DRACO
You had to hand it to her, Draco thought. She was pretty good on a broom, and that flip over on the broom move had taken him months to master, but her throwing—that was the best part. She was going to make a splendid Chaser.
"And now's when you Confund her," Pansy Parkinson said, flopping down onto a seat next to him. Draco glanced at her behind his binoculars. "Why?"
"It's what you do," Pansy said, putting her head on his shoulder. Draco resisted the urge to Confund her instead of Tess.
He peered through his binoculars. Tess was zipping towards Quinn with a determined look on her face.
The Quaffle was gone.
"Holy—" Draco gasped.
"What?" Pansy asked.
"The Quaffle's gone," Draco muttered. He zoomed in and gasped again. The Quaffle was flying next to Tess.
"She threw it," Draco exclaimed. "She threw it and—"
He stopped talking and watched.
Tess and the Quaffle raced each other. Then, as the Quaffle neared the goalposts, it shot over Quinn and Tess shot under him. The ball and the girl reunited for a split second behind Quinn—
And then the Quaffle was soaring through the middle hoop.
"YEAH," Draco yelled, leaping to his feet and punching the air.
"What are you doing?" Pansy demanded. She pulled on his robes, yanking him back into his seat. Draco shut his mouth and stuffed his binoculars into his robes.
The rest of the potential Chasers tried out, and a fifth year was chosen for the last position. Draco grinned as he heard Quinn roaring, "ALRIGHT EVERYONE, TRYOUTS ARE OVER! NO, I AM NOT QUITTING THE TEAM SO YOU CAN BE A LOUSY KEEPER, MCFLANAHAN!"
Draco stood and started making his way out of the stands; before he could, Tess landed in front of him and dismounted. "What are you doing here?"
"Pansy insisted I come," Draco sneered, "so that I could Confund you."
Tess raised an eyebrow. "So why could I hear you cheering?"
"I wasn't cheering," he scoffed. "I was yelling 'dang'. You know, I'm surprised a Mudblood was accepted onto the team."
Instead of looking angry or hurt, Tess laughed. "Oh, Draco. You just never learn, do you? And look what I got." She held out her broom.
SHE GOT A FIREBOLT? Draco screamed inwardly. He kept his face in its disgusted look and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Tess plowed on. "Pity you didn't wait a year to join the Slytherin team . . . then you could hone your nonexistent skills and buy your way onto the team with the Firebolt, not the wimpy Nimbus Two Thousand and One."
Draco fumbled for words, but came up empty, so he gestured behind him for Pansy to speak. She did.
"Oh, yeah, Wilford?" She stepped up next to Draco. "How'd you get to be so 'good'? Did Quinn bewitch the ball for you? Or did you bribe him to let you score on him because you've got the best broom of the rest of them? Who knew that you'd go to such lengths to be noticed, Mudblood?"
"Nobody cares what you think, Parkinson," Tess said, looking positively unhurt. "Keep your potato nose out of other peoples' business from now on."
Pansy's hand flew to her nose. Then she whipped out her wand and pointed it in Tess's face. "No one asked you—"
"Nobody asked you either," Tess pointed out. Draco had to hold Pansy back so she didn't try to tackle Tess.
Tess mounted her broom. "Let me know when someone actually starts caring, okay? Then I can throw a party for you." She kicked off and soared away.
Draco hid a grin, thinking, Get wrecked, Pansy. He released her arms. "We should probably get back to the common room. Professor Snape'd be furious if he knew we were out when it's so dark."
"He wouldn't mind," Pansy protested. She looked ready to jump out of the stands and chase Tess back to Ravenclaw's common room. "You're his favorite."
"Which is why he'd be furious I'm out here," Draco said. "Come on." He slung his bag over his shoulder, pulled on Pansy's arm, and dragged her out of the stands with him. In Hogwarts, he remembered that he hadn't done his Potions homework (not that it really mattered, but it was due tomorrow) and the two split up, Pansy to the common room and himself to the library. Once he was there he dumped his inkpot, quills, and parchment onto one of the desks and strode off to find a good Potions book.
