Hey everyone!
Thank you so much, again, to everyone who is reading and reviewing, it means a lot to me!
I feel like I should explain right at the outset that chapters four and five are technically one biiiiig chapter that I have split into two. I just didn't want to have a 10k chapter, and I didn't think you'd want one either!
Editing-wise, this chapter was a real challenge, so I want to give my editor, JessariOfErebor, for all the work she's put in. Thank you for everything you do!
P.S This chapter is lovingly dedicated to the third member of Jason Isaacs' marriage... Liverpool Football Club.
Read on, and enjoy!
Hermione's fledgling truce with Lucius Malfoy faced its first real challenge on the day Slytherin's Quidditch match with Gryffindor was announced on the school news board.
Even this early in the morning, a Quidditch match was enough to bring a little excitement into the student body. Everyone had something to say about it. Even the seventh years broke their normal facades of aloof calm long enough to chatter with each other about it.
The subject made the rounds at the staff table as well.
For the first time since the Sorting Ceremony, Augusta Longbottom wore her silver and grey scarf. Gryffindor had won their first match of the year so decisively that they were far ahead of all the other Houses. Augusta was giving Lucius some very pointed tips on how to crush the Gryffindor team. Lucius listened, his face a study in solicitude. He could hardly have avoided listening to her; the witch was sitting right next to him and she was speaking quite loudly.
The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor wrapped it all up in her usual domineering way, "You're Head of House, Lord Malfoy. This is our chance to win back some House pride."
Hermione gave the Potions Professor a flickering glance, the kind where it happened by pure instinct. When their eyes met, they both averted their gaze. Having only had their discussion in the Head Club a few days prior, they were still a little unsure on how to behave around each other. As if they were walking on eggshells that weren't there. Being Coaches of two opposing teams would hardly help matters.
The other staff members were excited about the match too, though very nervous about how the students would handle it. Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalries could be heated at the best of times. Since the war, this had only gotten worse.
Sinistra had to raise her voice to be heard over the commotion. "I don't envy your position, Professor Granger."
Hermione looked at her curiously. "Why not?"
"You're an academic. By definition, academics devote themselves to the rigours of the mind. I myself had very little interest in Quidditch when I was a student. It's only in recent years that I've come to appreciate it."
Professor Sinistra couldn't have said anything much more controversial if she'd tried. Several teachers, Lucius Malfoy included, turned to her in various states of surprise and, in Hooch's case, outright betrayal.
Minerva only chuckled, though. "I remember. Even on match days, you would spend your days in the library."
Hermione had nothing against Quidditch at all. Providing she wasn't expected to play it herself, of course. She'd quite enjoyed watching the matches. Like all sports, Quidditch was just as much about tactics as it was about physical abilities. Even moreso, perhaps. From a social perspective, it had been a prudent decision for a muggleborn like herself to go to the games. Refusing to go to matches would have been social suicide. So Hermione had gone whenever Harry had flown and had attended most of the other games too.
Hermione asked Professor Sinistra, "I don't mind, really. I've always liked Quidditch. What changed your mind?"
The Astronomy gazed fondly over the children, who were chatting eagerly amongst themselves as they finished their breakfasts. "The students. Watching how much they enjoy it. Quidditch is one of the things that helped to bring the school back to life."
Hermione knew exactly what she meant. Despite winning the war, times afterward had felt dark and full of uncertainty. Most had felt lost, and having Quidditch's energetic influence had certainly helped alleviate much of the students' lingering fear.
Once the initial excitement of the announcement wore off, Hermione started feeling a bit worried. It was embarrassing, but she hadn't made much time for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She'd basically left the entire thing in the hands of the Captain, a Sixth Year girl named Beatrice McCormack, reasoning that Beatrice was fully capable of handling the training and didn't need her butting in. All Hermione had really done for the team was make sure the field was available for them to practice on at least once or twice a week.
This had seemed perfectly fine at the time. She was still very new to her role, and the work was never-ending as it was. Truthfully, the most important thing to her was that her students were doing well at their classes and handing in their homework on time. But now that the team was up against Slytherin, old habits came to the fore, and she suddenly found that she very much wanted Gryffindor to win. If there was anything she could do to help the team, she should do it. It occurred to her that there was someone who was both perfectly suited to help her, and perfectly willing to help her.
Hermione found Neville in the greenhouses. He had shucked his robes and wore a shirt and trousers. He bent over the planting beds, wearing a pair of gardening gloves that were muddy up to the elbows.
