"Malfoy!" Warrington called.
Draco carefully turned around. He stared oddly at Warrington before walking up to him. Then he poked his face.
Warrington swatted at him, a disturbed look on his face. "What are you doing, mate?!"
"Nevermind.." Draco muttered.
"Gryffindor's got themselves a new team," Warrington continued. He handed him parchment with tidy handwriting.
Draco gaped. Abby Lynch was a Beater. Well, it wasn't as though he hadn't expected it.. it was just such corruption. Playing Gryffindor was bad enough. Slytherin had never won once. This had been the cause of many of Draco's nightmares. Yes. Even Slytherin sex gods have bad dweeeams.
Draco glared at the paper. Jack Sloper was a Beater along with Abby. Ginny Weasley, Andrew Kirke, and Natalie MacDonald were Chasers. Keeper was Ronald Weasley. Seeker's position.. was none other than Harry Potter. Draco glared at his name. He glared and he glared and he glared. Then he glared some more.
The first Quidditch game was in a few weeks. Perhaps this would be the first time Slytherin would defeat them. ..Or perhaps not.
---
Quidditch practice was going substantially well. The rains were more frequent and the winds had also picked up over the past few days. Draco hated to practice in the rain, for his satisfactory robes would get so dirty. It pestered him. Like a flea on a kitten.
Warrington was working them hard. He was a tyrant of a captain, alike every other they'd ever had. Draco had been absolutely apalled when he hadn't become Quidditch captain. Then again.. he wasn't the greatest Seeker.. but he'd never admit that to himself. He was still highly jealous of Warrington, even though the prat had a face like an opossum.
Draco had caught the Snitch six times already during practice. It hadn't been the easiest task, considering the rain was so heavy and his visibility was poor. Perhaps he needed glasses. He laughed mirthlessly to himself. Glasses. Like Potter. Ha. That would never happen.
"MALFOY! GET DOWN HERE!" Warrington was calling from the ground. Practice was over, and Draco could not have been more ecstatic. Showering was a personal favorite of his.
Draco landed on the squashy, muddy ground and his feet felt funny. Perhaps it was because his Quidditch booties were too big on him. He grinned remembering when he'd bought them. It was when he thought Abby was nothing more than a delicate flowerbud that he'd manuever his way into blossoming. Could he BE more wrong?
"Malfoy. Go to sleep early. If we lose tomorrow, I'll drown you in your dinnerplate afterwards." Warrington grinned.
Draco gave an annoyed sigh. "That isn't remotely frightening."
Warrington's grin faded. "Oh. Right."
Draco hurried into the showers, washing away the mud and trying to feel less stressed about the next day's game.
---
A woosh of red streaked by Draco's left eye. He swatted at the air. The rain was harder than ever and Draco was now secretly wishing for Potter-frame glasses, considering the visibility was completely and utterly poor. Another woosh streaked past him, this time black, with a loud whirring noise as it passed just an inch from his right ear. A bludger. Draco turned and saw Abby. She was looking at him with a growing intensity in her blindingly green eyes. Even through the misty rainfall he could see them.
"TRYING TO KILL ME, LYNCH?!" He yelled to her, a deadly scowl on his drenched face.
She flew closer. "Not trying. But if it happens I won't complain." She flew off quickly and Draco glared at her backside as she disappeard to the other side of the pitch.
Gryffindor was leading 40 to 30. Draco was surprised at this. They weren't so far behind. He squinted and maneuvered his broom lower, searching for a glint of gold. Surprising himself even more, he saw one. It was hovering by the Slytherin goal post farthest left. Draco wasted no time in zooming forward. He was only a few meters away. So close.
He was knocked into very hard by Harry Potter, who's soaked red Quidditch robes were against Draco's green ones. Perhaps that icky dye would run?! He was relieved that his father hadn't bought him those genuine silk robes he'd been pestering him for all summer. Draco lied flat to his broom, speeding up, his arm outstretched. The Snitch was racing in front of them now.. daring them in a way as if it were grinning at them, teasing them and snickering as its wings beat against the moist air.
