It is the finals of the Quidditch Tournament, with Slytherin pretty much having the Quidditch Cup in the bag. It's just a formality at this point, even as they face off in their last match up with who else but Gryffindor.

This year it seemed as if Draco had lost his touch against the red and gold, but in reality, Gryffindor was simply smart enough to change their strategy. They seemed to realize pretty quickly, that he wouldn't hit a Bludger anywhere in the vicinity of Angelina Johnson, and thus they ran their entire offense through her. Because of it, Slytherin had only won by a mere 100 points last time, and in this game, it's only 50.

Not content with just using Angelina against him, Gryffindor is apparently smart enough to forego their usual seniority system and place Ginny Weasley as another Chaser, just for this match. Ginny had pursued her Quidditch dreams, encouraged by Draco…and his gifted Firebolt, and she had made the team as a backup Chaser. Knowing about her relationship with him, she was promoted to starter, but only against Slytherin, and it's making quite the difference.

However, with his eye mostly off the ball, Draco has much more time to spend on Potter, who keeps getting close to the Golden Snitch, only to be deterred by a Bludger here and there, courtesy of the aptly named 'Beater of Death', the Malfoy heir himself. Draco will be damned if he lets Potter catch the thing and win the match, and if he gets too close, Draco will be forced to do away with him. For good. Or at least for this match.

Luckily, it doesn't come to that, and they ultimately win by 70. Draco takes the time to blow a kiss at Ginny, who blushes and turns away, and to wink at Angelina Johnson who…doesn't recoil in disgust this time. Progress.

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The King of Slytherin grins wide as he looks down at it. It…is amazing. It…is a work of art, a masterpiece of the ages. It…is perfect. With it placed rightfully around his neck, Draco cannot help but to give Nott a deep, brotherly hug, surprising the quiet boy more than he's ever been surprised before. But Draco doesn't care, because finally… Finally.

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Lucius sits back in his lounge chair, hands folded and eyes closed as he contemplates the enigma that is his son, Draco. His son has been…different since his ninth birthday: stronger, smarter, colder, more fitting of a Malfoy, and yet…more terrifying than a child has any right to be. His son is no doubt a certified genius above any other mind he's seen since the Dark Lord himself, and his power has thankfully followed suit. His attitude however….has a lot of room for growth, even if neither he nor his wife Narcissa can find it in themselves to correct it.

He interrupts his thoughts with a shot of Firewhiskey for strength, mixed with the highest grade of wine and he even takes the time to light a long cigarette, Dragon brand, as he further contemplates the situation.

Sometimes Lucius has to wonder if their…silly moment of weakness is coming back to haunt them. He remembers vividly how their son seemed so weak and so pale at first, with the trademark Malfoy magic warning him of Draco's future failures, the besmirchment of the Malfoy name. Naturally, they did not accept this lying down, and they may have dabbled in some Dark Magic, or rather…what can be referred to as Pitch Black Magic, Necromancy, or even Demonology, as it is often called, in which they sacrificed copious amounts of blood: Thestral Blood, Unicorn Blood, Dragon Blood, and even Basilisk Blood, in a strange ritual said to summon an actual demon.

They wanted…they only wished to utilize the power of magic, any magic, to help their son overcome his apparent coming failures. Neither Lucius nor his wife, a witch well-versed in the dark magic of the Black household, believed in actual demons, but they hoped something would come of the ritual, that some kind of power would find its way into their pride and joy Draco, and if not that, some kind of helper, maybe a more powerful version of an elf, would be bound to him as a companion, or a slave even. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, their efforts were futile and the ritual resulted in nothing of note, or so they thought at the time. Now, Lucius isn't so sure…