Hello everybody!
I'm super excited to read your comments after this chapter full of twists and turns to the moment we've all been waiting for: the Gryffindors vs Slytherins match! It's also the longest chapter I've ever written: 55 pages!
Don't forget to write your review at the end, I can't wait to read you! Love to you all 3
tw: blood, wounds, violence, suffocation.
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Hermione
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"Wh-what?" stammered Hermione, suddenly at a loss for words.
She had expected a joke, that George would come up behind her and startle her, or that Fred would blow something up in her face, or that he would change his voice to sound like Umbridge to make her laugh. Hermione had never imagined for a second that he would ask her this, that he would question her about her deepest secret.
Fred's smile widened, stretching his usual Weasley freckles.
"True or False?" he repeated.
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. She could feel her cheeks and neck burning and all the blood running down her legs. She felt as if Fred had just thrown a bucket of ice water in her face, so petrified was she. It couldn't be, he couldn't have just asked her that...
"I... Er..." she stammered, avoiding looking at him so as not to accentuate her blush.
"Well, I had a little doubt, but your reaction just confirmed it for me." Fred said with a small laugh. "Merlin, Hermione, you're as red as a tomato!"
But Hermione wasn't smiling. Her fingers were twitching in fear.
"How?" she asked in shock.
"Shouldn't I be the one to ask you that?" asked Fred, leaning coolly against the wall of the Room of Requirement, as if he hadn't just turned Hermione's entire world upside down with a few words.
"How did you know?" repeated Hermione.
"I already told you, Mione." Fred replied, falsely outraged that she could ask him that. "George and I are the most observant of the Weasleys. After Ginny, of course, but I suppose she already knows. Doesn't she?"
He gave her a big smile, showing his teeth, and Hermione felt the skin on her face flush again. Fred nodded as if she had just confirmed it out loud.
"But how could you have known? Since when?" Hermione asked, her voice getting higher and higher the more she used it.
Fred regained some semblance of seriousness and replied in a low voice:
"Since the beginning of the year. I've noticed you've been looking at him a lot."
Hermione was speechless and Fred continued his explanation in a light, amused tone:
"When he comes into the Great Hall, you always look up at him. During meals, you often glance in his direction, and when you pass him in the corridors, your eyes are always drawn to him. But you don't look at him like you look at Harry or even Ron, you look at him with that dreamy look, the same look Ginny had when she looked at Harry when she was younger. And you often defend him, too. Whenever someone talks about him, you tend to point out the good things about him, and when someone insults him next to you, you wince."
"I..."
"He looks at you, too, sometimes." Fred went on, this time in a lower voice. "When he thinks no one is looking at him. He watches you when you're reading your textbook at the table, or when you're talking to us. But he's so discreet that I didn't notice him until recently."
There was a silence and Fred leaned further back against the wall, making himself comfortable.
"Is it that obvious?" gasped Hermione, stunned by his discovery.
Fred seemed to think for a few seconds, looking up at the ceiling.
"No, not really." he admitted. "George didn't notice anything, and we'd be blessed if Harry and Ron could deduce the slightest thing. They wouldn't see an ogre if it was right in front of them. In fact, I think this year, because of what happened with Diggory, everyone is focused on Harry. No one is paying attention to anyone else."
His voice was a whisper as he added:
"But I am. I see you."
The silence that followed was broken by Hermione's ragged breathing.
"Mione, I know for a fact that you're the cleverest witch of your generation and all that..." Fred said, still in that mischievous voice. "You know I'd never question your intellect, your insight, your earnestness and all that, but... You do know who Malfoy's father is, don't you?"
"Yes, believe me, I know very well." Hermione hissed through clenched teeth, in shame or irritation, she didn't know.
"Hmm. Do I have to give you the protective big brother speech, or do you reckon you don't need it?" asked Fred jokingly.
"No, don't bother." Hermione grumbled, dancing from one foot to the other to hide her embarrassment. "Ginny... Ginny's already taken care of it."
"Very well, then there's no point in me adding to it, I suppose."
Hermione bit her lip, analysing Fred's behaviour, which was extremely disconcerting: he was both laughing, but there was a sort of reproachful undertone to his words that Hermione couldn't quite make out.
"Fred, I'm..." she began, not knowing how to put her thoughts into words without panicking. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" the twin asked in surprise. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"Yes, I did. I fell in love with Draco Malfoy." Hermione replied, it was the first time she'd said the words out loud. She immediately got goose bumps.
"Yes, you did." Fred said, still in his calm voice. "But that doesn't mean you have to apologise. It's you I'm worried about. Merlin, you probably hit your head a bit too hard to say something like that..."
"Fred..."
"I mean, Malfoy!" he said, and Hermione looked around to make sure no one could hear him, even though the Room of Requirement was completely empty. His tone was nothing like the harshness she could have imagined. It was calm, sincere, purely curious. "The one who's been insulting you since you arrived at Hogwarts, the one all the Gryffindors hate? Why him?"
Hermione thought that was probably the question she had asked herself the most since Draco had sat down at the Library table. She massaged her temples, her breathing coming in fits and starts, still avoiding looking Fred in the eye because she was so embarrassed by this conversation.
"I don't know." she admitted after a while. "I don't know what came over me... At first I didn't believe it either, but I got to know him, and my God, he's... He's... He's kind, Fred." Hermione took a deep breath, determined to explain. "Draco is probably the nicest boy I've ever met, even if it sounds crazy, and insane. If you'd told me this a year ago, I'd have asked you to lock me up in St Mungo's, but... it's the truth. I don't know how to explain it, it's hard enough for me to admit it to myself, God, I haven't even told him!"
She couldn't believe she was talking about this with Fred Weasley, Ron's older brother, and that he was listening to her with that smile that seemed to be permanently etched on his features.
At the end of his tirade, Fred raised an eyebrow and simply said:
""Draco?""
Hermione half choked. She hadn't even realised she had called him by his first name.
"Yes, Draco." she repeated. "I became friends with him and then I... I fell in love with him, for some obscure reason that I find hard to understand myself, to be honest."
Fred lowered his eyes to analyse her for a long moment, lost in thought.
"Can I ask you something?" he asked politely.
Hermione sighed again and ran a hand through her tangled hair.
"Yes, go ahead..."
"Is it mutual?"
She had expected this question, but it didn't stop her from taking a breath before answering.
"Yes. Yes, it is mutual." the Gryffindor admitted, a confession that sounded more like a squeak than anything else.
"You were with him last night, weren't you?" asked Fred a little more urgently. "When you went to "get some air?""
