Though the night air was damp and chilly, the players on the Gryffindor Quidditch team were all sweating; their robes clinging to them; their hair matted to their heads…Angelina hurled the Quaffle at Ron Weasley as hard as she could. His pale, sweat-mopped face and wet red hair seemed to vibrate with anticipation as he watched it coming. She hovered on her broom, watching him…block it. Block it!
Ron turned his broom sharply, the tail end of it slamming into the Quaffle, sending it back towards her with rocketing force. The whole team gave a cheer, and Ron's cheeks flushed as he grinned with relief. Angelina swooped down and caught the ball, beaming across the pitch at him.
"Good job, Ron! That was three out of five, not bad at all!"
On that happy note, Angelina decided that perhaps it was time to end the two hour practice. Though for her it wasn't nearly enough time, especially to get the new players settled in, she saw that the team members were getting really tired. Ginny Weasley looked knackered, but happy—she sat on her broom breathing hard, sweating, and smiling from ear to ear at Ron.
Angelina blew her whistle again and motioned for them to come to her. They formed a large circle in the middle of the pitch, Ron bringing it to a close. Angelina looked over them all, the new players among them, and reasoned that she had to be satisfied with what she had. The absence of George, Harry, and Fred was palpable and a little saddening, but the group that had replaced them; especially Ginny; had done well enough tonight for her to hold on to a shred of hope. Even though it was late-September, the air was beginning to feel heavy and hot, such was their exhaustion.
"You guys did good," Angelina breathed into the silence. The stands behind them towered dark and empty, and the overhead lights beamed down on them all, illuminating their drained faces. "I think you need to work on your maneuvering, though Kirk. You keep getting in the way of the Bludger, rather than beating it back, but I'm sure that'll improve if you keep practicing." She went on to speak to them each in turn about their weak points, offering advice on how they could improve, ending with Ron. "I cannot stress enough, Ron: focus. Don't let anything but those goal rings and that Quaffle enter your mind, got it? You're a good player; you just need to put your blinders on when you find yourself getting distracted." Ron nodded seriously. "Okay," Angelina sighed. "Other than that, I think we can call it quits for tonight, eh?"
They all smiled at her, thankful for her words of encouragement. Of course, they all knew that they would have to work double-hard, but none of them seemed to have any objection to it. She dismissed them and led the way back down to the grass where they dismounted their brooms and walked silently back down into the changing rooms. Angelina stayed behind and began to gather up the balls and other practice equipment.
"Need help there?" Dean asked, walking backwards. She shook her head. She liked doing this alone; it gave her a chance to go over things in her head. Dean gave her a salute and turned to jog back. Angelina forced the struggling Bludgers back under the straps that held them into the equipment trunk and sighed. Better watch yourself, Johnson, Wood had told her once as she helped him carry the trunk back to the changing rooms. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you took this a little too seriously. She had scoffed at him and retorted that he was one to talk. Angelina smiled to herself and the empty arena, very happy that she was able to carry (well, levitate; Wood preferred to do it manually but Angelina was content to use magic) this trunk back all on her own. She thought perhaps if Wood were here, he might be proud of how she was handling things.
The wind picked up, and she fancied she heard the distant crackling of thunder. It wasn't going to rain tonight, but if and when it did she hoped that it would not be the day of the match. When she was making her way down the passage that lead to the changing rooms, she was met with most of the team, who were already finished and on their way back to the castle.
"We'll wait if you want, Angie." Alicia suggested. Angelina considered but shook her head. "You're sure?"
"Yeah. Still got some thinking to do."
"Okay but don't miss curfew."
"Sure thing. See ya."
Angelina's eyes caught Ginny Weasley's for a second and she found herself wondering not for the first time what it was the girl had said to Harry earlier that day. She had already reasoned that there was no need to be jealous and she didn't really like those kinds of childish emotions anyway; especially when they crept up on her like this. She decided, as she waved them all goodnight, that she didn't need to know.
