Authors Note- Warning: This fic will blow. I know this already. I've been
off lately when it comes down to my writing, and this definitely is not one
of my favorite pieces. Far from it. In fact, it started off because I was
uber bored in History class. To me it all reads too cliché, and I hope to
the God I don't believe in that it'll change as it progresses. Anyhow,
thanks for reading, and sorry for wasting your time.
It was a boring, muddy day, having rained all week (not an unusual occurrence in England, of course), and Draco couldn't stand being holed up inside the castle any longer. He'd go nutters if he had to listen to Pansy's mindless babbling or watch Crabb and Goyle eat their way through insane amounts of food (which, by all means, is quite entertaining until they begin competing over who could eat tripe, haggis, pudding, and pumpkin juice together without vomiting.) any longer.
So there he walked, the hem of his robes tinted brown, his boots sinking into the thick layers of mud with his every step, and his Nimbus 2001 in hand. It was still raining a bit, though nothing to worry over, and the sun was nowhere to be seen, hidden behind big, gray clouds.
The Quidditch Pitch.
He longed to fly around the stands without anyone else to bother him. But of course he wouldn't get that. Someone -- a girl -- had beaten him to it.
"Bloody Hell..." He swore, watching the girl fly around the stands. Squinting to see her form this distance he could already see that something was wrong with her broom. Flashes of red hair whipped about her face as the broom jerked her around.
He didn't know what possessed him to do it. He was a Slytherin damnit, he shouldn't be doing it. So why the hell was he on his broom?
He sped off after her, the wind tugging at his face, and his robes billowing out behind him. Her broom had been tilted vertically. A complete 90-degree angle. Draco leaned forward, willing his broom to fly faster. Everything seemed a blur of color, and whether he was the speed he was flying at or pure adrenaline was beyond him. All he could think of was her.
Her, who was beginning to slide along the wooden shaft of the broom as she fought to right herself.
"Soddin' broom..." he cursed loudly, almost unable to hear himself over the deafening roar of the wind and rain. His hands slipped over the broom's slick handle, fighting to gain speed.
She was feet away from him and still he felt like he was moving too slow. The rain was coming down harder now, and his grip on the broom was weakening....
And then she fell. Falling at such a rate that he didn't think he could catch her. But he didn't have time to think. Throwing himself into a steep dive, Draco flew beneath her. Potter's move. Sharp dives like this. The thought of it made him cringe, if only for a moment. He had better things to worry about than accidentally mimicking Potter on the field.
All the same, Draco hesitantly removed his hands from the broom, extending them in order to catch her. Now he had only his legs to keep him steady, and from this height he knew for a fact that neither would survive the fall. Good timing, he supposed, because she fell in into his arms only seconds later.
"Hmph—"he groaned, the weight of her fall knocking the wind from him. Somehow he managed to seat her on the broom, one hand around her waist, the other grasping the broom tightly as he took off for the ground.
"Malfoy!" The girl snarled. He knew for a fact that she would have pushed him off of her if the weren't so far off the ground.
"Shut it, Weasel. I just saved your hide." He snapped back, pulling the broom to a complete halt in the air. "Do you have a death wish?" he yelled, tightening his grip on her waist.
"Oh shut you gob, Draco. You came out here to fly, too." She retorted, turning to look at him.
"Unlike you, Ginny, I know how to fly."
"And what was I doing just now, shagging the stands?"
"You lost control of the broom, you dolt. Did you fail to notice that your broom was completely vertical, or were you too busy pleasuring yourself with it to care?"
"You're sick, you great ponce!" She screamed." And I can too handle myself...I just..." she trailed off. Draco could see she wouldn't willingly admit she'd made a mistake. Her skin had even turned an odd shade of lobster red. Satisfied, Draco made a soft landing. He even began to do the gentlemanly thing and help her off of the broom, but she refused him.
"Don't look at me like that." She said. "Get that smug grin off your face, Malfoy...STOP IT!"
"I'm not doing a damn thing, Princess."
"Don't call me that."
"Princess."
"MALFOY!"
"Prrrrriiiinnnnnnccceessss."
"DRACO MALFOY!" She shrieked, tackling him to the soggy ground, the palms of her hands forcing his shoulders into the mud.
"'Ey! Watch it!" He complained. "These robes cost my father a fortune, you know!"
"Listen, just because you had the decency—"She snickered at this. "—The decency to play Disposable Hero and rescue me from the big, bad broomstick, doesn't mean you can make nice with me afterward. I don't owe you any sort of reward." She said, jabbing her finger into the center of his chest. "...AND stop trying to rub in the fact that I'm poor!" she added, as an afterthought.
'Bleedin' Christ, that hurt!' he thought, rubbing his chest. He watched as she stared at him. Confused. She actually looked confused. Digging her knee into his groin as she scrambled to her feet (whether accidental or not, he wasn't sure), Draco curled into himself, his gaze never leaving her as she sprinted back to the castle.
"Until next time, Princess..." he coughed, a slight smirk gracing his pale features.
