'm sure everything'll work out fine." I said, not sure whether I meant he'd get caught, or he'd get acquitted. I didn't much care either way.
"Yuhuh." he muttered, "Look at it this way - I hear things - the cat tells me things, and I know that your team captain tried to get you kicked off the team ... well, he's not gonna be here next year, so he can't carry out his threat."
"You think awfully logically for someone who's been in Azkaban for twelve years." I noted.
"Yep ... that always did puzzle me." he muttered.
"You genuinely believe you're innocent, don't you?" I asked.
"Yes ... of bloody course!" he said, affronted that I might think he was lying.
"Well, maybe it's that belief that's kept you sane." I said, wryly, "Surely being stuck in that place when you're innocent must be better torture than making you lose your mind for it."
He made a grunting noise that could possibly be agreement. "Anyway - no offence, but I'm pleased with the outcome of the match - I was a Gryffindor, and I'm Harry's godfather, so I was rooting for the Gryffindors."
"Sure you weren't rooting through the trash?" I asked.
"Ha bloody ha." he muttered, looking at the filthy state of his hands, "It looks like it, though - doesn't it?" he added, thoughtfully.
I shook my head, trying not to laugh, "I like you - I don't care which side you're on, I still don't know if I believe you - but I like you."
"Oh, bloody brilliant ... a Malfoy likes me ... that's great - just great ... means everyone'll be more keen to believe I'm on the wrong side. Thanks." he said sarcastically.
I laughed, "Thank you, very much." I said, also sarcastically.
He shrugged, smirking, "Keep an eye out for the rat ... please." he said, looking at me, now with a grave expression, "I'm running out of time."
I nodded, "Yeah ... I'll see what I can do." I said, more inclined to believe him, now, but still unsure about it.
* * *
End of chapter 18