Once the equipment trunk was stowed safely where it belonged, Angelina tiredly walked over to her locker and retrieved her things. She was too worn out to change; she'd just wait till she had taken a shower. Stuffing her school clothes into her bag, she jumped when her playbook fell from the top shelf of the locker. Angelina picked it up from the floor and opened it. Past the many pages of notes on popular new moves the international Quidditch teams were using that she wanted to show the others, and right before her own invented maneuvers, were the drawings she'd done of Harry. She watched the Flying Harry's zoom across the pages excitedly, chuckling a little as the Flying Harry being chased by Bludgers dodged a nasty pounding from one only to be done in by the other. On the next page was the half-finished one she'd done of his handsome face. The half that was complete smiled at her. Next to that was the sketch of the two of them kissing; little girly hearts floated above their heads.
"I really should throw these away…"
But when the sketch-version of Harry winked at her and leaned over to kiss the sketch-version of herself, Angelina decided to let them be for now. She could toss them later. She'd been telling herself that for days, but she couldn't help the giddiness that bubbled beneath her usually serious demeanor when she looked at them. Angelina took a spare quill from the shelf and made a note in one of the margins: KIRK— MANEUVERING! WEASLEY—FOCUS!
She underlined Ron's problem several times before putting the book back on the shelf and closing the locker. She picked up her bag, got her wand out, and aimed it at the lock.
"Cross your eyes and hope to die." She uttered. The lock shivered a little, glowed warm blue and the charm sealed itself. It was something she had made up (akin to the homemade spell Ron had tried on his rat Scabbers a long time ago, only hers actually worked). The little charm worked very well, and nobody knew what the incantation was. Anyone tampering with it would learn that having their eyes crossed for longer than a few seconds (try a few days) was no laughing matter. She thanked her best mates Fred and George for schooling her in that sort of craftiness.
Angelina gathered her things up and waved her wand, muttering the incantation that quietly bade the lights go out.
He watched her, from a distance, very unsure of what he would do. True, he had a task at hand, but her suddenly being on her own was something he had not expected. What was it about her that infuriated him so?
Maybe it wasn't just her, but Potter as well. The pair of them, so comfortable with each other, even though he had done everything he could to make them squirm. He watched her levitate the trunk across the field and down into the darkness of the small tunnel that lead to the changing rooms. Seconds later many of the Gryffindor players emerged, calling out to her as they made their way towards him. He stepped back several paces, very quickly, and disappeared into the shadows of the trees behind him until they had passed. He watched them amble up the path leading back to the castle, their shoulders slumped with fatigue but their voices raised excitedly as they huddled together. He recognized most of them, including that little snot Ron Weasley and his brat sister. After that, the two new Beaters emerged, a few paces behind. No sign of her yet. And no sign of Crabbe and Goyle, either.
Draco Malfoy clenched his jaw with impatience. If they didn't hurry up they would miss curfew, and then they'd have a teacher to answer to if they were caught wandering the halls after hours. He didn't want to risk that, especially carrying what he had come for. But then again, in due time he would have a solution for that as well.
There was a cracking noise like a twig being snapped under a heavy foot, and Draco turned around, his eyes wide with alarm, to see the two oafish boys he called friends come shuffling towards him. He held a hand up to stop them moving any further and turned to squint at the retreating backs of the group of Gryffindors. Once he was sure they were well out of range, and had almost disappeared in the shadows as they walked the path back to the castle, he furrowed his brow and lowered his hand.
"Took you long enough," he whispered, staring at them.
Crabbe, usually the smarter one though that wasn't saying much, shrugged and gestured toward the entrance to the pitch.
"We heard voices. People still in there?"
Draco shook his head impatiently. "They were but they've gone back up, now. Only one left is Johnson."
"So we should wait?" Goyle asked quietly.
Draco stared at him until the boy realized that yes, they should wait. He often wondered why he bothered with these two. Aside from their extreme loyalty and willingness to do almost anything he asked, they could be such a headache sometimes. But it helped to have them around when he found himself being threatened. Of course, that usually depended on who was doing the threatening. Draco's eyes narrowed as he watched Angelina Johnson emerge from the tunnel that led to the changing rooms, carrying her school bag, which looked stuffed to capacity. He hoped that what he'd come for wasn't in there.
"Why are we doing this, Draco?" Crabbe asked him in a whisper.