Note- I'm back. Review. I don't care what you say, flame me if you like. Apathetic little me won't give a damn whether you tell me the first chapter sucked royally, or if you loved it to death and wish to form a shrine after me. Just. Review.
It was a boring, muddy day, having rained all week (not an unusual occurrence in England, of course), and Draco couldn't stand being holed up inside the castle any longer. He'd go nutters if he had to listen to Pansy's mindless babbling or watch Crabb and Goyle eat their way through insane amounts of food (which, by all means, is quite entertaining until they begin competing over who could eat tripe, haggis, pudding, and pumpkin juice together without vomiting.) any longer.
So there he walked, the hem of his robes tinted brown, his boots sinking into the thick layers of mud with his every step, and his Nimbus 2001 in hand. It was still raining a bit, though nothing to worry over, and the sun was nowhere to be seen, hidden behind big, gray clouds.
The Quidditch Pitch.
He longed to fly around the stands without anyone else to bother him. But of course he wouldn't get that. Someone -- a girl -- had beaten him to it.
"Bloody Hell..." He swore, watching the girl fly around the stands. Squinting to see her form this distance he could already see that something was wrong with her broom. Flashes of red hair whipped about her face as the broom jerked her around.
He didn't know what possessed him to do it. He was a Slytherin damnit, he shouldn't be doing it. So why the hell was he on his broom?
He sped off after her, the wind tugging at his face, and his robes billowing out behind him. Her broom had been tilted vertically. A complete 90-degree angle. Draco leaned forward, willing his broom to fly faster. Everything seemed a blur of color, and whether he was the speed he was flying at or pure adrenaline was beyond him. All he could think of was her.
Her, who was beginning to slide along the wooden shaft of the broom as she fought to right herself.
"Soddin' broom..." he cursed loudly, almost unable to hear himself over the deafening roar of the wind and rain. His hands slipped over the broom's slick handle, fighting to gain speed.
She was feet away from him and still he felt like he was moving too slow. The rain was coming down harder now, and his grip on the broom was weakening....
And then she fell. Falling at such a rate that he didn't think he could catch her. But he didn't have time to think. Throwing himself into a steep dive, Draco flew beneath her. Potter's move. Sharp dives like this. The thought of it made him cringe, if only for a moment. He had better things to worry about than accidentally mimicking Potter on the field.
All the same, Draco hesitantly removed his hands from the broom, extending them in order to catch her. Now he had only his legs to keep him steady, and from this height he knew for a fact that neither would survive the fall. Good timing, he supposed, because she fell in into his arms only seconds later.
"Hmph—"he groaned, the weight of her fall knocking the wind from him. Somehow he managed to seat her on the broom, one hand around her waist, the other grasping the broom tightly as he took off for the ground.
"Malfoy!" The girl snarled. He knew for a fact that she would have pushed him off of her if the weren't so far off the ground.
"Shut it, Weasel. I just saved your hide." He snapped back, pulling the broom to a complete halt in the air. "Do you have a death wish?" he yelled, tightening his grip on her waist.
"Oh shut you gob, Draco. You came out here to fly, too." She retorted, turning to look at him.
"Unlike you, Ginny, I know how to fly."
"And what was I doing just now, shagging the stands?"
"You lost control of the broom, you dolt. Did you fail to notice that your broom was completely vertical, or were you too busy pleasuring yourself with it to care?"
"You're sick, you great ponce!" She screamed." And I can too handle myself...I just..." she trailed off. Draco could see she wouldn't willingly admit she'd made a mistake. Her skin had even turned an odd shade of lobster red. Satisfied, Draco made a soft landing. He even began to do the gentlemanly thing and help her off of the broom, but she refused him.
"Don't look at me like that." She said. "Get that smug grin off your face, Malfoy...STOP IT!"
"I'm not doing a damn thing, Princess."
"Don't call me that."
"Princess."
"MALFOY!"
"Prrrrriiiinnnnnnccceessss."
"DRACO MALFOY!" She shrieked, tackling him to the soggy ground, the palms of her hands forcing his shoulders into the mud.
"'Ey! Watch it!" He complained. "These robes cost my father a fortune, you know!"
"Listen, just because you had the decency—"She snickered at this. "—The decency to play Disposable Hero and rescue me from the big, bad broomstick, doesn't mean you can make nice with me afterward. I don't owe you any sort of reward." She said, jabbing her finger into the center of his chest. "...AND stop trying to rub in the fact that I'm poor!" she added, as an afterthought.
'Bleedin' Christ, that hurt!' he thought, rubbing his chest. He watched as she stared at him. Confused. She actually looked confused. Digging her knee into his groin as she scrambled to her feet (whether accidental or not, he wasn't sure), Draco curled into himself, his gaze never leaving her as she sprinted back to the castle.
"Until next time, Princess..." he coughed, a slight smirk gracing his pale features.
Note- I'm back. Review. I don't care what you say, flame me if you like. Apathetic little me won't give a damn whether you tell me the first chapter sucked royally, or if you loved it to death and wish to form a shrine after me. Just. Review.