Draco slept well that night, a little too well if truth be told, since the next morning he woke up, looked at his watch and flew into a blind panic- he had overslept and had a mere seven minutes to get all the way downstairs to transfiguration- he'd never make it! Draco quickly threw his school robes over his pyjamas, threw his shoes and socks on and picked up his bag, thanking the small mercy that had led him to pack his bag the previous night. Draco ran through the door and pounded down the stairs, as fast as his legs could carry him, he jumped the last two and moved straight into a fast jog out through the portrait hole. Now the great race began, five minute to descend all the way to the ground floor and out through the courtyard into the transfiguration classroom. Draco used all the shortcuts he knew, neatly avoiding a crowd of noisy and apparently lost first years- someone else could help them find their way- and reached the first floor with a minute to spare. Could he make it on time? He hurtled down the remaining flight of stairs, taking the bottom five steps in one large jump, springing up, he rapidly changed direction and shot of in the right direction. He made it with seconds to spare, panting heavily, and took his seat just as the bell went off to mark the start of the day's lesson. Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, as if to give him a talking-to and then shut it again, deciding that, technically, he was on time.

The lesson was tougher than anyone had expected, the transfigurations were getting harder- not that that was a problem for Draco – but now they were also expected to perform the spells silently. Despite the practise that Draco had done, he was beginning to struggle, and by the end of the lesson he and Hermione were the only ones to have successfully summoned any birds at all, and they each won five points for Gryffindor and jealous stares from the rest of the class. All too soon the end of the class had arrived, and Draco and Harry were asked to stay behind. Harry was quickly dealt with, as Professor McGonagall informed him that Dumbledore wanted to see him that evening. Draco stayed behind for a bit longer.

'Well, Draco, I know this is a bit earlier than we usually do it, but since we've lost so many players, I want you to have plenty of time to think about it, You're cricket captain this year.'

'Thank you Professor.' Draco said, ever so slightly shocked.

'Not a problem. Nicely transfigured earlier, by the way. Very quickly done. Well, be off with you.'

And with that he was dismissed.

Now Draco had another problem to worry about, the Gryffindor cricket team. Then there was quidditch, Draco might not be nearly as good as that particular sport as Harry was, but he wasn't bad, and with several players having been lost, he might be in with a chance. No. There wasn't any point, for sport he'd concentrate on his cricket- quidditch was good, but it just didn't have the same appeal to Draco. And he was doing NEWTs now, it was time to prioritise- if he was going to play sport it had to be cricket, and since that took so much time out of the year, he'd better not waste the rest of it playing quidditch when he should be studying. It'd be a shame to hang up his broom, though; he'd definitely miss those early Saturday mornings, being yelled at by Wood, or even Harry, as the Gryffindor reserve team once more got annihilated by the Gryffindor firsts. Well, there was nothing to stop him taking his broom out for a spin every now and then – even if joy rides over the Forbidden Forest were forbidden and the increased security meant he could no longer leave the grounds- at least, not if he wanted to come back in again.

Draco's worries about the prospects of the Gryffindor Cricket Team paled in comparison to his curiosity about Harry's evening lessons with Dumbledore. He and Ron had a bet. Ron had laid down 1 Knut that Harry would be learning really cool defensive magic. Draco had bet 1 knut that Harry wouldn't, so it was with an eager sense of anticipation that they waited up playing gobstones in the common room whilst they waited for Harry to come back. Every so often Hermione would look up from her book and stare at the table where they sat and sigh. How long would it be until Harry got back? At the end of the fifth game of gobstones, whilst Draco wiped the last of the foul smell liquid the stones spat out from his face, Harry walked in.

'Well?'

'Well, what?'

'How did it go?'

'Yeah, well thanks mate- wasn't what I expected though.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Yeah, Dumbledore had me looking through a load of old memories in his pensieve. All about how Tom Riddle grew up.'

'You mean, He-who-must-not-be-named?' Draco asked.

'Yeah I mean Voldemort alright.' Ron and Draco shivered at the very mention of the name whilst Hermione looked quite uncomfortable.

That stopped the conversation dead and the four friends sat silently for a while in the Gryffindor common room, looking at each other, wondering what to say. In the end, it was Harry who broke the silence.

'Well, I'd better head to bed, it's the Quidditch trials tomorrow. Need all the sleep I can get. So do you two, if you're trying out.'

'See you three in the morning then.' Hermione said, before heading up the staircase to the Girl's dormitories and out of sight. The three boys trudged heavily up the stairs to their beds, where they lay down and fell to sleep nearly instantly.

The morning came viciously as a sharp beam of light penetrated the hangings around Draco's bed and shone right in his face. Great. Couldn't morning have come later?

Draco slowly got out of bed, plonking his bare feet on the wooden floor of the dormitory, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Over to the other side of the room, Harry and Ron were doing the same thing.

'Morning guys. Ready for trials?'

'Suppose so.' Ron said glumly.

'Perhaps. I wasn't going to try out this year though.'

'What? Why?'

'Well, there doesn't seem that much point- I'm never going to make the firsts, let's be honest, and what with McGonagall having given me cricket captain, I'm going to be far too busy with that.'

'You're cricket captain? When did you find out?'

'Yesterday- she told me after Transfiguration.'

'Funny they don't do it at the same time as quidditch captain, isn't it.' Ron noted, after a brief silence.

'Yeah, but I reckon that they just do quidditch earlier because the season starts sooner.'

'S'pose so.' Harry said. ' Would you mind coming out, Draco? Even if you aren't trying out, as a senior squad member you'd be able to give me a hand- particularly as you're not trying out for the team.'

'What, you want me to act as a panel of selectors?'

'Pretty much.'