Draco sneered, his eyes still on the ever-approaching Angelina. "Because we can," he said simply. "I want it."
"But what if we're caught?"
"If you two do exactly as I told you, we won't be. Besides, I've got a little insurance plan for that. Now shut up, she's coming."
They all hushed and moved back into the shadow of the nearby trees, just as she had reached the gate. As soon as she stepped across the threshold, the lights towering over the pitch went out, showering her in darkness. Draco watched her pass them, making her way up the same path that her friends had moments ago. His eyes burned into her back. He felt something…felt the tingling of barely-contained malice simmering beneath his pale skin all over. Why did she anger him so?
Pansy Parkinson's obnoxious, nasal voice flitted at him: "That's not true, Draco. We've kissed before and I liked it just fine." He thought when she said this to him that if he could turn her into a bug with his wand he would not hesitate to squash her. Liked it just fine, had she? He seemed to remember her complaining about how cold his hands and lips were. She hadn't been alive to him for a long time after that and when he did let her come groveling back he didn't touch her much. Of course, if he felt the urge to, she would tolerate him, but he knew she was only putting on that she liked it so she wouldn't be turned away from his circle again. It made him want to hit something just thinking about it.
Draco shook his head hard, bringing himself back to the present. That was beside the point! He wanted those plays right now. Or more specifically, that book. The plays were something he could use, yes, but he really just wanted the book.
"She's not coming back. You two go in, and be quiet about it."
The two boys began creeping towards where Angelina had come. The gate was locked, as all students should've been back at the castle by then and curfew was less than half an hour away. They turned to him and shrugged. He rolled his eyes and motioned impatiently that they would have to climb over. He then turned his gaze to the path ahead, where Angelina had disappeared. He could catch her if he ran…
"Hey, where are you going, Draco?" Crabbe hissed at him, groaning a little as he helped Goyle hoist himself up.
"I'm keeping watch for teachers. Hurry it up, will you?"
Before either of them could protest he was off, at first walking very quickly and then breaking into a jog up the path.
Harry was thankful his own owl spent most of her time in his room and not among these ruthless beasts. Talk about a bad influence…
He watched, still a bit wary from the attack of the owls, as Snape sighed and gave a flick of his wand. The space they were in instantly changed and the owl droppings disappeared. Of course, seconds after that, one of the lot hooted and dropped a present for the two wizards, almost daring them to clean that up.
Harry was incensed. Snape had had him cleaning for a further three hours after the match was over. It was well on the way to being dinner time and the boy was starving, filthy, and smelly. His fingers ached from all the scrubbing and the chill in the air did little to improve the injustice of it all.
"Not bad, Potter," Snape said snidely. "I told Filch you wouldn't be able to complete half as much as you did. Seems I owe him for our wager." A slight smile turned up the corner of his thin mouth before he jerked his thumb to the door. "Go and get cleaned up."
Harry stomped past the contemptuous sod and breathed in the fresh air once outside in the rapidly darkening evening.
He jogged down the stone steps that led up to the Owlery and hopped the last two, not looking back to where he knew Snape was following behind him. He quickened his pace, anxious to be in the comfort and warmth of a long shower. And when I'm clean I'll give Angelina that victory kiss I promised her, he thought to himself, smiling a little as he climbed the incline leading up to the front of the castle. Harry hesitated before stepping up to the great doors. He was filthy and didn't really fancy the idea of walking through the school smelling like owl crap. He was on the point of turning around to find an alternate route when Snape appeared behind him and erected a pointed finger straight ahead. "Keep walking, Potter."
"But, sir…"
Snape's dark eyes shimmered. "Surely you don't want to avoid your fellow Gryffindors? They'll want to see you…to celebrate your…victory." His voice became hard and flat when he said the last words, and this at least gave Harry a small poke of satisfaction. The Potions Master was sore that his precious Slytherins had lost the match, despite their sneakiest and most disgraceful efforts. He would attempt to humiliate Harry until the very last, which meant yes he would have to walk through the halls stinking of owl poop and looking as if he swam in the stuff for fun.