Draco's fingers were so close now, just centimeters away from the golden glint. Digits finally closed around it, and they were in fact.. not Draco's.
Defeated. Again. But there was always the wondrousness of showering.
---
Gryffindor's euphoria from winning against Slytherin yet again had not run out by the following Monday. Potions class though, was one where they could not be so ecstatic. Draco grinned at this. He sat between Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe, his face as smug as a pug in a rug (even though the saying is not quite the same.. perhaps ugly little dogs could smirk). His table also gave him perfect view of Abby. He wasn't entirely sure if this was good though, considering he'd look at her for far longer than he should. Today was probably the most unfortunate time of all. Abby's robe was unclipped. It fell more to the side of her than in front. Her gray shirt was halfway up her slim thigh and her white oxford shirt was unbuttoned an inch below her colarbones. Her cherry tresses were in messy curls falling past her shoulders, today. The color of her emerald eyes were intensified. Draco wondered if anyone could be any more annoyingly beautiful.
Suddenly she caught his eye. He didn't look away though, he stared at her with an unreadable expression. Hers was even more so, though. They broke eye contact only when Snape ordered the class to begin their potionmaking.
The bell couldn't have been a better sound to Abby's ears. Draco had been making her feel most uncomfortable, but she had kept herself seemingly unaware of this emotion to the outsider's eye. He wasn't staring at her as though she were a slab of Angus beef. No. His expression was too serious, too full of longing. She loathed him; from his entrancing eyes to his seductive lips.
Draco was just as relieved to hear the bell ring. As he gathered his materials he thought of Abby. When did he not? He was psychotic. He'd noticed little things about her today. She'd bite her lip when measuring ingredients. She would squint slightly when she looked at the directions on the board, before pulling out her glasses and pushing them onto her button nose. So her stunning eyes were not perfect. This made him grin. He loathed her.
But that did not stop him from coming up behind her as he left class, a smirk on his most flawless face.
Draco carefully turned around. He stared oddly at Warrington before walking up to him. Then he poked his face.
Warrington swatted at him, a disturbed look on his face. "What are you doing, mate?!"
"Nevermind.." Draco muttered.
"Gryffindor's got themselves a new team," Warrington continued. He handed him parchment with tidy handwriting.
Draco gaped. Abby Lynch was a Beater. Well, it wasn't as though he hadn't expected it.. it was just such corruption. Playing Gryffindor was bad enough. Slytherin had never won once. This had been the cause of many of Draco's nightmares. Yes. Even Slytherin sex gods have bad dweeeams.
Draco glared at the paper. Jack Sloper was a Beater along with Abby. Ginny Weasley, Andrew Kirke, and Natalie MacDonald were Chasers. Keeper was Ronald Weasley. Seeker's position.. was none other than Harry Potter. Draco glared at his name. He glared and he glared and he glared. Then he glared some more.
The first Quidditch game was in a few weeks. Perhaps this would be the first time Slytherin would defeat them. ..Or perhaps not.
---
Quidditch practice was going substantially well. The rains were more frequent and the winds had also picked up over the past few days. Draco hated to practice in the rain, for his satisfactory robes would get so dirty. It pestered him. Like a flea on a kitten.
Warrington was working them hard. He was a tyrant of a captain, alike every other they'd ever had. Draco had been absolutely apalled when he hadn't become Quidditch captain. Then again.. he wasn't the greatest Seeker.. but he'd never admit that to himself. He was still highly jealous of Warrington, even though the prat had a face like an opossum.
Draco had caught the Snitch six times already during practice. It hadn't been the easiest task, considering the rain was so heavy and his visibility was poor. Perhaps he needed glasses. He laughed mirthlessly to himself. Glasses. Like Potter. Ha. That would never happen.
"MALFOY! GET DOWN HERE!" Warrington was calling from the ground. Practice was over, and Draco could not have been more ecstatic. Showering was a personal favorite of his.
