Disclaimer: Everything here belongs to the amazing J.K. Rowling, I own nothing but the plot...and the Slytherin Quidditch players you've never heard of.

A/N: I'm not bothering with excuses for the tardiness of this, so I'll say this: I'm not going to put a due date for each chapter anymore. It's not fair to me or the quality of the story to rush chapters; and it's not fair to you guys to tell you a chapter will be up and then be a week late with it. So this will be updated when it is. But rest assured, I WILL NOT go 3 months in between updates...I want to have this finished by November 3rd, a year after I started it, lol. If you want me to email you when I update the next chapter, just leave your email address and you will be notified once a new chapter is up.

On a happier note, I am finally 16. ::grins proudly:: Whoo hoo! Thanks to all who wished me a happy birthday. And of course to those who reviewed - YOU ALL ROCK, I LOVE YOU!!! 247 reviews, I really can't explain how exciting that is :)




The Pain Within
Chapter 17: Trouble



The next morning Draco wished he hadn't told Harry to go full throttle on him. He was feeling the effects of dodging spells on top of his already aching body. His back was bruised from falling over that bloody chair and his thigh muscles were sore from having to hop around. Oh well, he thought as he laid out his Quidditch uniform for later that day. I made the Anti-Ache Potion for a reason. He got dressed in his school uniform just to eat breakfast before beginning his daily dosage of potions.

He rubbed the smooth Bruisewart Balm on the new bruise on his back as well as the old ones. Then he watched them all disappear as he swallowed the Concealment Potion. Suddenly he felt alive as he quickly gulped down the thick Wakeful Potion. A tide of energy washed through his drained body at the intake of the Strengthening Potion. He picked up the vial of Anti-Ache Potion and his stomach dropped in horror at its weight.

he mumbled. It's practically empty.

Now what was he going to do? He would have just brewed more, but he used the last of his boomslang skin in Potions the other day. The trip to Hogsmeade wasn't until after his Quidditch game and he needed the potion before the game. He couldn't steal any of Snape's boomslang skin in broad daylight; he'd surely be caught. He brainstormed while he gelled his hair. A smirk formed on his lips. He may not be able to steal from Snape, but he could easily steal from another Slytherin. Of course, he could just ask someone, but where would the fun be in that? Besides, someone might be suspicious of why he needs it so urgently, and there was no way in hell he was going through the day without the potion.

He set up his cauldron and measured his other ingredients. All he needed was a slab of sliced boomslang skin. He decided he could endure the dull ache of pain to eat breakfast and then pillage his housemates' rooms afterward.

In the Great Hall, the Slytherin Quidditch team was already seated and chatting at the Slytherin table. On game mornings the players usually sat together to discuss game strategies and insult the other team. However, when Draco approached them, they instantaneously got quiet.

Draco nonchalantly picked up a piece of toast and began buttering it as he observed his silent teammates. They ate quietly (except, of course, Crabbe and Goyle who were noisily scarfing down food like wild beasts) and didn't dare look at him. They obviously hadn't forgotten the previous night's practice, but, being Slytherins, weren't about to apologize for it. Draco rolled his eyes.

Forget last night, alright?

His team looked up at him.

I know we'll win, it's practically guaranteed. I'm just worried about the score; we need a really high one in order to beat Gryffindor at the House Cup.

The others looked relieved that it hadn't really been totally their fault he had gotten pissed the night before.

We'll do our best, Adam promised and the others nodded in agreement.

You better, Draco warned. I want you three, he motioned Adam, Clarisse, and Kyle, to score as many goals as you can. I'm not going to even attempt catching the Snitch until we're at least 150 points ahead. Unless, of course, Finch-Fletchly is going after it. I'll lead him on while you score the points. They nodded and Draco turned to the still eating gorillas.

Crabbe, Goyle, you need to aim the bludgers in the general direction of Hufflepuff Chasers. Not directly at them though, cause that will be fouls. Just in their direction, close enough to scare them so they'll lose concentration and drop the Quaffle. And stop eating, your brooms won't be able to lift you, he muttered in disgust. The two boys stared hungrily at the six slices of bacon left on their plates and mournfully chewed the four they had in their mouths.