Hermione looked down at the tips of her shoes, her cheeks turning crimson, and finally nodded. Fred had obviously connected all the dots and understood the whole truth. Hermione was amazed at how observant her friends were, it was almost annoying.
"I see." he replied simply.
While he was still smiling his knowing smile, Hermione felt the beginnings of anxiety tingle in her hands. She ran them through her hair again and spoke in a much more pleading tone:
"Fred... Please, Fred, you mustn't say anything, to anyone, especially Harry and Ron, they'd be angry and hurt and I'd lose them, and I couldn't bear that... And Draco, he risks a lot more than I do, if his family found out, he'd be disowned, or worse, and I can't put him through that, I'm begging you, Fred..."
Hearing this, the redhead's smile immediately vanished. He pushed himself up from the wall he was leaning against and stared into the brunette's eyes, a flicker of concern in his own:
"What?" he asked, taken aback. "How could you think I could do such a thing? Do you think I'm one of them? A Slytherin?"
Hermione said nothing, her lips tight and her blood pounding painfully against the walls of her skull. The redhead looked at her with a look of horror on his face, as if the thought that he might have caused her stress hadn't crossed his mind.
"Hermione, I would never do anything to hurt you." Fred assured her, not a hint of doubt in his voice. "You know that, don't you?"
"If the others find out..."
"No one will find out." Fred interrupted abruptly. "I won't say a word. Merlin, I had no idea you'd think otherwise."
"What about you?" Hermione asked pitifully. "Are you angry with me?"
Fred took a moment to think about the question and let out a small exhale through his nose, as if to assess whether he was angry or not.
"I'm not going to stand in front of you and tell you I understand, Hermione." he said, any trace of amusement gone. "If you tell me he's kind, I believe you, and I'm glad you're happy when you're with him, but... He's not nice to me. And certainly not with Ron. I can't really stand a guy who insults my brother like that. I don't blame you, and I understand why you don't want to tell Harry and Ron, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to... I can't promise you I'll ever understand why you fell in love with the biggest twat at Hogwarts. No offence." he added with the shadow of a smile in the corner of his eyes.
Hermione understood the answer, it was perfectly logical. She would probably have had the same reaction if she had heard it in his place. But she couldn't stop her heart from tightening a little as she listened to Fred. Disappointment that Draco wasn't "approved". Frustration that Fred didn't know the Draco she knew: the one who made her laugh, who told her she was beautiful even though she was wearing a ridiculous angel costume, the one who paid attention to her and could be captivating when he wanted to be. The Draco behind the Malfoy facade he'd put up over the years.
"I trust you, Mione." Fred continued, seeing her so thoughtful. "If you're telling me that Malfoy deserves better, I believe you, but I'm still having a little trouble seeing it. But I'm not angry at you. I'd never be angry at you."
He smiled at her and Hermione was struck by how much he resembled Ginny: both physically and in his words.
"Thank you, Fred." she said sincerely.
"Let's not talk about it anymore, shall we? I didn't mean to hurt you." he pleaded, his voice much softer, as if he feared she might start to cry. "I thought it was just a stupid crush, I didn't think it was so..."
Fred didn't finish his sentence, preferring instead to walk over to her and give her a hug. Hermione automatically buried her face in his jumper.
He placed a kiss on her head, in the same place her mother used to comfort her, and he managed to take all the pressure off Hermione with that gesture alone. So simple and so comforting. He'd said it in jest, but Fred really did remind her of a big brother at that moment, and she was a little envious of Ginny, who was lucky enough to have six of them.
They slowly pulled away from each other and Hermione brushed her hair away from her face. Fred smiled again, his natural expression.
"I suppose you could have chosen worse, all things considered." he said, regaining his joking tone: he'd never managed to carry on a serious conversation for too long. "If you'd told me you'd fallen head over heels for Crabbe, I don't know if I'd have reacted so well."
Hermione cringed and slapped him on the arm when she heard that, making him burst out laughing. They walked towards the exit of the Room of Requirement, Fred with such a casual walk that Hermione wondered if they had been in the same conversation. She'd had time to panic, beg and be reassured in less than five minutes, an emotional rollercoaster that was hard to bear.
Fred opened the door and stuck his head through the gap, glancing both ways down the corridor, seeing it was deserted, he gave Hermione a small nod and they both stepped out into the hallway.
"I've got to go, I promised George I'd meet him for training before the Slytherin match." he announced.
Hermione was tempted to remind him of the curfew in less than an hour, but changed her mind at the last minute when she remembered that she had escaped in the middle of the night to join Draco the night before.
"All right, have fun." Hermione said with a smile.
She must still have been a little pale, because Fred analysed her face for a second and reminded her in a breath:
"I won't say anything, Hermione, trust me."
"Not even to George?" she asked in a begging tone.
The redhead made a horrified face:
"Are you really asking me to keep a secret from my own twin? The flesh of my flesh?!"
Seeing her distraught look, he reassured her:
"I'm just kidding, Mione, relax! I won't tell George!"
Hermione sighed with relief.
"Thanks."
"My pleasure. See you in the Common Room, perhaps?"
Fred greeted her with a wave of his hand and didn't wait for her reply before speeding down the stairs. Hermione watched him go, not knowing whether to give in to terror or relief, and continued towards the Common Room wondering if she was in one of those strange dreams Trelawney often talked about.
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Draco
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In the week leading up to the famous Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match, Draco trained every night. He wanted to be at his best for the big day, even if it meant half dozing in class from lack of sleep, and not going to the Library once all week.
Granger understood that he was practising and didn't comment, but Draco realised this week that the less time he spent with her, the more on edge he became. He hadn't experienced the calm of his bubble in the Library for too long, and even Occlumency didn't stop him from having violent outbursts, and no one understood why. Pansy and Theo wisely stayed away from him that week.
Blaise, on the other hand, offered to help him train every night he wasn't playing with the team, and Draco accepted his help every time.
Quidditch had always had this extraordinary ability to calm Draco down, but this year, it was the opposite. Quidditch had never made him so nervous. He was attentive, focused from start to finish, his eyes riveted to the golden ball he so coveted, his mind empty of all other thoughts. Draco was determined, obsessed with the idea of snatching victory from Potter and finally making a fool of him in front of everyone.
Blaise understood that.
He said nothing to him, even when Draco pushed training to ridiculously late hours, even when he asked him to time him for the twentieth time that evening, and even when he threw a tantrum when he couldn't catch the Golden Snitch fast enough for his liking.
Blaise said nothing, and did it again and again, without once complaining.
By Thursday evening, three days before the big match, Draco was so exhausted that he could barely raise his wand in Snape's direction, let alone enter his mind. He made a few feeble attempts, barely feeling the burn of magic in his hand.