Draco landed on the squashy, muddy ground and his feet felt funny. Perhaps it was because his Quidditch booties were too big on him. He grinned remembering when he'd bought them. It was when he thought Abby was nothing more than a delicate flowerbud that he'd manuever his way into blossoming. Could he BE more wrong?
"Malfoy. Go to sleep early. If we lose tomorrow, I'll drown you in your dinnerplate afterwards." Warrington grinned.
Draco gave an annoyed sigh. "That isn't remotely frightening."
Warrington's grin faded. "Oh. Right."
Draco hurried into the showers, washing away the mud and trying to feel less stressed about the next day's game.
---
A woosh of red streaked by Draco's left eye. He swatted at the air. The rain was harder than ever and Draco was now secretly wishing for Potter-frame glasses, considering the visibility was completely and utterly poor. Another woosh streaked past him, this time black, with a loud whirring noise as it passed just an inch from his right ear. A bludger. Draco turned and saw Abby. She was looking at him with a growing intensity in her blindingly green eyes. Even through the misty rainfall he could see them.
"TRYING TO KILL ME, LYNCH?!" He yelled to her, a deadly scowl on his drenched face.
She flew closer. "Not trying. But if it happens I won't complain." She flew off quickly and Draco glared at her backside as she disappeard to the other side of the pitch.
Gryffindor was leading 40 to 30. Draco was surprised at this. They weren't so far behind. He squinted and maneuvered his broom lower, searching for a glint of gold. Surprising himself even more, he saw one. It was hovering by the Slytherin goal post farthest left. Draco wasted no time in zooming forward. He was only a few meters away. So close.
He was knocked into very hard by Harry Potter, who's soaked red Quidditch robes were against Draco's green ones. Perhaps that icky dye would run?! He was relieved that his father hadn't bought him those genuine silk robes he'd been pestering him for all summer. Draco lied flat to his broom, speeding up, his arm outstretched. The Snitch was racing in front of them now.. daring them in a way as if it were grinning at them, teasing them and snickering as its wings beat against the moist air.
Draco's fingers were so close now, just centimeters away from the golden glint. Digits finally closed around it, and they were in fact.. not Draco's.
Defeated. Again. But there was always the wondrousness of showering.
---
Gryffindor's euphoria from winning against Slytherin yet again had not run out by the following Monday. Potions class though, was one where they could not be so ecstatic. Draco grinned at this. He sat between Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe, his face as smug as a pug in a rug (even though the saying is not quite the same.. perhaps ugly little dogs could smirk). His table also gave him perfect view of Abby. He wasn't entirely sure if this was good though, considering he'd look at her for far longer than he should. Today was probably the most unfortunate time of all. Abby's robe was unclipped. It fell more to the side of her than in front. Her gray shirt was halfway up her slim thigh and her white oxford shirt was unbuttoned an inch below her colarbones. Her cherry tresses were in messy curls falling past her shoulders, today. The color of her emerald eyes were intensified. Draco wondered if anyone could be any more annoyingly beautiful.
Suddenly she caught his eye. He didn't look away though, he stared at her with an unreadable expression. Hers was even more so, though. They broke eye contact only when Snape ordered the class to begin their potionmaking.
The bell couldn't have been a better sound to Abby's ears. Draco had been making her feel most uncomfortable, but she had kept herself seemingly unaware of this emotion to the outsider's eye. He wasn't staring at her as though she were a slab of Angus beef. No. His expression was too serious, too full of longing. She loathed him; from his entrancing eyes to his seductive lips.
Draco was just as relieved to hear the bell ring. As he gathered his materials he thought of Abby. When did he not? He was psychotic. He'd noticed little things about her today. She'd bite her lip when measuring ingredients. She would squint slightly when she looked at the directions on the board, before pulling out her glasses and pushing them onto her button nose. So her stunning eyes were not perfect. This made him grin. He loathed her.
But that did not stop him from coming up behind her as he left class, a smirk on his most flawless face.