Harry sighed and turned around again, leading the way through the towering doors, vaguely aware that his crust-covered hair was sticking up. He avoided everyone's gaze and walked as quickly as he could, but before he reached the stairs he was startled half-to-death by a great, thunderous roaring sound. His head flew up and he saw that Luna Lovegood was standing on the landing, a big smile on her face. She was also wearing a hat that really wasn't a hat but a giant lion's head. Her wand was poised at its mane. She tapped the mane and the lion roared in Harry's face again, blowing back his hair and scattering dusty foulness onto Snape's robes.
"Hi, Harry." Luna called dreamily.
Harry made a face somewhere between a frown and a smile and lifted his hand in an awkward wave. "Hey, Luna…"
"Gryffindor won the match."
"Yeah I know."
Luna's smile slipped from her face very quickly and was replaced by blankness that only hinted at curiosity. "Why are you covered in shi-?"
"Take that silly thing off this instant, Lovegood, before I confiscate it!" Snape snarled at her.
Luna looked at Snape and narrowed her eyes, but tapped her wand against the lion's mane obediently. Rather than roaring again, it shrank into a rather furry representation of what seemed like a normal hat. She reached up and removed it from her blonde head, tucking it safely under her arm. Snape did his favorite pointing thing again and Luna walked off in the direction he indicated, towards the Great Hall.
The Potions Master gave Harry one last sinister look before sweeping up his black robes (a little too grandly; perhaps to rid them of the few particles of dung that Luna's lion had blown his way) and headed after her. Harry didn't watch him go; he turned sharply and sprinted up the stairs, not pausing to retort to a few kids' derisive laughter at his appearance. He just hoped some of the stuff he was covered in rubbed off on them as he passed.
First person he saw when he entered the dorm was Ron.
Harry didn't want to give his best friend time to laugh at him, so he called out a quick "Congratulations, gotta take a shower, gimme a few and we'll walk down together, see ya."
He had grabbed his towel from the furnace and was halfway out the door before he noticed that Ron had not said a word and wasn't even looking at Harry. The dirty boy turned, his hand still on the doorknob, and peered over at his friend. Ron was sitting on his bed, his knees drawn up to his chest, staring into space. His face was very pale, and his lips were pressed tightly together as if he was suppressing the urge to moan loudly. Harry decided that, even though his skin was beginning to itch from the damp foulness that was seeping through the fabric of his clothes, his shower could wait…just a bit.
Scratching his arm absentmindedly, Harry walked over to Ron's bed and stood facing him. "Hey…what's wrong with you?" At first Ron just twitched a little, but otherwise gave no sign that he had heard Harry. Trying a different tactic, Harry attempted to sound casual as he said: "Come on, you didn't do that badly. That stupid song would've distracted anyone."
Ron simply shook his head, closing his eyes briefly before letting out the smallest of sighs. Harry was becoming quite lost for encouraging things to say, but Ron opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "It's not the match…"
Harry was confused. He tilted his head at the lanky boy sitting before him, trying to ignore the strong desire to scratch his crotch. What an odd place for the stuff to wind up—he needed a shower badly. "Well if it's not that, then what's wrong?"
"If I asked you to kill me—just out of pity-like, you'd do it right?" Ron looked quite serious as he turned his pale, miserable face to Harry. Harry opened his mouth stupidly, but Ron moaned loudly and threw himself backward onto the bed, rolling over to bury his face in his pillow.
"Ron, for Merlin's sake, what is it?" Harry used the opportunity afforded him when Ron rolled over to scratch himself and mentally breathed a sigh of relief.
"I fisked Jermilony!" came Ron's extremely muffled voice from deep within the pillow that he had smashed into his face.
"What?"
The boy heaved a great, shaking sigh and turned over slightly, still not completely facing Harry. "I said…I kissed Hermione!"
Harry was so baffled by this news that he merely blinked at Ron in surprise, his mouth hanging open but absolutely nothing coming out of it. He scrunched up his face, looking from bed to bed as if Dean or Seamus or Neville, who were absent, would offer him help. Ron let out another moan.
"Okay…" said Harry carefully. "Um…well…w-why did you do that, Ron?"
"Because I like her, you sod!" Ron oozed. "And I thought…oh I dunno what I was thinking but it's all gone to hell, now."