"You haven't been meditating." Snape accused in his deep voice after about ten minutes of failed Legilimency.
"How can you tell?" asked Draco, astonished at the way Snape had hit the nail on the head.
"Your mind is not sharp, not as usual. You're troubled by something, and your magical abilities are taking the brunt of it."
He gestured to the chair on his desk, inviting Draco to sit down, and Draco obeyed instantly, eager to rest his aching legs. Snape took a seat opposite him, with the usual sound of his black cloak scraping the floor of his office.
"What's troubling you, Draco?" asked Snape very seriously.
Draco looked at him, confused by the question:
"The match, Professor." he replied, matter-of-factly.
How could he forget? It was the most important match of the season!
"Is that all?" asked Snape, his features hardening and his eyes piercing. "Nothing else bothers you?"
Draco wondered if he meant Granger. He swallowed and Occluded, despite the gruelling effort it took.
"No, nothing sir." Draco lied. "Nothing else."
Snape's dark eyes locked with his, and Draco didn't dare break the contact for fear the professor would take it as a sign of weakness. As usual, he had the impression that Snape's eyes could pierce Draco and read his very soul. That he could see into his thoughts without even raising his wand, without the slightest physical effort.
"Very well." his Head of House finally said. "You may go."
Draco opened his mouth to object, but Snape suddenly pushed a vial across his desk. He ordered him without even having the courtesy to look at him:
"And give this potion to Mr Nott, he should have finished his first vial by now."
Draco tucked the Murtlap Essence back into his pocket with an unintelligible grunt.
"But... we've barely started, Professor." Draco complained after being dismissed like that.
Snape looked up at him with a tired expression:
"You're exhausted, Draco. You can barely stand up, you won't get anywhere in this state. Rest, and continue your training tomorrow. I've also booked the Slytherin pitch for the whole day on Saturday."
Draco groaned again, although the knowledge that his comfy bed was only a few feet away was enough to motivate him to get up. Snape was right, he was exhausted. He could barely feel his legs and his eyelids were drooping of their own accord, begging him to let them close for a restful sleep.
Draco walked to the door and mumbled a "good night" to Snape. He had expected him to say nothing, but he was surprised to hear Snape's guttural voice once more behind his back:
"Draco?"
Draco turned limply to face him again. Snape pursed his lips and murmured:
"You must try to win. I'd hate to see the Quidditch Cup sitting in Professor McGonagall's office for another year."
Draco chuckled bitterly:
"So would I, Professor. You can count on me."
Draco crossed the dungeons quickly and said the password with a yawn. The door opened anyway and Draco found his three friends sitting in their usual places. There was no party, a change that didn't seem to please the other Slytherins, who were all looking at Pansy with glum expressions. But she was busy playing chess with Theo on the coffee table in front of the sofa, deliberately ignoring the stares.
"Rook to A5." she said as Draco sat down in his favourite armchair.
Pansy barely looked at him, but Theo was even worse: he was so focused on his chess game that Draco wondered if he'd even heard him coming.
"Didn't you get your lesson?" asked Blaise, who was reading in the armchair opposite Draco, looking at his watch in surprise.
"Snape sent me back here." Draco explained in a tired mumble. "He says I'm too knackered to do anything."
"He's right." Pansy chimed in, her eyes still fixed on the chessboard. "Your move, Theo."
"I know." Theo said, the word muffled by the hand he'd put over his mouth. "I'm thinking."
Pansy rolled her eyes and turned her attention away from the game to inspect Draco.
"You look terrible." she said in a calm, unemotional voice. "You're going to fall asleep on your broom on Saturday if you don't get back into a decent sleeping pattern."
Draco raised his eyebrows, surprised to recognise Granger's voice in Pansy's. That was a first.
"You're the one telling me that?" asked Draco with a chuckle. "What time did you go to bed last night? Four or five in the morning?"
"Six." Pansy corrected with an air of dignity that made Blaise laugh. "But that doesn't stop me from slaughtering Theo at chess."
"You're not slaughtering anyone." Theo replied curtly, still not having changed his position since Draco had entered the room. "Knight to G7."
The horse's piece slipped across the board and collided head-on with one of Pansy's pawns, which exploded into pieces. Pansy didn't flinch, however. She picked up the pieces of her pawn with her perfectly manicured hand and calmly said:
"Bishop to B2."
"Shit!" cried Theo as he realised his mistake. "Fucking hell, I didn't see your bloody Bishop!"
Two first years studying nearby made big eyes and walked away when they heard Theo shouting like that. Pansy, on the other hand, grinned with pride.
It had to be said that Pansy had revealed herself in chess ever since Theo had offered to teach her. Now that she understood all the rules, she had found a few strategic techniques that had Theo struggling. He seemed to regret his agreement with Pansy: he was losing at chess, and he was forced to learn to meditate twice a week, a practice he couldn't enjoy, despite Pansy's insistence.
"Why did we agree to let them play chess together again?" asked Draco to Blaise.
"Tell me about it." the boy across from him grumbled. "They've been at it for two hours."
Draco consulted the chessboard and saw that most of Pansy's pieces were still standing, unlike Theo who was clearly losing the game. He didn't dare point this out, lest he send the board tumbling. Everyone around the coffee table knew what a terrible player Theo could be.
"Aren't you training tonight?" asked Pansy, addressing Draco and Blaise.
"No, it's the Gryffindors who have booked the pitch for tonight." Draco growled.
"And you're confident?" his best friend asked, looking at him fearfully through her long black eyelashes. "Do you think we'll win?"
"Well, Montague and Percey are strong." Draco replied, listing the players in his team. "Warrington can't shoot straight, but he's pretty good at passing, so that's a plus. Bletchley is good, even better than last year. The only ones I'm worried about are..."
He turned his head towards Crabbe and Goyle, who were sitting on another sofa a little further away. They were doing their homework, or trying to, because Goyle was holding his quill upside down and Crabbe had spilled pumpkin juice all over his textbook. They cast pleading glances at Theo, silently begging him to do it for them, but he was far too focused on the chessboard to pay any attention to them.
"I'm surprised they haven't smashed each other's skulls in with their bats yet." Blaise commented as he watched the two boys, a pout of disgust wrinkling his nose.
"Don't speak ill of it, it could very well happen tomorrow." Draco advised. He didn't have much faith in Crabbe and Goyle's talents either.
"I still don't understand why you didn't go to the trials, Blaise." Pansy interjected as she ruthlessly destroyed Theo's rook.
Blaise shrugged in response.