He was also still eating his breakfast. As a father, he ate breakfast at his family home in Hogsmeade every morning. Unfortunately, his infant daughter had a habit of making breakfasts a difficult business, and poor Neville rarely got the chance to eat. So Neville Longbottom planted his seedlings with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth. There was something so… Nevilleish about the sight that Hermione couldn't help a giggle escaping her.
Neville glanced up from his work, saw her, and quickly bolted down the last of his toast. Without the aid of his hands, this was not a particularly attractive process.
"Hermione!" He exclaimed, "What are you doing here? Do you need any plants for your class?"
Hermione shook her head, but picked up a trowel. Since she was here, the least she could do was help. Pleased, Neville handed her a basket filled to the brim with Whistleleaf bulbs, and together they started planting.
Neville gave her instructions on where he wanted each bulb planted as they went, but he didn't exactly need to. As absentminded as he could be in so many other ways, Neville's greenhouses were laid out so well that no-one could have found fault with them. As she worked, Hermione felt her mind wander. It was actually... quite nice. It felt good to forget about everything and just focus on the soil and the pleasant smell of green, growing things. She'd missed it. Before she'd applied to be Charms Professor, she'd lived in a London flat. It had been close to Diagon Alley, very posh, but it hadn't had a garden. The closest she'd been able to get was a few hanging baskets on the balcony. Herbology had never been her favourite subject by any means, but she enjoyed greenery as much as the next person.
The planting was also quite demanding. Before long, the muscles of her arms were burning. It had been too long since she'd had to do any kind of manual labour.
She sat up to wipe the sweat from her forehead and, noticing that she was tired, Neville offered her a flask of tea, which she gratefully accepted.
She took the opportunity to explain, "Actually Neville, I came to ask your advice."
"My advice?" Neville asked. He seemed really taken aback, which she supposed was natural. Neville had always been humble. "On what?"
"Well, I'm sure you've heard the news. Gryffindor has a match against Slytherin coming up, and it's my first match as Coach. You were Quidditch Coach for years before I joined the staff. Do you have any suggestions? What do you think of the Slytherin team?"
Neville's forehead screwed up in thought. Slowly, he replied, "Well, one of their Chasers is Hannah's niece. Mary Abbot. There's something about her-"
Hermione's ears perked up. This was it. This was the edge she needed. "Go on?"
"I don't think she really enjoys Herbology. Her grades aren't bad, but I can't seem to really get her interested, you know?"
Right then. No help from there, then.
Hopefully, he asked, "Did you want to see the Jumping Geraniums? They're pretty lively today."
"Thanks Neville, I'd love to."
Hermione marched down to the Quidditch pitch with the whole team behind her. It wasn't common that the coach should come and watch them practice, and the Gryffindors were puffed up with pride, and more than a little nervous, to have her with them.
Beatrice had them up in the air and doing laps in short order. Timed nose dives and barrel rolls first, before working up to the more complicated maneuvers. Hermione had brought some papers to mark, just in case, but she found she didn't need to. The practice was fun to watch.
At some point, she noticed a crowd of students holding brooms watching them from just beyond the pitch. Among them stood Professor Malfoy. He was a fair distance away, but his platinum hair made him unmistakable.
It shouldn't be possible for a smile to be reptilian, since reptiles couldn't smile. But every now and then, Lucius Malfoy managed it.
He was smiling that way now, as she approached.
"Professor Malfoy. The Gryffindor team has booked the pitch." She said it in a way that brooked no argument. She had made no mistake.
"Of course, and the Slytherin team has booked it for a session after yours. We are simply here early."
"It's a bit late for a practice session, isn't it?" Hermione challenged. And it was; the sun was going down.
"Professor Granger…" Her eyes narrowed at him, and he gave her a benevolent smile. "The match is only days away. It only makes sense to get in as much practice as possible."
Hermione didn't believe it for a second. He could be here to watch them, which she supposed was fair enough. It only made sense that he would want to assess the competition. But when she'd been a student, Slytherin had been known for more underhanded tactics; distracting the opposing team, or even outright name calling and nasty chants to lower morale.
She hoped that that sort of thing was beneath him. She wanted to believe the best in him. But if there was even a chance that the Slytherins were here with the intent to sabotage... Hermione was having none of it.
"Can I have a word with you, Professor Malfoy?"
He raised an eyebrow but fell into step behind her as she walked a little distance away from the team.