'No problem Harry- It'll be nice to get one last run about on the broom.'

'S'pose so.' Harry said, sad that his friend was no longer going to play his favourite sport.

Out on the quidditch pitch the weather was improving. The heavy rains of the night before had given way to light clouds which were quickly burning off in the morning sun. There was not a wind to disturb the trees –only the whomping willow was moving now – and better conditions for flying couldn't be wished for. With a great swoop of delight, Draco kicked off hard from the ground and did a few laps. It was good to be out and about again on his broom which for the moment was just keeping up with everyone else doing their laps. Fine, well, he wasn't going to rush it yet, he didn't want to encourage the others to be foolish. Save that 'til later. It was only on the fourth lap that the great mass of Gryffindors began to string out. What wa this? He was being overtaken? By whom? Some cocky little second year. That would never do. Draco decided to show him who was boss.

Gently speeding up, he caught up with the little boy on his small broom, who instantly accelerated away. Draco sped up again and within seconds had drawn level. The boy sped up again. This time, Draco went straight past him, accelerating heavily around the bend. His stomach shot out sideways as he cornered, but he stayed on, every sinew in his arms fighting for grip. Then, the corner ended and Draco was back on the straight. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that the other boy had slowed down for the corner, but he wasn't far behind. The Gadfly may have been getting on a bit, as brooms go, but in Draco's mind it was the finest in production, able to out-corner any other broom on the market. It could certainly outfly everyone else who was trying out. It felt good to fly this fast, and as the wind whipped Draco's face he leaned forward to go faster, faster and faster he went and before long he found himself tightly grabbing his broom in a full race tuck position, wondering whether or not to slow down for the corner. Draco didn't slow down before banking sharply to the left and completing the turn. Draco was fairly sure that the only reason he stayed on his broom was that the force slinging him to the outside of the bend was forcing him down strongly across it. Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd flown this, well, aggressively. It felt good and for the first time, Draco really understood the comments in WhichBroom? about cornering ability. This thing was incredible. Coming out of the bend he accelerated again, now nearly lying flat on his broom, head up, looking out for the other flyers in the way. He came up to the main body of stragglers, those who hadn't spread out when the pack had started to break up. Instead of slowing down, Draco tightened his grip still further until his knuckles were just starting to go white and then executed a near perfect barrel roll, coming out in front of them in a lovely large piece of clear space. Perfect. Before he had a chance to overtake anyone else though, Harry spoiled his fun by loudly blowing his whistle and calling them all down to the ground.

'Right, well, that's enough of that, you can all fly without falling off your brooms. Now, we're going to do trials by playing a couple of five minute games with the bludgers and quaffle whilst the seekers hunt the snitch. Draco here will be refereeing the games so I can get a good look at everyone. Now split up into your positions, seekers over there, keepers that way, chasers here and beaters there.'

They were soon split up into teams and they took to the air. Draco released the bludgers and, as he had seen Madame Hooch do so many times before, released the quaffle into the air. From the nearly empty stands came shouts of encouragement from those who had come along to watch. Whilst most of his attention went to refereeing the game, in the five minute breaks in between them, which Harry used to swap people between teams, Draco watched the stands to see who was in them. Hermione was there, as were a whole other gaggle of girls and most of the first year boys. Draco didn't have much time for looking though as soon enough he had to head back to the middle of the pitch to start the next match. The game started as usual. By now, Draco could see that Harry had sorted the teams out into two tiers- there was the first team on one side and the seconds on the other and the score line was ever increasing. Draco's gaze never lingered in one place for long- with so much going on to referee, there was no way it could – but he did manage to see Harry catch the snitch. Draco blew his whistle and the first stage of the trials came to an end.

'Right. Well, thank you for turning up everyone. That's it for now, except for the keepers. Anyone who wants to stay behind to shoot at the goals is more than welcome, but unless you want to be a keeper, you can go.' Harry dismissed the players and most of those who had come left, along with a good proportion of the crowd. Hermione was still in the stands though.

Harry and Draco took to the air to watch the goals in a penalty shoot out between the two candidates for keeper. Cormac McLaggen, a burly boy who looked as if he could probably fill a goal by flying in front of it, and Ron, whose gangly frame made for a great reach, but didn't give him much ability to block shots with his body.

McLaggen went first and blocked the first four shots without incident. On the fifth shot however, he went completely the wrong way. Next up was Ron, who managed somehow to block all of his shots, even if on the third, he was upside down hanging onto his broom desperately with his legs whilst he used his arms to fend off the ball. When Harry announced that Ron had gotten the position, McLaggen started ranting about favouritism and stormed off in a huff.

It was with a degree of sadness that Draco touched down. This would be his last time with the quidditch team. Harry was pleased with his new team though, confiding in Draco that he thought they had a good shot at the cup. Draco wished he could say the same about the cricket shield, which, unless some unknown new talent showed up, would be going straight to Slytherin. That was a long way off though, several months away, whereas the first Gryffindor quidditch match was only a week away. Could Gryffindor win the match? Draco didn't know. There was one thing thing that bugged him though- why had McLaggen gone the wrong way. He looked like he'd been confunded, but who would have done that? Draco stalked out of the changing rooms and collided with Hermione.

'Sorry.'

'Sorry. You alright?' Draco asked.

'Yes, I'm fine, how about you?'

'No bones broken. Sorry about that, heading back up to the castle?'

'I thought I'd wait for Ron, to congratulate him.'

'Well, I'll see you later, I need to head back up to the castle for a sit down- I hit the ground so fast there it was almost as if I'd been confounded.'

Hermione blushed pink as Draco's fishing found its target.

'Don't tell him, will you?'

'Of course not.'