"I wish you'd been there." Draco admitted, gazing at the emerald fire flickering in the huge granite fireplace. "If you'd been here, I'm sure we'd have won hands down."
Blaise didn't answer, but Draco thought he saw his mouth twitch a little when he heard that.
"Don't be pessimistic." Pansy advised as she turned to Draco, a determined look on her focused features. "If you think we have a chance of winning, then we do."
"But don't be too confident either." Blaise added. "You tend to let yourself go when you think you can win, and that's when you expose your weaknesses. Potter won't hesitate to steal victory from you in a few crucial seconds."
Draco nodded and yawned.
"Anyway, I can't wait to see Weasley's performance." Draco commented mockingly.
"Have you seen him play?" asked Pansy, who was still playing chess, following the conversation around her.
"Yeah, and every time I saw him, he was pathetic." he replied with a chuckle. "Makes you wonder if he knows how to stand on the handle of his broom. I think even Hagrid would have had a bit more prestige."
Pansy chuckled nastily and breathed a command to her pieces: her Queen stepped forward to meet Theo's King, who narrowly escaped.
"Must be the stress, it's going to his head." Blaise guessed.
Draco shrugged, not interested in analysing Weasley's state of mind. He was about to take his leave and go to sleep - finally - when Pansy whispered:
"You should use this to your advantage."
"What?" asked Theo, who couldn't understand which piece this advice was directed at.
"No, not chess." she said, shaking her head. She turned her head towards Draco, and he recognised the gleam of mischief that animated Pansy's pupils when she'd just had a good idea. "You should use the Weasley stress to your advantage, Draco."
"How?" he asked, without understanding. "I can't exactly take the piss out of him in mid-air, he's a Keeper, that would be too..."
"Not on the pitch." Pansy cut in, a vicious little smile stretching her black-painted lips. "From the stands."
Draco frowned, his brain too clouded with fatigue to decipher what she meant.
Blaise, on the other hand, was alert enough to understand Pansy's plan immediately:
"You want to destabilise him in the middle of the game?"
"Why not? We could get the Slytherins to yell at the same time. The Gryffindor's goals are right in front of our tower. He's bound to hear."
"Yell what?" asked Draco, increasingly interested in Pansy's plan.
The brunette shrugged, but Draco was sure she'd already planned it in her mind and was feigning indifference. And indeed, he could see the mischievous gleam in her eyes growing as she spoke.
"Something to unsettle him. A catchphrase, a repeated phrase, anything that might make him lose his nerve."
Draco pondered the suggestion as he stared at the squares on the chessboard. This suggestion reminded him a little of his - stupid - idea of disguising himself as a Dementor to scare Potter, and he was afraid it would come back to bite him later.
Theo grunted in disapproval. Pansy stared at Draco, waiting for him to join her. And Blaise was lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the window overlooking the Black Lake.
"Well?" asked Pansy after a few seconds of silence, eager to hear his opinion on the matter. "Shall we?"
Draco could hear the excitement in her voice. He sighed loudly and was about to reply, but Blaise spoke before him:
"I think it's an excellent idea."
Pansy and Draco turned to him in amazement. It was the first time Blaise had spoken positively about a plan aimed at the Gryffindors. Usually he kept to himself and pretended not to notice. Even Theo, who hadn't taken his eyes off the chess set in front of him, finally turned away to stare at Blaise in confusion.
"Huh?"
Blaise stopped staring out of the window and turned his caramel-coloured gaze to the three Slytherins in front of him.
"I think it's an excellent idea. Weasley will be completely clueless and it'll throw Potter off balance, and Draco can take the Golden Snitch while we distract them from the stands. It's brilliant."
"You, Blaise Zabini, think this shitty idea is brilliant?" repeated Theo in disbelief.
Blaise nodded without hesitation. Theo kept his desperate expression on his face, but returned to his game when his pieces shouted at him to come up with a new tactic.
"What slogan could we come up with?" asked Pansy.
Blaise smiled. The kind of smile he reserved for very special and rare occasions, usually those of revenge.
"We'd need more than a slogan." he said in a determined voice that surprised Draco. "If we repeat the same line over and over again, Weasley will soon get used to it and be able to ignore it. No, we should create something longer. Like a song."
"A song?" repeated Draco, who was immediately more inclined to follow through with the idea when Blaise was involved.
"We could get the Slytherins to memorise the song and have them recite it tomorrow, from the stands. Louder and louder. Weasley will probably pass out before the game is over."
Draco chuckled as he imagined Weasley passing out on his broomstick. Pansy, meanwhile, seemed to be already composing the music in her head.
"That's forbidden, I'll have you know." Theo snapped. "King to A5."
"Cheering is not forbidden." Blaise challenged immediately, as if waiting for someone to make that comment. "It's not stated in the rules that it's forbidden to support your team."
He dusted his trousers from the pieces of wood from Theo's Bishop that had just been shredded by one of Pansy's pawns.
"You're not supporting your team, you're insulting the others." Theo remarked dismissively.
"It doesn't matter." Blaise cut in, now far too far into his plan to be stopped by an intervention from Theo.
"It's a stupid idea." the boy insisted.
"Then play and don't join in." suggested Pansy, rolling her eyes. "No one is forcing you to write the song with us."
"If you do, I won't be here tomorrow." Theo continued, as if threatening.
"You never come to Quidditch matches." Draco pointed out. "And anyway, it's the middle of November, you'd never come in such freezing weather."
Theo didn't answer, but Draco was sure he was right. Theo hadn't been coming to Slytherin matches since his finger "froze" when he tried to turn a page (a slight exaggeration, according to Pansy and Blaise.)
Pansy got up and walked to the bookcase nearest them, grabbed a parchment and quill and returned to her seat.
"Leave it to me, I'll take care of everything!" she chirped as she sat back down on the sofa.
She began to scribble on her parchment, much faster than any other task she had had to do since Draco had known her, except perhaps Divination.
"Do either of you have a rhyme that goes with "sing"?" she asked after a moment.
"Effing?" Theo offered in as jaded a voice as possible. "Unnerving? Completely stupid?"
"Stupid doesn't rhyme." Pansy said, analysing her paper.
Then her dark eyes swept over the board in front of her, as if she'd just remembered she was in the middle of a game of chess. "Queen to A6."
As soon as Pansy's Queen slid on the board, Theo's face paled considerably. While his King surrendered in defeat, Pansy continued to write, happily tapping her foot on the table in time to the music she was creating.
"Checkmate!" she announced, albeit unnecessarily in view of Theo's dejected face. "Won, again. How many is that again?"
"I'm going to bed." Theo muttered.