An hour later he sat back and stared at his essay. It was about the difficulties of making an advanced form of the Polyjuice potion: how to make such a draught that one would turn into an animal. It included how to make the potion, all the necessary ingredients, and whether those ingredients were illegal.
He was shoving his things into his bag when he noticed a bloodred book at eye level. Intrigued by the color, he pulled it out.
Darcke Magiyck: All One Kneedes to Knowe, the title read. The author's name was illegible. Draco surreptitiously tucked the book into his bag, knowing that it was supposed to go in the Restricted Section and if he showed it to Madam Pince she'd banish him from the library for six weeks.
As he strolled past the front desk, Madam Pince jolted up from her chair. "What are you doing here?"
"My homework," Draco replied insolently. He dodged her claw-like hand as it tried to grab his collar and shot from the library.
When he got to the common room his heart was trying to force its way out of his chest; he had run nonstop from the library to the dungeons. He collapsed onto one of the couches in the common room, gasping.
"Where've you been, man?"
It was Blaise Zabini. He perched on the armrest of the couch opposite Draco's. "I mean, aside from classes. You've been gone all evening."
Draco sat up. "Wandering, doing homework." It was mostly the truth. "Oh, and I went to Ravenclaw's Quidditch tryouts—"
Blaise stood. "You what? You got a crush on that Mudblood or something?"
Draco rose swiftly. "Keep your voice down, Blaise! I went so I could Confund her."
"And did you?" Blaise asked.
"Nearly," said Draco. "Miscalculated, and then she put a Shield Charm up, so I couldn't without her knowing it was me."
Blaise shook his head. "A pity, that," he remarked.
"Definitely," Draco agreed. "Look, I'm tired—think I'm going to go to bed—feel free to stay up, though."
Blaise nodded and made his way across the room, towards Pansy Parkinson. Normally this would have made Draco try to curse Zabini behind his back; but he didn't feel like it, and besides: Pansy could take care of herself.
Draco made his way into the boys' dormitory, crept past Crabbe and Goyle's' beds (the two oafs were sound asleep, and Crabbe was drooling), and got into his pajamas. Then he sat on his bed and took Perch from his nightstand. He whispered the activation word.
Perch took one look at him and leaped to the foot of Draco's bed, his nose held high in the air. The rock sat with his back turned to the Slytherin.
"Oh, that's perfect," Draco snarled quietly. He pointed his wand at the hangings, making them snap shut, deactivated Perch, and then made both Crabbe and Goyle wake up by accidentally setting a large BANG from his wand.
Did his rock need food or something? Draco poked his head out of the hangings, Stunned Crabbe and Goyle, and slipped out of the dorms with his rock in his pocket. Then he realized he was in his pajamas and he changed. Then he somehow snuck unnoticed out of the dungeons.
He opened his palm, placed his wand on it, thinking of the kitchens, and whispered, "Pergo Mihi."
His wand spun in his palm and pointed to his right. Taking a deep breath, Draco started off.
His wand brought him to a halt in front of a painting of fruit. He was staring at it, trying to remember a spell that had a food-related word in it, when he heard a noise. He spun, his fingers closing over his wand, and whispered sharply, "Rictusempra!"
His spell bounced off one of the walls and headed straight at him. Draco dove to one side, then rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows in time to see the spell hit a pear. The fruit giggled and the painting swung open.
You've got to tickle it, Draco realized. Grinning, he slipped inside and pulled the portrait shut behind him.
Instantly he was surrounded by house-elves, all clamoring for him to tell them what food he wanted, if he needed a drink. They steered him over to a table covered in a red-and-white checked cloth and forced him to sit.
One of the elves bounded on to the table. "What can we get you, Sir?"
Draco took his pet rock out of his pocket and activated him. Again, Perch swiftly turned his back.
