Author: Meltha

Rating: PG at this point, but likely to rise

Spoilers: Currently, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Again, this will rise.

Summary: Draco's not having a very good term, and neither is the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Disclaimer: All characters are created by J. K. Rowling, a wonderful writer whose works I greatly enjoy. I have borrowed them for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.

Chapter 21: Quidditch Confrontation

After Halloween, Draco began wondering if someone had hit him with a very nasty bad luck jinx when he wasn't looking. Not only had Hermione chosen to stay at Hogwarts, but after the troll incident she seemed to have taken up with Potter and Weasley, of all the idiots she could have chosen. Draco was still confused and uncomfortable because of his inexplicable desire to make sure Hermione wouldn't become troll hash, and while he knew he should find the wizard genealogy book his parents had sent him a riveting read, he hated the thing. He'd taken to using it for a coaster for his nightly mug of cocoa, and while he realized it belonged to his parents and he should respect their property, it's possible he might have made sure to jostle the drink onto the cover almost every evening, rendering the green binding a highly unattractive muddy shade of olive.

Then there was the first Quidditch match. Of course, Draco wasn't on Slytherin's team as first years shouldn't be permitted to play, not that Gryffindor was abiding by that rule. Potter the Perfectly Popular was now a Seeker of all things. Not even a Beater or a Chaser, but basically the star of team! Draco had really been looking forward to cheering Slytherin against Gryffindor in that first match, which in retrospect should have been a clue that nothing would go right.

Potter did some stupid thing with his broom, most likely because he had no idea how to use one properly because he was raised by Muggles, and nearly fallen off the bloody thing. Either that or he was showing off and it had gone badly wrong. Whatever caused it, Potter very nearly plummeted to his death in the midst of the game. Draco admitted that while he didn't like Potter, he also didn't actually want him dead, and even he could see that what had happened with the broom was extremely dangerous. He'd very nearly worried about Prince Potter for a moment, but was immediately distracted, and for good reason.

He smelled smoke.

As he turned his head, wondering where the smell was coming from, he noticed only a split second after Snape did that the Potions master's robes had caught fire. Draco's jaw dropped open as Snape yelled and shot to his feet, knocking over Professor Quirrell and trying to beat out the flames. As Draco gaped at the bizarre display, he caught sight for just a moment of a telltale bushy head darting away under the stands. Furious, he shot out of his seat and pelted after her. The rest of the Slytherins were far too busy staring at Potter and/or Snape to notice his abrupt absence.

"Granger!" he yelled, straining to be heard over the cheering of the crowd as he followed her down the stairs of the Slytherin stand. The lack of any wailing or gasps of horror from above to mean that Potter had apparently regained control of his broom.

Even over the loud cheers, Hermione had heard Draco, and her pace slackened. After a few more steps, she stopped at a landing and turned to face him.

"What?" she said, her eyes blazing angrily.

"Did you seriously just set our Potions professor on fire?" Draco said, deciding saying it directly was really the only option.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione said, turning to go.

"But I saw you!" Draco said, trotting to keep up with her. "Good Merlin, is this what running about with Potter and Weasley has done to you?"

"It's over and no harm done, no thanks to Snape," she said.

"No harm done? You set someone on fire!"

"It's out, isn't it?" Hermione said, glaring at him and starting back down the stairs. "How is what I've done any different from the thousand or so humiliations he likes to give out to every student who isn't a pureblood Slytherin? Or what you do, for that matter."

"I've never set anyone on fire!" Draco yelled at her, unable to get past that particular image.

Hermione stopped again so abruptly that Draco nearly ran into her. She turned slowly around.

"I suppose you haven't," she admitted.

She looked distinctly uncomfortable, and her gaze flickered to the stands above them.

"You've been horrid to me, Malfoy," she said. "I never lied to you about who my parents are. I didn't have any reason to because I didn't think you were thick enough to believe blood status makes a whit of difference. I've done a good bit of research since then, and if parentage and ancestry are how you decide whether someone is worthy of friendship, you'd best take a long look at your own family's background. It's a lot worse than mine, and the stupid thing is I wouldn't have cared about that at all. I would have judged you on yourself rather than things you can't control. But now I know who and what you are— not your family, you—I feel like a right little fool for believing we could ever be friends."

He sneered at her, but it was more a way of filling up the blank space because he wasn't sure how to respond to that. What did she mean about his family's past? They'd always been pureblood, powerful, and perfect. Obviously.

"But I am going to give you a warning," Hermione said. "Snape's up to something, possibly murdering Harry. I don't like you, but I don't want to see you dead. That's why I set him on fire: to stop the curse he was casting that was making Harry fall off his broom. And that's all you'll hear from me."

Draco watched as she jogged back towards the Gryffindor stand. Completely baffled, he began climbing back to his seat in the Slytherin section. She couldn't possibly be right, and yet… and yet Potter certainly had regained control of his broom after Snape fell over. Hermione also wasn't stupid, whatever her parents were. Was there even a speck of truth in what she had said? If this had been a few months ago, he knew he would have believed her immediately, but now, well, now there was still a small part of him that thought if Hermione Granger honestly believed there was a plot going on against Potter's life, then there probably was.

He sat back down in his place only a minute before Slytherin were roundly beaten in the game because Potter caught the Snitch by swallowing it like a stray midge and then gagged it back up. Draco could almost sympathize as the final score made him feel like gagging as well. The Slytherins returned to their common room in high dudgeon, Crabbe and Goyle pounding their fists menacingly at random first year Gryffindors on the way, Pansy complaining that the cold wind had chapped her lips, and Millicent sulking so powerfully that Draco swore he saw plant life drooping in her wake. Even Zabini and Nott looked glum.

"Next year, I'm trying out for the team, and when I make it, that sort of thing is not going to happen again. Wait and see," Draco said as he plopped down bonelessly on the couch in front of the fire. The older Slytherins had learned to give him a wide berth as far as the best seating went.

Just then, the Slytherin team entered the room, and without exception everyone gave them absolutely filthy, freezing-cold looks. Slytherins did not tolerate failure, even among their own. Draco had learned that already at his father's knee. All seven of them glared back and stomped off to their dormitories, and as they were all boys, the one resounding slam from their door nearly knocked a portrait of Dirkwick the Dangerous (Head Boy in 1647 and mastermind behind the Goblin Crown Jewels Fiasco of 1685, not that any Slytherin had ever divulged that information) into the fireplace. Dirkwick, for his part, made a very rude gesture at the whole room and flounced out of his painting, probably to visit one of the other portraits of people who had died long before even Dumbledore was born.

As Draco looked at the flickering embers that remained from the roaring fire earlier in the day, his thoughts went back to what Hermione had said about his own ancestors. Surely they had power, but only because they were rightfully entitled to it by blood superiority. It had to be jealousy on her part. That would be it. And yet… he was beginning to question if perhaps he'd been lied to, or at least not told the full truth, concerning a great many things. As for his godfather trying to murder an eleven-year-old, that must be completely false. It had to be.