Draco turned to his remaining teammate. Blaise, just block whatever attempts are thrown at you. I'm certain there won't be much since Hufflepuff is quite intimidated by us, Draco chuckled. The seven Slytherins smirked.

Oh, one more thing, Draco drawled, leaning in. Play our game, but don't get caught. Hooch watches us like a hawk. The amount of penalty shots we gave Gryffindor last time was our downfall. So be careful.

Blaise scowled. Stupid Weasley. She got four shots past me. Bitch.

Draco nodded. Yea, well, I doubt any of the Hufflepuff Chasers have the intelligence to fake you out like she did, so don't worry.

Blaise shrugged, still unhappy about the memory.

Draco helped himself to a few more breakfast items while Clarisse and Kyle began to diss the Hufflepuff Chasers, the others joining in at some points. Hufflepuffs became boring after a while, so the conversation expanded to include the other two house teams also. The insult session sadly enough boosted the team's morale and enthusiasm and Draco's six teammates left him to go get dressed and then fly around the pitch for a while to get accustomed to the weather. Draco declined to join them, saying he had some homework he needed to finish before the 11:00 game. The six, knowing Draco was a Prefect and that they had pissed him off enough the night before, didn't question him.

Draco idly passed fifteen minutes away by picking at his food and buttering about nine slices of toast, eating only two. He wasn't that hungry, he just wanted to give enough time for his teammates to dress and leave the dorms. He figured he would swindle some of Crabbe's or Goyle's boomslang skin - both were too stupid to notice it was gone.

He slowly walked down to the dungeons. Once inside the Slytherin Common Room, he headed toward the 6th Year Boys' Dormitory. Luckily, it was empty. He strolled over to Goyle's trunk and pulled out his Potions supplies. He only had a little over three quarters of what Draco needed. Pocketing the boomslang skin, Draco checked Crabbe's trunk to find that he had none. He closed the trunks and rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe the two oafs didn't lock their trunks. Zabini's, like most intelligent people's, was locked, so Draco left the room. He sighed. What he had would have to make do. Honestly, it couldn't make that much of a difference.


Draco strode toward the Quidditch Pitch an hour later, dressed in his full uniform. He had successfully brewed the potion and now was pain free. He entered the Slytherin locker room with a confident grin on his face.

Ready to kick some Hufflepuff arse? he called over his team's prattling.

Clarisse stopped whatever she was saying to Blaise and gave him an arrogant look. Of course.

The team smirked and participated in a final insult session for twenty minutes until the teams were introduced.

The game started perfectly. Slytherin had forty points within the first three minutes. Draco smiled as he hovered above the pitch and watched Kyle, Clarisse, and Adam zigzag through the confused Hufflepuffs and score yet another ten points. When a Hufflepuff Chaser had received the Quaffle, Crabbe whacked a bludger in his direction, shocking the shit out of the poor bloke so that he dropped the Quaffle into the awaiting hands of Adam. Another ten points.

Draco smirked in satisfaction. With the way the game was proceeding, Slytherin will have won by three hundred points in less than an hour. He shivered violently as he surveyed the pitch for the Snitch. It was freezing with an icy wind blowing every so often. Draco kept an eye on Justin Finch-Fletchly, who was doing the same thing to him. Time for some fun.

He dove suddenly towards the Slytherin goal post.

It looks like Slytherin Seeker Malfoy has spotted the Snitch! the commentator's voice blared out. Draco could hear cheers and boos (more of the latter he noted), and he sensed Justin coming up behind him. He pulled up to flash a triumphant smirk at the Hufflepuff Seeker, who only glared.

It looks like it was just a fluke, the commentator said. Slytherin scum...

a stern voice reprimanded in the background.

Draco laughed and high-fived Blaise as he flew past.

Nice one, Malfoy. Stupid git falls for it every time.

