"Guys!" Turner says, annoyed. "If you're going to be at each other's throat - fine with me, but next time, wait for someone else to supervise you."

"What did you do?" Ted asks, when Draco comes for dinner a little late, smiling to himself.

"You know, I always thought Longbottom were the biggest idiot around here, but I guess I was wrong." He leans forward and lowers his voice. "I just challenged Potter to a wizard's duel."

"Oh!" Zabini says mockingly. "Are you going to throw a Lumos in each other's faces?"

"I'm not done yet, so listen!" Draco says. "I told him we'll meet in the trophy room - at midnight."

Ted lowers his fork, grinning. "And?"

"He's in."

"No!"

"Yes. And Weasley too, of course."

"So they're indeed as stupid as they look," says Zabini.

"Mromph," says Crabbe, chewing.

The only one looking worried is Goyle. "Um, but Draco, you can't go out after 10 PM, because of the curfew."

"And I don't intend to, Gregory."

"But you just said -"

"I know it's hard for you, but try to think. If I'd pull this off, I'd have three problems. First, Filch. Second, Peeves. Third, points deduction for Slytherin. But since I'm not going, what happens instead?"

Goyle looks as if he has to solve a highly complicated formula.

"First, I'll talk to Filch. Second, Filch will catch Potter. Third, points deduction for Gryffindor and, with a bit of luck, an expulsion because Potter has broken the rules again. You follow?"

It takes a few seconds, but then Goyle starts giggling. "Hehe, he's such a Gryffindork! Wait - we should lure this Penny into the trophy room, too!"

Draco frowns. "Who?"

"Penny Parkinson."

"Her name is Pansy, and why would she go there?"

"Dunno."

"Shall I push her off the Astronomy Tower on Tuesday night?"

"No, Crabbe."

Zabini looks to the end of the table, where the chickens are picking at their salads. "Why exactly do you hate each other?"

"Because she's a self-loving, stupid goose! How can you not hate her?"

"She's actually quite okay."

"And comes from an old family," Ted notes.

"Please," says Draco. "So do most people at this table, but she still gets on my nerves."

"I know what it's like," says Crabbe, glancing at Ted. "Maybe someone will fall off the Tower one day. Accidentally."

Ted smiles. "Or someone else doesn't notice the toadstool mixed into his food, because he inhales it as usual."

"That would be really bad," Goyle mumbles saddened.

After dinner, when the Entrance Hall is almost empty, Draco knocks on a door that most students give a wide berth: Argus Filch's office.

Shuffling steps can be heard from inside. Shortly afterwards the door is opened and the caretaker sticks out his ugly head. "What do you want?" he snaps.

"I'm doing my duty and report a rule violation," says Draco with a disapproving look; it's no secret that Filch is a useless Squib. "Unless you're not responsible for such matters."

Filch glares at him suspiciously. "Fine, but keep it short, I'm busy."

As Draco enters the windowless room, an indefinable, disgusting smell hits him. It takes a moment for his eyes to get used to the gloominess; the only source of light is an oil lamp hanging from the low ceiling. There are filing cabinets on the wall, labelled with names. Apparently, a file was set up for any rule violation ever committed at Hogwarts. Weasley, Fred and Weasley, George even have an entire drawer to themselves.

Filch sits down at his desk. Next to it, there's a moth-eaten armchair with Filch's scrawny, grey cat sitting on the armrest and staring at Draco menacingly.

"Well, spit it out!"

With difficulty, Draco averts his eyes from the wall behind the desk, with a sizeable collection of chains and manacles hanging on it. "I overheard two students talking about a wizard's duel. In the trophy room, at midnight."

All of a sudden, Filch seems interested. "Is that true?"

"Yes. I don't know about you, but I find this very irresponsible - someone could damage the trophies."

Filch's face turns into a grin, revealing his yellow teeth. He points at the Weasleys' drawer with a bony finger. "Bet it's those twins again, eh?"

"No, but their younger brother. His name is Ronald," Draco explains, shaking his head. "Ignoring rules seems to run in the family. And his friend spurred him on, saying something like 'They'll never catch us'."

"Did he?" Filch glances at the torture instruments on the wall. "Well, this boy will be sorry for it! Surname?"

"Oh, you've surely heard of him. It's Harry Potter."

~.~.~

But unfortunately, Draco finds Scarface and his red-haired dangler eating their breakfast cereal the next morning as if nothing happened. Either it dawned on them and they scrapped their plan to go to the trophy room, or Filch was simply too stupid to catch them.

Draco is quite annoyed. And does not suspect the unfortunate events that will happen one week later.

~.~.~

"Practise WHAT?" Amanda Turner asks during the homework supervision.

"Hiding," Parkinson repeats.

Tracey Davis grins. "At least something different after a whole week of running away."

"That was hard," Crabbe grumbles.

"Wow. I had no idea that it's so bad."

Daphne Greengrass giggles. "The only bad thing is that garlic smell. His homework is actually quite funny."

"Sure it is, playing children's games isn't very challenging," says Turner. "But you don't seem to realise that your life expectancy will increase if you can defend yourself against dangerous beings and Dark wizards - by using your brain and your wand! That's what Quirrell is supposed to teach you … I'm really curious about his end-of-term exam."

"Who taught you in your first year?" asks Ted.

"A very competent teacher named Denbrough, who unfortunately quit after one year. In his very first lesson, we learned that attack is the best form of defence. It was everyone's favourite subject because he taught us combat spells right from the start, like in a real duel." She smiles slyly. "John never got over the fact that I was the only one to beat him."

The first-years look at each other, then Draco asks, "Can you teach us some combat spells?"

Her smile disappears. "Oh no, forget it."

"Please!"

"That would be so cool!"