"Oh!" the house elf squealed. "I know just the trick. Attend him!" With that, the elf leaped into the surrounding crowd and vanished.
Another elf took his place on the table. "What can I get you?"
"Well," Draco said slowly, "maybe a cup of coffee, and . . ." he shrugged. "Chocolate cake?"
"Good choice," the elf said, as two elves in the crowd ran off. "It's what she had too. Anything else I can get you?"
"No," Draco said. A mug of coffee was place in front of him and he traced the handle with his fingers, staring off into the distance. His mind was blank. This place was peaceful.
"Wait," he said. "Who?"
"The one who tried to teach us how to make brownies," the elf confided, handing Draco a plate with a huge slab of cake on it. "She said that a student named Malfoy would like it."
"Is she still here?" Draco demanded. He forgot all about the coffee.
"No!" The elf shuddered. "We do not welcome any who think they can make food better than we."
The second elf was brutally shoved off the table by the first elf, who was holding a large cooked steak. "You had something like this the first time you fed it?" the first elf asked.
"Yes," Draco said slowly.
"This type of pet rock is special. It only eats what it first ate," the elf informed him. "And it must be fed by your hand."
Draco ripped off a piece of steak and held it up to Perch's nose. The rock clipped his hand with its teeth when it went for the meat. Wincing, Draco ripped off another piece. Why had Tess wanted to make brownies? For him? That was very unlikely.
He looked up at the elf who had given him the steak. "Thanks. What's your name?"
The elf's eyes widened. "It is a pleasure to serve you, sir! My name is Kirk, sir!" It bowed politely, beaming. "Is there anything else I can get you, sir?"
"Nothing." Draco fed Perch another bite. The animal turned and rubbed shyly against his hand. Draco smiled. "Look, Kirk—if the student who wanted to make brownies for me comes down here again, could you tell me? And not let her go?"
"Of course, sir!" Kirk exclaimed.
A half hour later, Draco managed to peel himself away from the elves, claiming he was tired (not a lie) and that he'd receive detention if he was caught outside his common room this late (also not a lie).
Somehow he made it to the Slytherin dungeon without being caught. Most of the lights were out, and he had the common room all to himself. He sat near the fire and listened to the waves of the lake overhead lapping on the shore. He loved that the common room extended a little into the lake; the waves were soothing when he couldn't sleep.
"Speaking of sleeping," he murmured, waking Perch, who had been dozing off in his palm. "I should probably . . ."
His sentence was cut short by a yawn. He almost fell asleep right there, but a particularly loud snap from the dying fire startled him to reality. Realizing that he might sleep until morning unless he moved, he went to bed.
Draco got up late, but not so late that he had to skip his morning routine: get dressed, harass a few first years, and check the notice board. A visit to Hogsmeade was coming this weekend, and the password had been changed to 'king cobra'.
Pansy ran up to him, her face shining, and hugged him hard. Then she dashed away.
"What's up with her?" Draco asked, mostly to himself.
"Dunno," Goyle grunted.
"I wasn't talking to you," Draco snapped, turning on his crony.
"Can we go to the Great Hall?" Crabbe complained. "I'm starving."
"You're so needy," Draco groaned. "Go on." He shooed the two oafs away and scanned the common room. Pansy was in the corner, talking animatedly to her posse of giggly girls. He went over to the fireplace, pretending to practice the Fire-Making Charm (Incendio), while really listening in on their conversation.
"It was Blaise, not Draco," Pansy was exclaiming. "I can't believe it! Draco's going to be so angry."
"Is he?" one of her friends queried. "Lately he's been distracted."
"He's not giving you as much attention as he should," another agreed.
"Besides," the first friend went on, "he probably won't find out that Blaise kissed you, if you keep it quiet."
Shock coursed through Draco, followed by hardened resolve. He stowed his wand in his robes and stalked from the common room.
Blaise was going down.
He jogged to the Great Hall, shoving aside several Hufflepuffs in his haste.