Draco proceeded in circling the pitch while his Chasers racked up points. At the moment, they were leading 170-10. He didn't realize how high he was until he started feeling lightheaded. He descended a little to lose some elevation but the lightheaded feeling lingered. He shook his head violently as a buzzing sound reached his ears. Forgetting his altitude problems, he forcefully swung his broom around in a 180 degree spin, which caused him to become a tad dizzy, and bolted toward the golden ball floating about fifty feet away. As he got nearer, it ascended and he aggressively chased after it. It kept increasing in height, which didn't help Draco's dizziness, but he focused all his attention on that little golden ball. He almost had his hand clasped around it when it took a dive downward. Cursing, Draco followed. He was now aware of Finch-Fletchly coming up on his left and the fanatical screaming of the crowd. Not to mention the pounding in his ears.

Malfoy is hot on the trail of the Golden Snitch, but Finch-Fletchly is not far behind. Looks like it's gonna be a close one, folks...

Draco urged his broom to go faster. He sped after the Snitch, Justin now at his side. The two wound around the Pitch, other players rushing to get out of their path. Draco shoved Justin, but the Hufflepuff managed to maintain his balance. They circled around the pitch, the Snitch almost gleefully darting from side to side in front of them. The cheering increased as the competition did. As well as the pounding and dizziness in Draco's head. The fast speed and loop de loops really don't help the matter, he thought.

two voices from below shouted. He ignored Clarisse and Adam as he followed the Snitch. He should have listened, for a bludger was heading straight for his head. But he was attentive to nothing but the Snitch. However, by some stroke of good fortune, Crabbe jetted in between the two seekers and the Snitch and slugged the bludger in the opposite direction, blocking Justin from the Snitch in the process. Justin was forced to swerve left, leaving Draco in clear range of the Snitch. The ball dove and Draco, anticipating the move, mimicked it. Inching closer, his hand closed around the tiny winged ball. For some reason though, even though he had stupendously caught the Snitch, the cheering turned to horrified screams. Come on, is it that terrible for Slytherin to win? The screaming was also decreasing in volume, or maybe the pounding in Draco's head was just becoming louder? He also swore he had stopped his broom once he caught the Snitch, and yet, the ground was getting closer at an alarmingly fast rate. He attempted to slow down. The realization that his broomstick was no longer beneath him was the last thought he processed before the pounding deafened him and everything went black.


For the second time in four months, Draco woke to the bleak whiteness of the Hospital Wing. Groaning he turned his head to the left expecting to see Dumbledore and Snape accusing him of suicide. Instead he found six Slytherin Quidditch players lounging around his bed.

Crabbe said. You're awake.

Draco rolled his eyes. Master of the Obvious.

You took quite a fall, Clarisse commented.

Draco croaked incredulously.

Uh, yea, Kyle snorted. From about two hundred feet in the air. You're lucky to be alive.

Draco's eyes widened. Two hundred....what? How?

Dunno, really, Adam shrugged. After Crabbe blocked Finch-Fletchly, you dove straight down after the Snitch. I saw you catch it, and then kind of...just slide off your broom, I guess.

Everyone was screaming, but you must have passed out because you went all limp, Kyle added.

Passed out? Draco asked, trying to comprehend. That explained the lightheadedness, dizziness, and head pounding.

Yea, really scary, Blaise said. I flew to try and grab you but you were too far away. Luckily Snape, Dumbledore, Hooch, and Flitwick all performed a Hover Charm before you hit the ground.

Barely though, Goyle stated. You were like six inches from the ground. You could have died.

Draco closed his eyes. No shit, Sherlock. But why did I pass out? he asked, opening his eyes.

His teammates shrugged.

Draco put on an expression of nonchalance. Hmm, doesn't matter. Hey, at least we won, right?

Yep, 320-30, Blaise smirked. We're only ten points behind Gryffindor now, with two more games left.

Just then, the curtain rustled and Madam Pomfrey made her entrance with a clipboard under her arm.

Ah, Mr. Malfoy! Thank Merlin, you were so close. So close, she murmured. To the Slytherin Quidditch team, she motioned the curtain.