He got up and walked towards the dormitories without another word.
"King, that rhymes." Blaise offered, and Pansy hurried on with her words, thanking him.
Draco yawned for the hundredth time and Pansy ordered him to bed, repeating that she was taking care of everything and that he didn't need to worry, just get a good night's rest to give them the best possible chance.
Draco was far too exhausted to argue, or find rhymes, so he went to bed shortly afterwards, not without praying to Merlin for victory tomorrow and taking a large swig of Dreamless Sleep Potion.
Just before he fell asleep, he wondered how Granger would react to such an idea. She hated it when he made fun of Weasley. Maybe she'd be angry with him...
No, his sleepy brain whispered. You said Quidditch was an exception to your promise.
And before Draco could dig any deeper, he was fast asleep.
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.
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Despite the potion, Draco woke at five in the morning, the stress preventing him from breathing properly. He lay in bed until it was time for breakfast, meditating, reading "Aerial Techniques of the World's Best Seekers" that his mother had sent him by owl, and reluctantly remembering Krum's monumental performance at the Quidditch World Cup, trying to forget the fact that he wanted to break his nose after dancing with Granger.
He was so focused on the match that he'd completely forgotten about Pansy's plan from the night before. He soon remembered, however, when he found her in the Great Hall, handing out something to the few students sitting at the Slytherin table. It was barely seven o'clock in the morning, no teacher had yet sat down, but Pansy was already there, going round the table shouting:
"You must learn them this morning, hurry up! And put these on your robes!"
"Pansy?" called Draco, and she turned on her heels, smiling.
"There you are! Are you ready?" she asked, approaching him in a few steps.
She was already wearing her black lipstick and her hair was perfectly combed. He had rarely seen her so energetic so early in the morning.
"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to see what she was holding.
She handed him a scroll with what appeared to be a song written on it.
"I wrote the lyrics with Blaise." Pansy explained, not hiding the pride in her voice. "Then I duplicated the parchment to give to the Slytherins. They have to know it by heart before the match, otherwise the effect is ruined. And I also made this."
She reached into a wooden box and placed a badge in the palm of his hand. It was a simple badge, with a crown and the words "Weasley is our king" underneath. Despite the fact that they were completely different, Draco couldn't help but think of the S.P.E.W. badges Granger carried around everywhere.
As if reading his mind, Pansy continued her explanation:
"I was inspired by the badges we wore when Potter became Hogwarts Champion. Potter stinks, remember?"
Draco nodded without answering and started to put the badge back in the box, but Pansy stopped him:
"No, put it on your jumper! You have to wear one during the game so Weasley can see it!"
"Have you even slept at all?" asked Draco as he pinned the badge to his chest.
"Not really." she replied with a shrug.
She handed him a parchment with the lyrics, but Draco didn't see her hand, he was looking at her pale skin and the dark circles that even the most effective make-up couldn't hide.
"Why didn't you come and sleep with me if you had trouble being alone?" he whispered. "I told you you could come whenever you wanted..."
"I thought about it, but seeing how freaked out you are at the moment with this match, I was afraid you'd think I was a Quaffle in your sleep or something." Pansy explained, which made him smile in spite of himself. "Besides, I was keeping myself busy with all this. I thought you'd like it."
Draco read the scroll of lyrics and nodded:
"Of course I like it." he confirmed after a few seconds. "Weasley's going to go crazy and we're definitely going to win, now!"
Pansy smiled at him and Draco leaned in slightly to give her a kiss on the forehead, a gesture of gratitude she clearly appreciated as her black painted smile grew even wider.
"Now come and have a honey toast with me, please." Draco pleaded. "You've been up since Merlin knows when."
Pansy agreed and they finally sat down in their usual places. They were soon joined by Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle, and finally Theo, who seemed very annoyed by the topic of conversation at the table: Quidditch. He categorically refused to wear the badge Pansy had handed him and hid behind a book for the entire breakfast.
Blaise recited every technique he knew to help Draco, Pansy repeated the song a dozen times so he memorised the words, and every Slytherin around him wished him luck or patted him on the back. Draco was delighted. He loved being the centre of attention, especially when it came to Quidditch.
Pansy was handing out badges and lyrics to all the Slytherin students. Draco had thought she would have to force them to cooperate, but he was surprised to see that everyone was motivated to make fun of Weasley. Soon, the whole table exploded with green: from hats to scarves to badges. The only person not following the colour code was Theo, who was dressed in blue.
Granger arrived in the Great Hall far too early for a Saturday, accompanied by Weaslette. She was wearing her red and gold scarf, which went well with the colour of her hair. As soon as she stepped through the imposing doors, Granger glanced discreetly at the Slytherin table where he sat. Her eyes automatically went to his badge and she frowned, but Draco was in too good a mood to care. This was Quidditch, competition, nothing really personal.
When Potter arrived, he was dragging a Weasley behind him who was so grey and miserable that Draco was slow to recognise him. He looked like he was going to throw up last night's dinner at any moment. Blaise noticed the same and whispered:
"Hey, Pans, I don't think you had to go to all this trouble. He'll pass out before Hooch blows the whistle."
Pansy chuckled and continued to pass on the "Weasley is our King" to the Slytherin table.
In the bustle that always accompanied the Great Hall, Draco thought he heard a stream of words and turned his head to Theo on his right:
"Yes, I slept well, thank you for asking, it's always nice to be worried about your friend's well being, I've had a bit of pain in my neck for the last two or three days from being bent over a table all the time, and I've had to get up a couple of times during the night to go and have a wee..."
"Why are you telling us all this, Theo?" asked Pansy, who was also looking at him in confusion.
Theo put his book back on the table with a fake surprised look on his face:
"Oh, you can hear me then? Fantastic! Then you'll also hear me when I remind you that this idea is completely stupid?"
"It's just a bit of competition, nothing to get upset about." Blaise interrupted, his oversized Slytherin hat falling down in front of his eyes. "You never liked Quidditch, you can't understand..."
"I wouldn't expect anything less from Draco, he always knew how to come up with stupid ideas to get himself into trouble..." Theo continued as if he hadn't heard Blaise. "That doesn't really surprise me about Pansy, who never misses an opportunity to make fun of someone..." (he dodged the fork Pansy had expertly thrown at him, probably expecting this reaction). But Merlin, I never thought you, Blaise, could stoop so low!"
"Draco deserves to beat Potter, and what better way than to add a little spice to our victory?" asked Blaise with a grin.
"It's just spite." Theo said dryly. "I hate it. What if I'd been sorted into Gryffindor in first year? Would you be laughing at me? Would you put the worst parts of my life into a song to make me lose it?"