As soon as they were out of earshot, she said, "I hope you know how important it is that, as Heads of House, you and I set a good example for the students. You can't seriously expect me to believe that you're here to practice. If you want to watch the Gryffindor team, you know I can't stop you. But if any of your students try to distract mine, I'll report you to Hooch."
"Professor Granger, I assure you, nothing could be further from my mind than antagonising you. You have my word, my team will be as quiet as mice."
"Wonderful." She said, but she was thinking, they'd better be.
The practice was nearly over, and the remainder of it was devoted almost entirely to Felicity Brightwood, their Seeker.
In Felicity Brightwood, Gryffindor had once again managed to secure a Seeker of uncommon ability. A third year who lived and breathed Quidditch, she was probably the best flier to grace Hogwarts since Ginny. When Gryffindor played, talent scouts from almost every British team came to watch her.
Hermione watched with real pleasure as the rest of the team put Felicity through her paces. They pelted Bludgers at her while she did laps of the field. They sent a charmed practice-Snitch to all sorts of difficult places; the nooks and crannies in the stands, directly behind her head, and inches above the ground. Felicity caught it every time. She was fantastically sharp and absolutely fearless.
"Miss Brightwood is an incredible flyer." Lucius said. There was no sourness in his voice, which surprised her. Perhaps Lucius Malfoy genuinely enjoyed the sport for its own sake. Or perhaps he simply enjoyed a challenge.
Felicity was an incredible flyer, for all that she was a muggleborn. And thanks to the new rules surrounding Hogwarts Quidditch, social status and money no longer held the same sway over the pitch that it once had. When Ginny had joined the board of Directors, she'd made sure that the school brooms were of an acceptable standard. This had been a very expensive endeavour, and after a bit of digging Hermione had found out that some of the funds had been donated from Harry and Ginny's vault directly. Either way, Ginny had done what she set out to do. It didn't matter what the family broom was, on the Quidditch pitch you could fly a Slipstream or a Cirrus Two. As long as you could prove to Hooch that you could handle it, that is.
"When I was at school," Hermione said, "a girl like Felicity, with no broom at home, wouldn't have had much chance to hone her skills. She probably would have been thrown off of an old Comet and been too scared to get back on."
Lucius inclined his head in agreement.
"Most likely. She is a muggleborn, I believe?"
Hermione nodded. "I remember lots of people opposed the decision to ban league standard brooms and invest more money into increasing the overall quality of the school brooms."
Lucius shifted uncomfortably, undoubtedly remembering buying Draco's entire team Nimbus 2001s. "If you are asking if I opposed it, you would be mistaken. It was a wise move."
As they watched, Felicity flipped over backwards to catch the Snitch on its zigzagging path. The Gryffindor team whooped at such an impressive display of flying. The Slytherins, however, did not look happy.
As if to himself, Lucius mused, "I think we often underestimate how much bravery it would take to get on a broomstick at the age of eleven, for those who are unused to it. It does muggleborns great credit to see so many of them excel on the pitch."
Things were starting to get tense as the days flew by. Soon the match was only a week away.
The determination of the faculty (not to mention the Prefects, Head Girls and Head Boys) had reduced the usual pre-match psychological warfare and sabotage to a bare minimum. There were a number of suspicious accidents, always affecting prominent team members, but it was nothing that a few of Madame Pomfrey's potions couldn't cure.
Despite her best efforts, Hermione wasn't completely above petty displays; granted, of course, that no one got hurt. It was lunch in the Great Hall, and she found herself unable to hold it in any longer.
Raising her voice just enough so that it could be heard up and down the staff table, but no further, she brightly said, "It's just, well, it's not going to be a very good game, is it?"
Lucius did not even ask her what she was talking about. He slowly folded up his paper, put it down, and leaned forward just enough to meet her eyes from his seat further down the table.
"And why is that, Professor Granger?"
She laid it out for him, somewhat surprised that she had to explain it after he'd seen the Gryffindor team practice. Breathlessly, she explained that Slytherin had no chance. She had done a very in depth assessment of the Slytherin team, and while their lineup wasn't bad by any means, the difference in points between Slytherin and Gryffindor were so great that unless the Chasers pulled off some sort of miracle they ought not to bother even turning up.
The rest of the staff said nothing, but she could tell that they agreed. The Slytherin players were by no means poor fliers. They could hold up perfectly well against the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams, but against Gryffindor? Everyone knew it; Slytherin had no hope.