Alright, you can see him later, after dinner. Now get out, out! she shooed. He needs rest. Out!

The Slytherins grumbled good-byes and then shuffled their way out. Madam Pomfrey began muttering spells to check Draco's vital stats, and marking things on her clipboard, all the while mumbling about the dangers of Quidditch. After the last spell, she raised an eyebrow and marked something more on the clipboard. Once she was done, she placed her hands on her hips.

Alright, Mr. Malfoy, I want to know why this happened. A talented Quidditch player such as yourself doesn't just fall off his broom out of the blue, she stated.

I don't know, ma'm, Draco said honestly. It was probably all the spiraling and high altitudes I encountered.

Mmm, I don't think so. You and Mr. Potter, and sometimes Miss Chang, get involved in more complex flying that what I saw out there today, and you don't just pass out cold after those games, she asserted.

Well, then I don't know what happened, Madam Pomfrey, Draco said although he had a pretty fair idea of what happened. Using only three quarters of boomslang skin instead of a full slab had made a hell of a difference. It still relieved his pain, but had messed with his mind.

Are you sure? she prodded. He nodded innocently and she peered at him doubtfully. Mr. Malfoy, are you using any kind of potion daily? Or perhaps, a few?

Draco kept a straight face.

She raised an eyebrow. Because, as I'm certain Professor Snape has informed you, consuming three or four potions at a time can have a negative effect on the body. It's almost the same effect of Muggle drugs such as cocaine or marijuana. It'll ruin the body.

So they say. I know that, ma'm, Draco said as politely as he could. The woman was too close to the truth, but he was not going to admit it, and she couldn't prove it. There was no way he was going to stop taking his potions. Besides, the potions were to help him, not harm him.

Well, good, as long as you are aware, the mediwitch said as she stared him down. He innocently stared back.

Any other problems that could have caused this accident? You had quite a few bruises that last time I saw you in here. Maybe they were bothering you?

Draco's eyes turned icy. They're almost healed, he told her curtly.

Do you have any...others? she asked carefully, seeming unsure of how to phrase her question.

was the cold reply. Anger boiled within him as his defensive stoic facade quickly took over at the question. How dare she bring that up! How dare she, Snape, and anyone else interfere! He could deal with his father perfectly fine all by himself. Not that it was any of their damn business anyway.

Well, if you're sure...

I'm positive.

Madam Pomfrey nodded and pursed her lips. Alright then, she said briskly. She thought a moment. Mr. Malfoy, what did you have for breakfast this morning?

Draco simmered down and thought back to that morning. Um, three slices of toast, and maybe a strip of bacon. I hadn't been that hungry.

The mediwitch lifted her eyes heavenward. Well, no wonder you fainted! You children need to eat a lot before you go off flying around on those silly broomsticks. My heavens, she huffed. I'll ask a house elf to bring something up for you right now, seeing as you haven't eaten since then.

She bustled out of the room. Draco sighed and closed his eyes. Annoying woman, he thought. At least she no longer thought he was using a lot of potions. He had been a bit worried when she started asking him those questions, afraid she would catch on to the truth. Phew.

And then, the nerve to ask him if he had any more bruises! He didn't want to be pitied by anyone; now that he was spying for the Order, his future was safe. All that mattered in the present was keeping face in order to stay alive until then. He had his impassive personality, quick wits, sharp tongue, and most importantly, his potions. He would be fine. Absolutely fine.

Or would he?





~*~*~
Dun dun dun....and the plot grows thicker. I think I spelled Justin's last name wrong, but I'm not sure, and I'm too lazy to look it up, lol. And I don't know if they call them goals in Quidditch, but they do now. Anyway,even though I'm not giving you a date for next chapter, I can still give you a preview :)

***Coming next chapter: More dueling lessons with our favorite Potions Master and werewolf....and lies are questioned....***

Very evasive, I know, lol. Now while you ponder the meaning of the preview, why don't you write a wee little review for me?? Thanks!!