"You would never have been sorted into Gryffindor." Draco said to calm him down, but his sentence had the opposite effect. Theo quickly got up from the bench, picked up his book and walked away, muttering a "whatever"
Draco felt slightly disappointed as he watched him go, but Pansy quickly reassured him:
"Forget it, he doesn't understand. He'll feel much better tonight when it's all over."
Draco nodded thoughtfully. He knew Pansy's idea was childish, but he kept reminding himself that if Blaise was in on it, then it wasn't so bad. Blaise was far too wise to be part of a lousy plan.
Blaise, Pansy and Draco were openly criticising the giant lion's head that Lovegod had put on her head in support of Gryffindor when Montague positioned himself opposite them:
"Ready? Let's go."
Draco stood at the same time as Crabbe and Goyle, who looked almost as worried as Weasley, if that was possible. Blaise patted him on the arm for good luck, and Pansy hugged him.
When she tightened her arms around his neck, Draco saw that Potter and Weasley had risen too. He watched as Granger stood on tiptoe to kiss Weasley on the cheek and his hands twitched.
"Good luck Draco!" piped Pansy affectionately before he left.
He gave her a pale smile and set off with Crabbe and Goyle. They walked just behind Weasley and Potter, so Draco had plenty of time to watch Weasley absentmindedly stroke his cheek where Granger had kissed him and suddenly it was he who wanted to throw up his dinner from the night before.
Oddly, he no longer felt any apprehension at the thought of tormenting Weasley.
Draco did not speak as he changed. Nor did Crabbe or Goyle. Anxiety was beginning to rise, coursing through his veins with every heartbeat. When Montague stood in front of the players to remind them of the latest tactics and give them a pep talk, Draco was only half listening. He checked that his broom was functional a dozen times, just so he wouldn't listen to the sound of footsteps from the students above them as they climbed into their respective stands.
"It's time," Montague announced half an hour later. "Come on, good luck lads."
When Draco came out, broom over his shoulder, he was greeted by a gust of wind that blew his hair out and a sun breaking through the clouds. He made his way across the lawn in single file. He didn't need to look up to see where Pansy and Blaise were sitting: he could already hear the song lyrics above him, but that didn't stop him looking for them anyway.
Pansy had her back to the pitch, facing the Slytherins whom she was leading like a conductor. She was wearing a green hat with a snake wrapped around it, and her hair was plaited all around in a very elegant hairstyle. Blaise stood in the middle of the choir, towering above everyone else with his impressive height, and his cheeks were painted green and silver, make-up no doubt carefully applied by Pansy.
Just seeing the two of them made Draco's heart light up again.
The Slytherin team arrived in the middle of the pitch at exactly the same moment as the Gryffindors' single file stopped at the same level. Each of the players glared at the other with the usual dark, hate-filled eyes, and Draco's was obviously directed at Potter, who was already looking at him. Draco could see his knuckles turning white as he gripped the sleeve of his Firebolt so tightly.
Weasley, on the other hand, was having a hard time of it. He too was gripping the handle of his ridiculous broom (a Cleansweep 11, which Draco didn't even think was still on the market), but he was doing it to avoid falling over.
"Captains, shake hands." ordered Hooch.
Montague reached over and crushed Johnson's fingers, but to her credit, she pretended not to notice.
"Mount your brooms."
Draco obeyed and swung his leg over his Nimbus 2001. When Hooch whistled, he gave the ground a hard kick and took off at once, desperate to gain as much height as possible from the start of the game. Potter headed west, so Draco took the whole east side of the pitch and started making big circles to spot the Golden Snitch.
Lee Jordan started to do the commentary, but Draco couldn't hear.
In fact, he couldn't hear anything at all.
Quidditch had always succeeded in clearing his head, almost as effectively as Occlumency. When he was in the air, he no longer felt the anxiety of losing, or getting hurt. He was so concentrated that everything around him disappeared: the audience, the applause, the commentator's voice. He was in his own bubble.
He circled the pitch several times and couldn't find a single golden reflection. He thought back to Blaise's words from the morning, who had described the best tactics for finding the Golden Snitch before Potter did, and applied them as best he could. Twice, he almost took a Bludger in the face, but managed to avoid them at the last second thanks to tight skids that Weasley's broom would have failed miserably, no doubt.
As he passed by the Slytherin stand, he was shocked to hear the song of "Weasley is our King" blaring so loudly that it pierced Draco's concentration bubble. Jordan tried desperately to cover the lyrics with his comments, but it was impossible: the sound of the voices combined to create a din that was impossible to ignore.
Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring,
That's why Slytherins all sing:
Weasley is our King.
Weasley was born in a bin
He always lets the Quaffle in
Weasley will make sure we win
Weasley is our King.
Weasley is our King,
Weasley is our King,
He always lets the Quaffle in
Weasley is our King.
Draco smiled with all his teeth and began his turn again, mumbling the words of the music between his lips without realising it. He turned his head towards Weasley to gauge his state, which was catastrophic. The moment Draco looked at him, he let a Quaffle pass through the centre ring and the Slytherin stand erupted in cheers. Draco howled with laughter, but stopped short when one of the Weasley twins threw a Bludger at him with force. He regained altitude and continued his search.
As Blaise had predicted, the song managed to distract Potter. He was so worried about his friend that he stopped flying altogether. He hovered near the middle of the pitch, his eyebrows furrowed behind his glasses, with a murderous look on his face, the kind of grimace that delighted Draco when it was written on the features of his worst enemy.
Draco thought he saw a golden glint and refocused, but when he dived, he lost it. He swore and climbed even higher into the air.
Weasley was born in a bin
He always lets the Quaffle in
Weasley will make sure we win
Weasley is our King…
Draco sang along with the Slytherins as he scanned the pitch. Potter had started doing his rounds again, but he was clearly too preoccupied with Weasley to get fully into the game.
Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring,
That's why Slytherins all sing:
Weasley is our King…
Suddenly, Draco heard the familiar whistle of a Bludger right next to his eardrum. He turned his head and met Crabbe's frightened gaze.
"Hey! Watch it!" he shouted at his teammate. "You idiot, you almost got me! I'm on your team, remember?"
He showed him his green uniform and Crabbe's head sank further into his shoulders.
"Sorry Draco, I didn't aim well..."
Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation and resumed his circle of the pitch. Weasley had missed another goal, giving them a good lead.
Draco could already see himself. The Golden Snitch in his hand, cheered by hundreds of people, carried to the changing rooms by his team... Congratulations from Blaise, praise from Pansy, maybe even impressing Theo with his performance... There would be a big party in his honour that evening... And with any luck, Granger would compliment him in the Library that evening, Draco smiled as he imagined what she might say to him...