"Just think of our life expectancy!"

She crosses her arms. "I'm not here to play the substitute teacher."

"But to help us!"

"And Snape would definitely hear about your commitment!"

"I'm sure he'll be glad to give you extra points!"

The Prefect looks into nine euphoric faces. Finally, she rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Get your wands out."

"YAY!"

"Just so we're clear, you've got thirty minutes left, so pay attention. I'd say we start with one of the most common Disarming Charms: Expelliarmus. First, you have to move your wrist to the side, then in a spiral. All right? Who's first?"

"Me," Draco announces and gets up. With some distance he stands in front of Turner, pointing his wand at hers. The movement didn't look very difficult. He concentrates on doing it properly and says, "Expelliarmus!"

At first, her wand stutters just a little, but then it gets loose, landing on the floor behind her.

"Not bad, but improvable," she says and turns to the rest of the class. "Next, please."

Draco's attempt is actually one of the best; Zabini screws up the last movement, Bulstrode is too slow altogether and Goyle tries his luck with 'Expallimus'. The only other students who manage to disarm her are Ted and Tracey Davis.

At last, it's Parkinson's turn. She gets into position and focuses on the Prefect's wand.

"Don't hurt yourself," Draco quips, but she ignores him.

He keeps trying. "You've heard the news, midget? The Ministry has gone crazy - you're so ugly, they thought you were an unregistered Animagus."

While the girls react with indignation, Crabbe and Goyle join in his giggling.

This time, Parkinson faces him. She lowers her wand and placidly puts it into her robes.

"Aww, are you sad now?" Draco asks.

But before he's able to stop grinning, she rushes towards him - and gives him a strong push.

What the -

He stumbles backwards, losing his balance and falling on his butt.

In the first moment, no one reacts, until Zabini's uproarious laughter interrupts the silence and the chickens start cackling wildly.

"Guys!" Turner says, annoyed. "If you're going to be at each other's throat - fine with me, but next time, wait for someone else to supervise you." She looks down at Draco, who is still sitting there like rooted to the ground. "Come on, up you go!"

He gets up without taking his eyes off that little gnome. But then he grimaces, as if in pain. "Aaah…I think my leg is hurt!"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"But she attacked me!"

"That's right!" Goyle confirms dutifully. "I saw everything!"

"You started it!" Parkinson snaps.

The Prefect raises her hand to signal them to be silent. "That's it, we're done here."

"But -"

"No buts! You better go play hide and seek again."

She holds the door open for them. "Insulting and pushing each other around is pretty popular in Gryffindor, by the way. Maybe they still have room for you."

On the way out, Draco is about to strangle Zabini so as not to hear his laugh anymore. He is furious, and the fact that he can't push Parkinson back, because you just don't hurt girls, only makes him angrier.

On that day, he's absolutely convinced that he will never hate anyone more in his life than Pansy Parkinson.

He is seriously mistaken.

~.~.~

The next morning, Draco's mood is still at rock bottom. He tries to concentrate on his food, but for the hundredth time he recalls that nasty brat pushing him to the ground. At least, the image of him hexing her crosses his mind every now and then.

The boys haven't mentioned the incident so far, so it's an unusual quiet breakfast. But none of them misses the six large screech owls, which carry a long ... broom-shaped package through the Great Hall and drop it on the Gryffindor table with a loud crash - right in front of Harry Potter's nose.

Zabini raises an eyebrow. "What's in there?"

"We'll find out in a minute," Draco murmurs, grabbing Crabbe and Goyle by their robes. "Come on! Crabbe, leave the plate."

Grumbling, they follow him out of the Hall (armed with sandwiches to avoid the risk of a sudden starvation) and wait by the double door.

As soon as Potter walks out, Draco grabs his package out of his hands. The weight, the length, the smell of brand-new mahogany - there is no doubt.

"That's a broomstick," he says, and his initial envy gives way to malicious joy. He throws the package back to Potter. "You'll be for it this time, Potter, first-years aren't allowed them."

"It's not any old broomstick," says Weasley. "It's a Nimbus Two Thousand."

Damn it.

"What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty? Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

Draco inhales sharply. "What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle. I suppose you and your brothers have to save up, twig by twig."

He hears Crabbe and Goyle laughing, when suddenly the tiny Professor Flitwick shows up. "Not arguing, I hope, boys?"

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," Draco blurts out.

"Yes, yes, that's right," says Flitwick, beaming. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," replies Potter, swollen with pride. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it."

He then leaves the Entrance Hall with Weasley.

Draco looks at his teacher in dismay.

"Oh, I'm afraid I'm not authorised to talk about these special circumstances," says Flitwick, climbing the marble staircase.

"A Nimbus?" Goyle asks in disbelief. "But they're so expensive!"

"Do you think they put Potter on the team?"

"Of course they did, Crabbe!" Draco shouts. "What else would he do with a broom?"

He feels like going nuts. Maybe he's dreaming right now, or it's all just a bad joke.

Surprise, Mr Malfoy, we tricked you! The broomstick is not for Harry Potter of course, but for you. From now on, you are the vice-captain of the Slytherin team, and you'll get two brand-new Nimbus Two Thousand, one to fly and one to look at. Miss Parkinson will polish them regularly to keep them shiny, and Mr Potter will live with the cruel Muggles for the rest of his days, bitterly regretting that he thought to be better than you.

But Draco is still standing in the Hall, empty-handed and with a knot in his stomach. How is it that Potter not only gets away with breaking the rules, but is also rewarded with a luxury broom and a position on the Quidditch team?

Long after that slap in the face, Draco is convinced that nothing more nightmarish will ever happen to him than watching Potter snatching his dreams from under his nose.

But again, he is seriously mistaken.