"How kind of you," a voice behind him shouted. "Do you make it a point to knock people down wherever you go?"
Without stopping, Draco shot over his shoulder, "Do you make it a point to cheat your way onto the Quidditch team?"
He smacked into someone and stumbled back, his fingers flying to his nose to make sure there was no damage done. Standing in front of him was Quinn Jefferies, the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. He looked livid.
"You take that back," he growled, sticking his finger in Draco's face. "I do not choose members of my team based on their brooms, unlike a certain someone I happen to have once knew, Malfoy."
"Pity," Draco sniped. "If you did you might actually stand a chance against the other teams." He pushed past Jefferies into the Great Hall, a sneer fixed on his face.
"That's mine."
"No, it's not."
"Yes it is."
"No it's not."
"I bought this with my own money—"
"Are you sure, because I seem to recall that it was my coins put on the counter—"
"I'm quite sure, you ugly toad-faced—"
"WOULD YOU SHUT UP," Draco roared.
Crabbe and Goyle stopped scuffling over the package of candy and glared at him sullenly.
"Look," Draco said, trying to be patient. "If you can't agree on who bought it, you have two options. You can give it to me or split it in half."
It was snowing lightly, and there was already a good half foot of snow on the ground, so they sought shelter at the Three Broomsticks. He hailed Madam Rosmerta as the three of them found seats at the bar. "Three butterbeers, please." He pushed some coins across the counter.
A few minutes later, he slammed down his bottle of butterbeer. "If you two don't stop arguing I swear to God I will kill you both!"
"But he didn't split it evenly," Crabbe whined, pointing at Goyle.
Draco swelled up to shout, then thought better of it and took the package of candy. "Here's what we'll do." He stood, putting his scarf on his seat so no one took it, and crossed the room to the fireplace.
"WAIT," Crabbe and Goyle yelled as one.
Draco chucked the candy into the fire and returned to his seat. "Next time, don't argue so much," he ordered, watching the oafs through narrowed eyes.
He downed the rest of his butterbeer. "I'm going to take a walk. You two can either stay here or come with me."
It was still snowing outside when he left the bar, and the snow was an inch or two deeper. He wandered off towards the woods.
He hadn't had much time to think about the situation between Pansy and Blaise since he found out, and a walk in the forest seemed like a great time to do so. He was especially glad Crabbe and Goyle had opted to stay inside.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and blew out a breath of warm air, watching it cloud and drift away in the slight breeze. He didn't really care about what was going on between Pansy and Blaise. Last year he would have tried to get Professor Snape to expel Zabini. But he'd changed over the summer. He no longer cared so much about Pansy; she'd actually started to get annoying.
There was a creak from beneath his feet. He stepped forward, thinking he must have walked on a root. The creaking turned into a crack.
He let out a yell of surprise as he suddenly plunged into freezing cold water. The temperature and force of the fall onto the ice, then into the water paralyzed him for a few dangerous seconds. He tried to climb out of what must have been a stream, but his foot slipped on an underwater rock and he fell into the water again, this time face first.
Somehow he made it out of the stream (it involved lots of shouting of curses) and onto solid ground, gasping and shivering. Instinctively he tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't hold him; he collapsed.
All of a sudden he wasn't shivering.
His body was shutting down, giving up and trying to preserve what little heat it had left. He knew enough to let it; if he tried to move, it could cause severe damage to his kidneys.
Blackness was crowding at the edge of his vision. Desperately, he called out for help. Nothing happened.
Draco tried again.
He was so cold, and so tired. He just wanted to sleep.
DO NOT GO TO SLEEP, he told himself.
But it was getting harder and harder to hold onto consciousness. He was slipping away. No one would find him. He was going to die.
The blackness reared up and crashed down on him like a wave. He knew no more.
A/N: So cold, so cold . . . *claps hand over heart* OH, THE DRAMA!
Sorry, please don't mind my craziness. ;D