Thinking of her, he turned his head towards the Gryffindor stands. He spotted her in seconds. She was wearing a Gryffindor hat, her voluminous hair spilling out from under her red and gold scarf. She was dancing from foot to foot, probably because of the cold, and talking to Weaslette, pointing at one of the players. Weaslette was obviously explaining something to her. She scanned the pitch, listening to her best friend, and when she came across Draco looking at her, she gave him a dark look that he could easily see from several yards away.
Maybe she wouldn't be cheering for him tonight, after all. Maybe she'd blame him for Pansy's song, maybe she'd yell at him for daring to make fun of her precious Weasley, and oddly enough, that prospect gave him almost as much pleasure as the previous scenario.
Draco stopped watching Granger to concentrate on the game. Weasley had let in two more goals, and the song continued to echo around the stadium, even louder than at the start of the game.
Weasley was born in a bin
He always lets the Quaffle in
Weasley will make sure we win
Weasley is our King…
Draco turned to his left, trying to catch a glimpse of the Teachers' Tower: to be honest, he was surprised that none of them had stopped Pansy's choir yet. But just as he came to rest on McGonagall's stern face, he saw Potter's figure plunge.
Draco's blood ran cold.
He immediately pointed his handle at the ground, and dived to catch him.
He raced towards Potter, hoping to make up for his few seconds' delay. Potter's eyes were fixed in front of him and Draco finally saw it. The Golden Snitch, near the Slytherin goal.
Luckily, Draco was closer to the goal than Potter. He caught up with him in a matter of seconds and pinned him to his left. Draco could barely feel the wind on his face, could no longer hear the roar of the crowd, or even the blood pounding against his eardrums from his sensational run. All he could see was the small, winged golden ball as it curved around the foot of the goal and flied across the pitch.
Draco swerved so violently that it took his breath away, but he refused to even blink.
Potter made the same move as him, and Draco was surprised to feel him against his side at the same speed. How had he managed to turn so quickly?
The handle of Draco's Nimbus was still pointed at the ground, and it was coming closer and closer to the grass. The ball flew low over the turf, but Draco kept coming down, closer and closer... Potter would surely pull back at the last moment... Draco had never managed to keep Blaise in this kind of dive for very long, Potter would give up long before he did...
But when it was only a few seconds before he hit the ground, Draco realised that Potter was far too stubborn for that. He didn't lose an ounce of speed, and reached forward...
Draco didn't think twice and did the same, ignoring the lightning speed at which they were being propelled. He could almost feel the vibrations of the golden ball's wings against his fingers, before Potter's spread further apart. He touched the ball with his fingertips, and caught the Golden Snitch in his fist.
Draco's heart dropped brutally into his stomach and he let out an unwilling cry of protest. He scratched the back of Potter's hand, but the Golden Snitch was in his palm, and he refused to let it go.
The Gryffindor climbed back up, and Draco turned at the last moment, a second before colliding head-on with the opposing goal.
The dive had probably deafened Draco, because all he could hear was a continuous ringing in his ears. So he didn't hear the screams from the crowd, nor the wailing of the Slytherins.
Draco couldn't believe it.
All those hours of training, all that stress, all that sleepless nights, for such a quick moment? So intense? And he had lost?!
He looked hopefully at the scoreboard, as if it were physically possible for Slytherin to have scored over 150 points in just a few minutes. When he finally heard the cheers of the Gryffindors, and saw Granger hugging Weaslette, Draco wanted to fall off his broom.
Gryffindor had won.
Fucking Potter had won again.
Draco hated the feeling almost as much as he loved Quidditch. This feeling of disappointment that burned in his gut, this frustration that seemed to explode in his chest, leaving it strangely empty and painful. All the adrenalin of the match fell as suddenly as it had risen.
But Draco couldn't stand defeat. So, rather than live through those few seconds of pain, he preferred to replace it with a much more familiar emotion.
Anger.
It seized him violently, making his veins boil and redoubling his heart rate, which had practically stopped. It made him act on impulse. He went back down onto the pitch, ignoring the cries of Pansy who was shouting his name, and landed a few feet away from Potter. The latter was at the centre of his team and was being congratulated from all sides.
"Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?" he said to Potter, his voice tinged with contempt. "I've never seen a worse Keeper... But then, he was born in a bin... did you like my lyrics, Potter?"
He could see that his words were affecting the boy: his face closed immediately, and Draco felt a small spark of joy at the idea that he could still affect him, even after his victory.
But instead of answering, as he usually did, Potter suddenly turned and shook hands with his team-mates.
His ignorance rekindled a surge of anger Draco had not felt for a very long time.
He felt it crash against him like a stormy ocean wave. He looked at the Golden Snitch clenched in Potter's fist and the jealousy, the resentment, the hatred against him was transformed into a feeling of fury that surpassed all the emotions he was feeling at that moment. It was as if his whole body had warmed up by ten degrees. His vision became blurred.
He was controlled by a single desire: revenge.
To hurt him.
Make him pay.
"We wanted to write another verse!" shouted Draco, his words coming out of his mouth without him being able to control a single thing he said. "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly… We wanted to sing about his mother, see?"
Potter was still ignoring him, so Draco threw his broom on the floor to get closer to him, to see the anger in his eyes, the same anger that was probably in his own right now. He thought of nothing more, nothing more about Pansy, Blaise, Theo, or even Granger, he thought only of Potter's face, which he dreamed of seeing bloodied.
"We couldn't fit in useless loser either, for his father, you know…"
Draco continued in an increasingly loud voice, and he saw that it hurt Potter, because his jaw twitched a little.
One of the Weasley twins stopped shaking Potter's hand and turned to Draco, and his face suddenly became much more threatening. He took a step towards him, but Johnson caught his arm and whispered:
"Leave it, Fred, let him rant, he's just sore he lost…"
"But you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" continued Draco, intending to hurt with every word he spoke. "You even spend your holidays with them, don't you? I wonder how you stand the smell… But I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells ok…"
Potter belted the other Weasley twin forcefully when he realised he was talking about them. The other, Fred, was held back by the three Gryffindor players to prevent him from lunging at him.
Surprisingly, Draco was not frightened. He was so furious that the prospect of fighting even appealed to him. Maybe it would take the pressure off.
Draco may not have been in control of his flow of words, but he didn't need his head to come up with the meanest things to say to Potter. He knew all his weaknesses. So, it was only natural when he pressed the spot where he knew it would crack him up:
"Or maybe you remember how your mother's house used to smell, Potter, and the Weasley pigsty reminds you of it?"