"Certainly you are right." Professor Malfoy said in an agreeable sort of way, his grey eyes calm. "And yet, I think, Slytherin will be victorious."
The way he said it was infuriating. So dismissive of logic and the rules of the game.
"But Slytherin can't win, Professor Malfoy. I've just explained it."
"I am sure you think so. I will delight in surprising you."
At last, the morning of the match came. Hermione opened the curtains and gasped in dismay. A thick fog had rolled in, burying the usually beautiful view under a grey blanket. She could barely even see past her window.
The conditions, simply put, were the worst they possibly could have been for the Gryffindor team. As long as Brightwood could see the Snitch, they would win. No-one disputed that. But this fog… For the first time, Hermione felt doubt.
The mood in the castle was a particular mixture of adolescent aggression, tension, and hope so typical of Quidditch match mornings. Even if she hadn't known the players of both teams by sight, she would have been able to pick them out. They couldn't eat, but couldn't lift their eyes up from their plates either. Grey-faced, bursting into brittle laughter at the slightest provocation. In this, the members of both teams were the same.
Madame Hooch, however, was totally immune to the aura of dread and nerves all around her. She buttered her toast with verve and slurped her tea with relish.
"This morning's weather is very bad for that game of yours, isn't it?" Flint remarked absently. Flint was notoriously disinterested in Quidditch, so Hermione tried very hard not to hold this against him.
Lucius did not miss a beat. He looked almost... jolly. "Only if one's team is totally relying on their Seeker to win the game for them."
Hermione levelled a poisonous glare at the Potions Professor. Honestly, she had been willing to let the whole thing go, but now she thought of it…
"Isn't it funny that yesterday there were no signs of fog at all, and today it's so bad?" Her voice grated, even to her ears. She'd wanted to sound carefree, but she wasn't a good actress.
"One can never fully predict the weather, Professor Granger." Lucius said sanctimoniously.
Hermione forced a smile, clenching her teeth so hard that her jaw started to hurt. "Actually, yes I can and my weather chart said nothing about fog today."
"It would seem that your chart needs a little fine tuning."
"It would seem that your sense of fair play needs a lot of fine tuning-"
Minerva interrupted in a sharp voice. "If you are implying that Professor Malfoy has interfered with the weather in any way, Professor Granger, I can assure you that he hasn't. The entire highlands is just as badly affected. Professor Malfoy doesn't have the Charms mastery such a feat would require."
"Thank you for that resounding vote of confidence, Headmistress." Lucius said wryly.
"It's just bad weather." Hooch said. "With the right amount of skill, victory is always possible."
Hermione gave the team a few final words of encouragement, then made her way to the stands.
The teachers, as a rule, generally took seats in the main stand. The immense scaffolding, covered with cloth emblazoned with the House sigils and the Hogwarts symbol, afforded the best view of the pitch. Hermione looked up and down the benches, looking for empty spaces. As was typical for a Gryffindor-Slytherin match, attendance was high.
A thought struck her. She noticed that no-one was sitting on either side of Lucius. Whether it was pure coincidence or because no-one wanted to sit beside him, it didn't matter. An opportunity was an opportunity.
It seemed silly to miss a chance to gather intelligence. A lot could be gained from watching his reactions to the match. If she could figure out anything about his tactics, she could pass it along to Beatrice as soon as she got the chance.
She picked her way through to where he sat. "Professor Malfoy," She said in a friendly sort of way, "Is this seat taken?"
He was surprised, but didn't seem suspicious. That was good. "Certainly not. Please, make yourself comfortable."
The game began. Hermione fished out a pair of enchanted glasses from her handbag; they were in a glamorous, cat-eye style, but charmed with magnifying capabilities. She slipped them on, and the pitch came into incredible definition. Even despite the fog, she could still see clearly.
Everyone took their positions; Seekers soaring up and up, Keepers steadfast. The Beaters swung their bats, and the Chasers flowed into formation with seamless grace.
Hermione had come intending to keep a cool head, but when Gryffindor's Chasers sent the Quaffle through the Slytherin hoops twice within the space of a few short minutes, she joined most of the crowd in leaping up out of her seat and cheering.
"A fine move." Lucius said, and Hermione didn't disagree.
The game went on. Hermione's enchanted glasses were in constant use. She resisted every impulse to watch her own team members, and focussed on three key people; Lucius Malfoy (from the corner of her eye, all while using some preternatural ability to avoid shifting her body at all), the Slytherin Captain (a sixth-year Beater), and their Seeker.