Harry could not suppress the sympathetic smile that was fighting its way across his lips. Ron sat up and turned around, his face now flushed from being pressed into the pillow. He picked the soft mound of fabric and feathers up and began squeezing the daylights out of it as he stared at the furnace, probably reminiscing the scene.
"So what happened? I mean…that's great that you guys finally admit-"
Ron scoffed bitterly. "She hasn't admitted anything! That's the problem!"
Harry scratched himself again, this time not caring if Ron saw or not. He needed a shower, but he was willing to suffer a little longer for his friend's benefit. "Okay, then. Why don't you just tell me what happened?"
Ron heaved a sigh and began: "Well you 'member I told you about our last row?" Harry nodded. It had been the reason Ron had not come to fetch him for Snape's class. The two of them had gotten into an argument about Viktor Krum again, and had been so distracted by each other that they had completely forgotten about Harry. "Well, I didn't tell you that she said 'at least Viktor knows how to treat a lady, which is more than I can say for you' all sullen like she was still mad at me for not asking her to the ball. So I figured that maybe she wasn't just mad about that, you know? Maybe she was mad 'cause she likes me and she knows I like her, but she thought maybe if I asked her to the ball we'd finally have admitted it or something stupid and girly like that…"
"Uh huh…" Harry scratched behind his ear.
"Well she hasn't really spoken to me properly since then, has she? She keeps shooting me nasty looks and such. I hate it when she's mad at me, Harry, I really do. But I can't help being an idiot coward! I know I should've told her sooner, but what am I supposed to say?"
"Well…" Harry thought it was rather obvious but decided to let Ron continue.
"So I got to thinking about you and Angelina. You guys are moving along pretty nice. Maybe Hermione sees this and maybe she's thinking it would be great if…you know…" Harry didn't but he let his friend babble on. "I dunno what I was thinking…I just hate having her mad at me. And I do really like her, Harry. I guess you knew that already, though, didn't you?"
"Kind of." He was seized by a fiery itching under his armpit and jerked a little, causing Ron to raise his eyebrows. Harry simply scratched and gestured for Ron to keep going.
"This morning I made up my mind I'd tell her." Ron was still squeezing the pillow, and this time he slammed his fist into it. "I couldn't eat my breakfast I was so nervous…I walked with her down to the pitch, and I was trying the whole way to think of something bold to say. Just come right out with it, like Angelina did to you…" Ron's eyes narrowed as he glared at the furnace like it had caused all his troubles. "Had an idea. At the time it seemed brilliant, but of course now I realize that I must be a complete nutter."
"What'd you do?"
"I-I just kissed her. Planted one right on her. She'd been standing there waiting for me to spit out whatever it was I was gonna say so she could go with Luna to sit down, and I just…I-I thought it would be romantic and cool and it might even boost my confidence for the match a little, but…"
"What did she say?"
Ron shook his head dejectedly. "Nothing. She just turned a funny shade of yellow like she was gonna be sick or something, grabbed Luna, and ran away…." He ran his fingernails across the pillow's surface, grimacing at the memory of it. "Just say it. I'm done for."
Harry stood thinking for a few seconds whilst Ron closed his eyes as if awaiting his execution.
"Okay, two things: first, I gotta go take a shower."
Ron made a face at Harry as if just now noticing that he was there. He sniffed. "You smell awful. What did Snape have you doing?"
"Not worth talking about. But I promise I'll help you figure out this Hermione thing when I come back, okay?"
"Right…take your time. I'm not going anywhere ever again."
Harry felt a pang of sympathy for his miserable friend, but could no longer ignore the pressing need to wash off. He grabbed up his towel again, which he had dropped after the sharp itch under his armpit, and ran out of the room.
Harry had not been able to convince Ron to come down to dinner. It was a funny kind of déjà vu; he remembered quite vividly not wanting to see or talk to anyone after the fateful practice drill that got him banned from the team, and Ron and Neville trying to lure him downstairs with food. This didn't work when the roles were reversed, either, Harry came to find out.
"Okay, but I'm starving…"
"Just go. We can talk later. I need to be alone…"
Harry promised a bit lamely to bring Ron back something and that they would talk as soon as dinner was over. Ron merely shrugged faintly and buried his face in his pillow again. Poor bloke, Harry thought as he jogged down the hall. And I thought I was hopeless with girls…
Girls.
