Disclaimer: You know the drill . . . and if not, you should learn the drill . . . you should get one of those "The Drill: For Idiots" books they sell at your local Borders, Walden books, B. Dalton, or other book store. Only $19.99 (plus tax)

A/N: Hello, so the first chapter is out of the way. Now for the fun stuff! Don't get discouraged if I don't have long chapter, it's just the way I write. I'd rather post a shorter chapter that's really good than I longer chapter that doesn't really have a point, it's just there to be a long chapter…

oO0 0Oo

Harry woke up to a sharp pain in his side. He swatted at whatever the source was, but that only made it hurt twice as bad. He rolled over, squinting into the blinding light. He was greeted by a very professional looking Hermione. She was poking his with her wand and yelling at him.

He stumbled into the kitchen, greeted by Ron, looking like a mirror image to Harry.

"She get you up too?" He asked.

Ron just nodded. "We have to do something about that woman. I can't go on living like this." He said, plunging his spoon into his cereal.

Harry nodded. He could hear Hermione in the other room, yelling something about how it had only been one night and the house looked like crap.

He rolled his eyes, looking at the clock. "Hermione!" he yelled.

She poked her head out from the hallway.

"Why the hell did you get us up at 8:30 in the morning? My match isn't until 1:00!" he yelled, his morning temper showing.

"Yeah! And I don't have to be there until quarter to, since I don't have to worry about seats or anything." Ron said, fuming into his Fruit Loops.

"Honestly, the lack of responsibility you two have is amazing. I have to cover the other team and I need to get there early so I can interview them. Since I know that once you guys are up you stay up, I thought I'd wake you up to make sure you don't miss your game."

They both gave her blank stares, pointing at the clock.

She frowned at the two of them then disappeared back into the hallway.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, smiling. They loved making her life difficult, she was so fun to watch freak out.

oO0 0Oo

"Tell me, Mr. Girdumol, how do you feel the team's chances of making it to the finals of the Quiddich cup are?" Hermione asked, her quill pen hovering above her paper.

He leaned back in his chair, "That's a good question. I think we have as good a chance as any to pull ahead. Thanks to our new Seeker, we might even come out the victor this year."

"Well, thank you very much, Mr. Girdumol, and good luck in the game," Hermione said, standing up and shaking his hand as he left.

She dropped the pleasant act as soon as he left the cramped little room. Plopping down in her chair, she massaged her temples. For the last five hours she had been interviewing snobby players, hardcore game go-ers, and proud family members and coaches.

"If I have to listen to one more egotistical player who I can only half understand, I'm going to turn someone into a teakettle," she mumbled under her breath.

"Good thing I'm next then," a silky voice said from the doorway.

Hermione sat up, startled, trying to fix her skirt and look presentable. When she noticed it was just him, she relaxed a bit.

But not much.

A sleek and well toned man stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the door frame. His hair was slicked back, a half smile on his face, allowing a dimple to show through on his left cheek.

"My, my, my. Hermione Granger. Why, I haven't seen you since Hogwarts. How are you?" He asked, starting towards her and seating himself in the chair across from her.

She watched him, trying to read his actions. "Hello Draco. Are you playing for the D team?"

He smiled fully, and almost convincingly. She wasn't sure if he was after something, or really trying to be civil.

"Yes, I am the new Seeker for the "D Team."

"Well, since you're here, I might as well interview the "secret weapon" coach Girdumol was raving about," she reached for her pen and paper, but his hand stopped hers.

"Hermione, I was hoping we could talk . . . About, that night . . . I mean, we never really did. You left before I could explain and I was kind of out of it for awhile, what with my dad and all…" he was watching the fire intently, she could see the hate in his glare.

"All right, what do you want to talk about?" she asked, trying not to lose the sense of professionalism in her voice.

He watched her for a moment before speaking, as if choosing his words," I never meant for things to go like they did. I guess the only reason I acted like I did was because my dad did. I mean, I wanted him to be proud of me. But by the end, it wasn't worth it, he wasn't my dad anymore. I doubt he ever was. So I just said screw it. Why try to be something I'm never going to be?" he said, not looking away from her.

She weighed his words. "I know what you mean. It's hard to be something you're not but think you should be because that's how everyone else wants you to be."

He smiled his half smile again. He really was quite good looking.

There was a moment of silence before he spoke, getting up, "Well, I should get to the locker room. Coach has to go over the game plan," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Ok. Hey! What should I put down for your comment?" She asked, remembering why she was there in the first place.

He scratched his lower jaw in thought, "I don't have one." With that, he apparated out.

She looked at the space he had been in moments ago, thinking of how bizarre the last five minutes had been.

"Hermione! What are you doing?" her editor asked, running in, "the tournament is about to start!"

She looked at him blankly for a moment, unclear of where exactly she was.

"Hello! Get out there and write some stories!" He said, his eyes bugging out.

She headed out, sighing in annoyance.

"Here we go," she muttered to herself, getting her Quick Quill Pen out.

As she dictated the first game to herself, she couldn't help but drift from topic. She kept adding side notes like, "Why does he suddenly want to talk about something that happened over a year ago?" and "Has he always had brown eyes?"

For whatever reason, she found herself drifting over to the other side of the field where Harry's team was. She spotted Ron, sitting with the coach going over game plans.

As she waved she noticed Draco standing a few rows up from where Ron was. He saw her and gave a quick wave. Hesitantly she waved back, not sure what to make of his strange behavior.

oO0 0Oo

Halfway through the second game, Harry got a bludger to his right arm and had to sit out for a bit while the nurse on duty fixed him up. A foul was called on the other team, and Harry's team was allotted a free shot – which they got – tying the score. The crowd went ballistic! (ha ha get it? BALL istic?)

"Harry, doesn't it bug you to not be playing?" Hermione asked, watching the nurse work on his arm.

He grunted in response.

"Too rough." The nurse muttered, "This game is too rough on those boys. One of these days they'll get harmed beyond my repair, or worse." She finished the potion she was working on and urged Harry to drink it before walking to her next patient.

He wrinkled up his nose in distaste. When he had gulped it all down he looked at Hermione. "The only good part about getting hurt in professional Quiddich is you always have a stand in."

"What's the worst part – besides losing," she asked.

"Getting hit by a bludger."

"But you've been nailed by tons of bludgers, not to mention other things . . ."

"Yeah, but these were hit by professional Quiddich players."

oO0 0Oo

A/N: Well, that's all until next time. So maybe it wasn't the best chapter ever, but it's still the beginning, give it time.