The Slytherin playing style struck her as strange right away. The Beaters didn't seem to care about the Gryffindor Chasers. They only sent the Bludgers after Felicity. They would cross from one end of the field to the next, just to get a shot at her. Thus uninhibited, the Gryffindor Chasers scored more and more points and the difference became astronomical.
The crowd was losing their minds. Gryffindor was leading a hundred and forty to Slytherins thirty. Hermione wasn't cheering anymore. It was just too strange. Obviously most Beaters focussed on opposing Seekers to some degree, but certainly not to this extent. Even the Slytherin Chasers kept finding themselves in Felicity's way. They weren't bothering with the Quaffle at all.
Lucius was up to something. She needed to find out what.
Her suspicions were confirmed when the Snitch flew within eyesight of the Slytherin Seeker. Hermione saw the flash in his eyes as he looked at it, and watched him fly right past it, stopping only long enough to obscure the Snitch from the sight of the Gryffindor Seeker.
A chance like that came up once in every game, if at all. That had been their opportunity to catch the Snitch and at least lose with distinction.
But he hadn't taken it, and Lucius had seen it. She knew he had. His body had shifted ever so slightly beside her when the sunlight had flashed off of it.
Hermione cursed herself for not seeing it sooner. The late night practice, his certainty that Slytherin could win, the strange tactics. Hermione needed to speak with the team.
About an hour later, the Slytherin Keeper took an injury and a timeout was called.
Hermione took the opportunity for a quick talk with the team.
"I think I've worked out what he's doing." Hermione said. "They know their points aren't high enough to give them any chance at the Cup if they win the normal way, so they're going to drag the match out. I think we're going to have to play throughout the night."
The Gryffindor team looked at her in oddly identical expressions of outrage.
Their Keeper, Aaron Payne, said flatly, "They can't."
It wasn't as if she didn't understand their anger. The Snitch was practically impossible to see at night, and the damned fog made it even worse...
"They can, actually. Alright," Hermione said in a business-like tone, "What's the longest game anyone here has ever played?"
There was a horrible silence.
"Um." Beatrice said.
Hermione took in the feet shuffling, the red faces, the averted gazes.
Beatrice couldn't finish, and Hermione's heart hit the floor.
Aaron rushed to say, "This just isn't done anymore! Quidditch games don't last for days, it hasn't been like that for years! They're only doing it because they know their Seeker can't outfly ours-"
"Well obviously, but right now that doesn't help us very much, does it?" Hermione held up a hand to quell their chattering, and thought it through. She didn't have many options. She hated to admit it, but Malfoy had put them in a very difficult position.
Hermione looked to Felicity. The young Seeker was already drooping. The constant threat of the Bludgers had put her under a lot of strain. Hours of flying around blind as a bat, knowing that her entire House was counting on her had only made things worse. She was only twelve, for goodness' sake. Hermione wasn't sure how much longer she could keep going under these conditions.
Nicholas Hawthorn, one of their Chasers, asked timidly. "How long are they going to fly for?"
Hermione swallowed a sigh. She had to seem confident. "As long as it takes. Lucius, that is, Professor Malfoy, is very proud."
Following that train of thought, she realised that Lucius' pride would have made it impossible to publicly put any effort into his position as Coach unless he thought the Slytherin team could win. He had never been a man to enter the spotlight. No, Lucius Malfoy liked to hide in the shadows, right up until he was certain that he could step forward and take all the credit.
"What are we supposed to do?" Aaron asked. "We've been playing for hours."
That was obvious. "We have to get the Snitch before their Chasers can get their points up high enough. And don't worry about being tired. I've got an idea."
Hermione let herself into the potions storeroom, heart hammering in her chest.
She knew she ought to feel guilty about this. But considering that Malfoy wasn't playing fair, it was almost her duty to make sure the Gryffindor team had every chance of winning.
Alohamora didn't do the trick, but maybe she shouldn't have expected that it would. Malfoy couldn't keep her out for long, though. Thirty seconds and four broken locking charms later, she was in.
She rifled through the potions storage cupboard shamelessly. Her eyes roved right past the more exotic potions ingredients and right to the bottles of pre-made potions, labelled with an elegant cursive she assumed must have been his.