Angelina.
He had not seen her. Of course, she was probably eating dinner like everyone else (his stomach growled loudly), but something in Harry made him hesitate to get to her. He remembered her attitude for the last few days, ever since the night of the practice drill. He had felt like she was being distant with him, even when they were right next to each other. Besides that, they hadn't shared more than a few quick kisses since the last time they were together in Seamus' bed. He had chalked it all up to stress: her playbook had been stolen and he had gotten himself kicked off the team and well it was a lot to heap on the shoulders of a captain in her last year who also had preparing for N.E.W.T.'s to worry about and who knew what else.
Harry jogged down the stairs, trying to decide whether or not he would find her in a better mood because they had won the match or a worse one because she'd had to endure playing with a team who'd used her own moves against her. Certain details of Lee Jordan's commentary had not been lost on him.
He was at the point of starting on another set of stairs when he saw Draco Malfoy and Delores Umbridge emerging from her office. Harry reacted instantly, jumping back to the shelter of the hallway that turned off Umbridge's, his ears tingling and his forehead becoming warm with anticipation. They hadn't noticed the streak of color that had been his body flying back into the shadows, much to his relief, because they were still talking in hushed voices, just at the threshold of her office.
"I don't see what you have that can be of any use to me, Malfoy…" Umbridge was saying with false sweetness.
"It's not what I have, but what I can do."
"Oh?" Harry imagined her impish smile curling up to the ceiling with intrigue. "And what is that, may I ask?"
"You have to do something first." Malfoy said flatly. There was a pause. Harry strained to hear, though he couldn't do much more than stand on tiptoes because if he moved any closer to the edge of the wall he would be exposed to them. His heart thumped loudly in his ears, annoying him. Umbridge said something so low he couldn't hear her, and then Malfoy responded: "Oh yes you will. Especially if you want Potter out for good. You need dirt on him, and you're not getting it on your own, 'else you'd have sent him packing by now."
"I will not allow you to manipulate -"
"With all due respect, Professor, I think we both know who really manipulates things around here. I know what my father did for you, you know...and if the Minister finds out you're toast."
Harry could hardly stand it. He could've been in Barnabas the Barmey's ballet; he was standing so on edge. His insides boiled with contempt for both of them, but at the same time he was almost giddy with excitement that finally he had caught Malfoy and Umbridge scheming against him. And this new piece of info: this thing that Draco's father had done for her…this sounded even more important. If he could just hear what it was…if they would just say it, he would have something on that loathsome bitch! Of course, this thing was not mentioned again, and Harry wanted to stamp his foot. He listened on…
"What do you want?"
"What you want, Professor." It was Malfoy's turn to adopt a sticky-sweet tone. "I want Potter out. I can get you dirt on him, but you have to help me help you."
"And how will I do that?" Umbridge sounded dark…almost hungry for Harry's blood. This disturbed him and the excitement he felt ebbed away to actual fear.
"You're the High Inquisitor, aren't you? Make it so I have some authority around here."
She scoffed. "Authority? What kind of authority would I give a little sneak like you?"
"The kind that makes it possible for me to do my sneaking without people, especially teachers, breathing down my neck."
"There's something else, though, isn't there? What Professor McGonagall was raving about was true…you did steal that playbook, didn't you?"
Harry's heart sped up. Oh how he wished he had someone else with him. Someone unbiased like Luna or even blasted Zach Smith so he could finally prove to everyone that both Umbridge and Malfoy were rotten through and through. There was the longest pause yet and Harry felt himself slipping from tiptoe position. He lowered himself to normal footing, but remained plastered to the wall that hid him. He wanted desperately to peak around the corner and glimpse their scheming faces, but he didn't dare.