There- a rack of Eye-Openers. The favourite potion of students cramming for exams. Or Professors marking papers, she admitted to herself. They were about as strong as a cup of coffee, but much tastier. Eye-Openers wouldn't make her team fly faster, or see any clearer, but they would at least help keep them awake for a little longer. Long enough, hopefully, for Felicity to catch the Snitch.
The sun went down, and a break for dinner was called.
Hermione gave the team the potions, which they took gratefully. She hoped it would be enough. She urged (she refused to think of it as nagged) them to eat their dinner when it was brought to them. They would need their strength.
Since the players couldn't leave the field until the game was over, very few students were willing to leave the stands. Therefore, Minerva organised for food to be brought to those who stayed. Over three hundred people, including friends, family, and Quidditch enthusiasts.
The food appeared on trays and platters on their laps. The novelty of eating in the stands, even if it was freezing cold and so dark they couldn't have seen their plates without the aid of magic, brought a bit of cheer back to the spectators.
Beside her, Lucius Malfoy was making polite conversation. In fact, it was better than polite. He was being nice.
It was wasted on her. Hermione did not particularly want to be nice to Lucius Malfoy at the moment. What should have been a clear cut victory now hung in the balance, and it was all his fault. She knew she wasn't being particularly fair. She shouldn't resent Lucius for being resourceful and clever.
"This takes me back." Lucius said as he delicately put down his knife and fork. "I remember a match much like this one in my fifth year. We camped out in the stands for four days in the middle of exam time. Slughorn- he was Potions Professor back in my day- made us revise for the whole thing. Every time someone fell off their broom he'd be standing there, quizzing us. We could hardly hear a word he said over all the chanting."
Hermione managed a non-commital, "Mm-hm."
"And yourself? Were there any particular matches you enjoyed in your student days?"
"Let's see." Hermione said, "There was the time Harry almost got knocked off his broom by Quirrel, the time he got attacked by Dementors-" She could have gone on, but cut herself short. She'd made her point. Lucius went silent.
Hermione cast a warming charm over herself, hoping the team's robes would be enough to protect them from the cool night air.
As soon as dinner was over, the match resumed.
There was a gust of wind, the fog shifted- Felicity caught sight of the Snitch. Hermione saw it, Lucius saw it.
The golden winged ball was flitting around, right in the path of the two Slytherin Beaters.
It was if Hermione could read the young witch's mind. Visibility was practically zero. There was no guarantee that she would see it again before Slytherin got their points up high enough that it didn't matter.
Felicity took the risk. She went for it. She flew across the pitch like an arrow, perfectly flush with her broom. She turned sharply to avoid an incredulous Slytherin Chaser, and she was almost there. The Beaters saw, manoeuvred into position and-
The results were devastating. Brightwood performed a few fantastic rolls in the air, and dodged the first bludger, but the second clipped her and smashed into her broom. She went down mere centimeters from the Snitch, shrieking in pain from her broken wrist. Lucius gave a sympathetic wince.
Hermione leapt up, wand at the ready. Her cushioning charm caught the Seeker. Her replacement was sent, visibly shaking, into the field.
Felicity's defeat was all the Slytherins needed. For the first time, they focussed on bridging the gap in points.
"You see, Hermione, Miss Brightwood is really very good." Lucius said as she watched, aghast. "Truthfully, our Seeker is simply no match, so we had no choice but to… innovate."
The Slytherin Chaser rolled up and over a Bludger and scored another goal, and Hermione ground her teeth.
The crowd roared; part dismay and part shock. Above it all, a chant was rising from the emerald and silver stands, "Go, go, Slytherin! Go, go, Slytherin!"
The commentator was screaming into his microphone, "Mary Abbot has the Quaffle- come on, Aaron- argh, Slytherin scores another ten points!"
If it had been any other team, she thought the Gryffindors would have given up there and then. The children were exhausted, completely demoralised. They didn't give up, though. Hermione knew how close to breaking they were, but she was still proud to see how well they flew. They made the Slytherins work for every goal and scored a few of their own. They played like their lives were on the line, resolutely ignoring the growing chants and keeping it together, even though she knew that they must be desperate to call it off and give up.
It was no use. About an hour later, the Slytherin Seeker caught the Snitch.
Hermione and Lucius made their way onto the field. The tension in the air was a physical thing. Midnight had long since come and gone, and the spectators were almost as tired and miserable as the fliers.
Hundreds of angry students watched as Hermione and Lucius faced one another, with their respective team Captains beside them.
Madame Hooch pressed her wand to her throat and said, "Well, some pretty clever moves from both teams, no arms or legs broken too badly, all in all quite a nice game. Slytherin wins by a hundred and forty points!"
At these words, pretty much every student who wasn't a member of House Slytherin made their displeasure known. Hermione groaned internally at Hooch's lack of sensitivity. Hooch was totally blind to any sort of politics.
Hermione turned her full attention on Lucius and held out her hand. "Well done." She said, putting as much warmth into her voice as she could. "They flew brilliantly."
And they had. They were an excellent team. Hermione tried to think, not about how Gryffindor had lost, but how both teams had tried their best, and how proud the Slytherin team looked of themselves. They stood, third years alongside seventh years, arms over one another's shoulders. The Captain, in particular, looked dead on his feet but exuberant.
Lucius took her hand and shook it firmly. Pride flushed his cheeks and he looked back over his students with an air of satisfaction.
"They are superb, aren't they?"
The students in the stands took their handshake and obvious friendliness as some sort of dismissal. At the very least, it was a sign that they didn't need to immediately start fighting one another. Slowly, they started filing out of the stadium.
"Good game, Professor. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a victory party to supervise. It's come to my attention that the members of my House intend to set off some sort of firework in the Common Room."
Hermione made a sympathetic noise, then did a double-take when she realised where the Slytherin Common Room was.
"Ah, I see you understand the danger! Yes, there is a reason we are known for cunning, rather than common sense."
The sun rose on a student body divided by exhaustion, sulkiness, and pure euphoria. Thankfully, morning classes were cancelled.
It was a good day to be a Slytherin. Their victory had secured them first place in the Inter-House cup, if only by a handful of points. Green and silver banners had sprung up all over the school overnight. They were draped across doorways, statues, even the moving staircases. The chandeliers were choked with tinsel. The Great Hall was an absolute mess of green and silver confetti.
Upon seeing this, the Caretaker was absolutely furious. Barry Lynch had replaced Filch about a year before Hermione had started teaching. He was a sweet, kind young man, but he had absolutely no tolerance towards anything that might be construed as disrespect to his beloved castle. Minerva, feeling a little uncharitable after the loss to her House, set all the Slytherins to helping him clean up. But even this couldn't daunt them. As it turned out, a Slytherin could clean and sing Quidditch songs at the same time.
Hermione couldn't be too upset. The Slytherin team had worked very hard for their victory. They should be allowed to enjoy it. Gryffindor had put too much of their hopes on their Seeker, after all, an error that they couldn't afford to repeat. Their backup Seeker would need more training.
One loss didn't mean they'd lost the Cup, after all. They were still in second place. Hermione found herself smiling. Malfoy could innovate, could he? Well, she was an inventor. She was sure she could think of some strategy to counter his, now that she knew what he was about.
Her office was just about the only place in the school where she could be safe from hearing about the match, so she went straight back there after breakfast. Atlas dropped a letter on her desk. 'Professor H. Granger' was written in an elegant, flowing script on the envelope.
She opened it, and began to read.
Professor Granger,
I am afraid you must prepare yourself for terrible news.
I was preparing for class when I discovered that my stock cupboard had been broken into. Upon taking inventory, it became clear that I had been robbed.
Given the state of the youth of today, this would not be such a shock, if not for the fact that I had invested a great deal of time and effort into charming that cupboard to be nigh-unbroachable. The charmwork on the hinges alone, I flatter myself to think, might have given a seasoned Auror trouble.
So you see, I find myself at a loss. I am quite unable to think of a single student in this entire school who would be capable of managing such a feat.
Being Charms Professor, I trust that you would be infinitely more aware of your students' abilities in this regard than I. Should you manage to locate this spectacular thief, I would be curious to know what on earth prompted their adolescent mind to overlook two vials of amortentia, a rack of Potions for Most Excellent Beauty, and countless other rare (and expensive) potion ingredients, all in favour of a few bottles of Eye-Openers.
With bated breath,
Lucius A. Malfoy
Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!
I will try to update before the week is out, as I feel that two-part chapters should be released a bit closer together where possible. Of course, I don't want to rush and compromise the quality of the chapters, but if I can get the chapter ready in less than a week, I will!
As always, your questions, thoughts, feelings, are all so welcome! Reviews mean the world to me.
Also, I wanted you guys to know that there is a Halloween chapter coming up! Not sure if any of you love Halloween but if you do... get ready!
See you all next time!