"I wouldn't worry about that if I were you," Draco said simply, much to Harry's disappointment. But he supposed that even if Draco admitted right out that he'd stolen it, it sounded laughably as if it would not matter to Umbridge. The fact that she already suspected and had not taken any disciplinary action against him was suggestive enough. McGonagall had probably noticed something amiss at the match, confronted Angelina about it, and upon hearing that the book was stolen, attempted to rectify the situation. And perhaps as further payback for overriding her decision to permanently disband the Gryffindor team, Umbridge—being the final word on punishments and the like—had turned a deaf ear. He deduced this in seconds and Draco's voice brought him out of it: "You should just know that I know Potter and his stupid friends are up to something…I only have to figure out what."
"It's obvious that they are, Malfoy. I fail to see what exceptional qualities you possess that will allow you to uncover it faster or better than I can."
"You think you've got them, but you don't. Just write to the Minister already, will you? I expect you'll post another of your decrees, giving me, Crabbe, and Goyle special authority under you in no time."
"You and two others?" She tittered sourly. "I hardly think I could ask Cornelius to give three students such special-!"
"You can and you will. Or I'll go to my father and then it's all over for you, Delores."
Yet another, rather heavy pause occurred and she responded stiffly: "We are late for dinner. I shall see what I can do."
"Fine."
He heard movement and then the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming toward him. Umbridge called out Draco's name and the footsteps stopped. "Do not ever address me so informally again, is that clear?" There was silence in response and the footfalls started up again. Shortly after Umbridge's loud clacking shoes could be heard heading off in the opposite direction. Harry slid backward along the wall quickly and was about to dive under a heavy window curtain when he froze, his mind racing. Draco was getting nearer. What should he do…? What did he want to do? Confront him…but no, that would not be good. He needed to find out where that playbook was being hidden. He needed to tell Hermione and the others that Draco was joining forces with Umbridge. His feet didn't move. He wanted…Harry didn't know exactly what sense any of his desires at the moment made, but it was too late, Draco was turning the corner and…
"Potter."
"What?" Harry stared at Draco, making his face blank. He had managed to shove his hands in his pockets and had one foot half-off the ground as if he'd been walking along, minding his own business…
Draco blinked and watched him hard for a moment before relaxing his shoulders and adopting a 'speak of the devil…' smile. "How was detention?"
Harry clenched his jaw and 'continued walking'; making like he was going to pass Draco and keep on down the stairs he'd been about to descend before he heard the voices. He turned around as he and Draco touched shoulders, however, walking backwards, and said, "I see even using stolen plays can't help your pathetic team beat ours at Quidditch, huh, Malfoy?"
Draco's features tensed for a split second but then his smile reappeared. "Oh. That. Well..." He shrugged casually. "That Weasel brat was just lucky Hooch picked a weak Snitch, is all. That thing must be a hundred years old; it was sputtering along like a bruised butterfly."
"Then why couldn't you catch it?"
Again, Malfoy's face stiffened. He seemed to be stuck for a response and Harry was satisfied that he'd silenced the creep. He was about to continue on to the Great Hall, fully in motion to turn around and book it down there so he could tell Ron and Hermione everything he had just heard. But, of course, Malfoy's desire to have the last word could always be counted upon.
"You know…I think I get why you drool over Johnson so much. She likes it rough, eh?"
"What did you say?" Harry stopped walking abruptly and glared at his enemy. He dropped all pretense and drew his hands out of his pockets, his eyes burning deep into Draco's.
"You heard me, Potter." Draco's callous smile grew wider and his eyes glinted with genuine maliciousness. "Oh didn't she tell you yet? No…I imagine not. Didn't want you getting all jealous and blowing that crazy bean of yours." The blond stepped closer to him, now standing mere inches away. Harry's teeth would crack at any moment, he was staring so hard at him. "Understandable, really. What bloke could resist such a feisty gal?"
"Watch your mouth, Malfoy." Harry growled.
Draco continued, really enjoying himself. "We had a bit of fun. But, shhh…don't tell her I told you."
Things blinked away in his mind's eye: Angelina's terrible sullenness, her dirty hair and knees.
Harry reached up and was about to seize Draco by the hair but just then heard a soft meow of warning from somewhere behind him. He turned to see Mrs. Norris staring at them from her perch on the banister of the stairs, her eyes shining. Harry licked his lips, turned on his heel, and ran down the stairs. He did not look back at Draco, for he knew there was no point—he would only see a red blur.