Draco saw the exact moment Potter let go.
He finally saw the glint of fury he had been waiting for burn in his green pupils.
Potter let go of the Weasley twin, and the two of them rushed at Draco with so much speed that he was knocked to the ground by the force of the impact.
When his head hit the ground, Draco's first thought was "finally."
The jolt of electricity the blow gave him was deliciously addictive. He could feel all his nerves catching fire and wanting to retaliate, and his fist clenched reflexively, ready to smash into the first face he saw.
He felt his skull split open, and lots of little white dots had invaded his vision, but Draco ignored them. He swung his fist in the hope of hitting Potter, but the grunt he received in return told him that he had hit the Weasley twin, George.
Potter, for his part, used his fist, which was still clutching the Golden Snitch, to drive it into Draco's stomach, who spat an insult as he felt the wound in his skull flare up with the impact. Without having time to catch his breath, George Weasley then smashed his nose with his phalanges, and Draco heard a crack before he even felt the excruciating wave of pain that poured down the bridge of his nose.
Draco struck randomly with as much force as he could muster, and heard one of the two scream in agony. Judging by the contact with his fist, he deduced that he had hit one of them in the lips. Draco could feel his own blood trickling down his jaw, but he didn't let it distract him. He took advantage of the fact that Potter had turned his head towards the twin to punch him in the jaw, knocking off his glasses.
Potter groaned in pain, and Draco used his legs to push the boy, intending to turn him over and reverse the balance of power, kicking him in the shin in the process, which would no doubt leave him limping for days. He struck George on the carotid artery and the twin recoiled abruptly.
"Impedimenta!"
The force of Hooch's spell sent Potter tumbling to the side. The moment the weight on his stomach was released, Draco realised he hadn't breathed for a good minute. He felt the taste of blood against his tongue and half choked on it.
He rolled on the cold grass and forced himself to spit out the blood that had accumulated in his throat. His wound throbbed painfully at the back of his skull, and he was pretty sure his nose was broken.
"What's the matter with you?!" exclaimed Hooch. "I have never seen such behaviour! Go back to the Castle immediately, to your Head of House's office! Go! Now!"
Draco wanted to turn around to protest, but he still couldn't breathe. He choked and spat out an impressive amount of blood onto the grass in horror.
He could feel a presence beside him, but didn't have the strength to turn around. If his eardrums weren't ringing, he could have heard Pansy's shrill voice a long time ago, but he could only make out what she was saying when she threw herself down beside him:
"DO SOMETHING! HE'S CHOKING! CAN'T YOU SEE HE'S CHOKING?!"
Suddenly he felt two strong hands grab his shoulders and push him back against the grass. The sun was blinding him above, but Draco still managed to make out Snape's black eyes, probably thanks to the many hours of Occlumency training.
"Breathe! Merlin, breathe!" Snape ordered urgently.
Draco tried, but something was blocking his throat, and he could only get a trickle of air through. He hadn't breathed for too long. He could feel the blood on his tongue.
Draco felt himself slowly drifting off, his eyelids drooping, like when he takes a Dreamless Sleep Potion, like in a warm, cottony dream, far away from the Quidditch pitch...
He could vaguely hear Snape's voice, but he wasn't speaking to him.
"He has a pulmonary contusion. I can hear his heart failing. He can't breathe..."
Draco closed his eyes, trying to appreciate the softness in which sleep enveloped him. Maybe he'd wake up in a few seconds in his emerald dormitory, and it had all been a terrible nightmare... Maybe he hadn't played yet and Blaise would laugh at him when he found out what he'd been dreaming about...
Draco felt the tip of Snape's wand touch his chest, right where it hurt.
"Reparatione livorem!"
The burning sensation that accompanied the spell made him wince at first. Then, as if Draco's lungs had expanded, he was able to take a deep, choking breath of fresh air. His entire oesophagus burned horribly.
Other hands, gentler than Snape's, laid him back down on the turf and Draco coughed until he finally managed to spit out the blood clot that had lodged in his throat and prevented him from breathing properly.
"Oh, Draco, Draco, Draco!" repeated Pansy in a panicked voice.
He tried to reassure her, but he couldn't stop coughing. Someone patted him on the shoulder and Draco didn't have to turn around to recognise Blaise's touch.
"It's Potter! He attacked him!" shouted Pansy at Snape. "We saw him! There were two of them on him!"
"I saw that, Miss. Parkinson." snapped Snape. "They will be punished accordingly."
But Draco couldn't care less about punishment. He wanted to keep on fighting, he wanted to break Potter's nose in the same way he'd broken his own, he wanted to make him spit blood into the grass. He wiped his mouth and his sleeve was instantly soaked with his blood.
"Potter..." he growled, but his name sounded more like a muffled gurgle than anything else.
"Draco, you're bleeding..." said Pansy.
Suddenly, Blaise's voice thundered to his left, trembling with anger:
"COULD SOMEONE BOTHER TO FIX HIS FUCKING NOSE?!"
Clearly, the threat in his voice seemed to worry the teachers just as much, because several of them suddenly approached. Draco sat down on the grass, with the help of Pansy and Blaise, and Flitwick stood facing him:
"I'm not as good at healing spells as Madam Pomfrey, but I can fix your nose in a jiffy. Close your eyes, it might sting a bit... Episkey."
Draco recognised the spell, because it was the one Blaise had used to heal his ankle after his episode of anxiety a few weeks earlier. He groaned in pain as he felt his nose straighten, but at least, the bleeding had stopped.
He didn't thank his Charms teacher and tried to get up. Hooch immediately put a hand on his shoulder:
"Don't get up just yet, Malfoy!"
Not listening to her advice, Draco pushed himself up onto his legs, and felt them tremble under his weight.
"Malfoy! Wait a second, or you'll..."
"I'm fine!" he yelled, though his head was still throbbing, his back was sore from the fall, and he was dripping with blood.
Hooch pursed her lips and Snape planted himself in front of him to gauge his condition with a furtive glance.
"Go to the hospital wing." he ordered. "Right away."
Draco took a step forward, but Blaise caught his arm.
"Get the hell away from me!" shouted Draco, causing Pansy to recoil in shock. "I don't need you!"
It was unfair, and wrong, and Draco knew it, but he said it anyway. Out of anger or shame, he didn't know. Either way, he didn't want to see them. He didn't want to hear Pansy's shrill voice, or meet Blaise's worried, wise gaze. He didn't want to hear Theo's petty laughter and "I told you so" as soon as he saw him. He wanted to be alone.
Blaise must have understood, because he let go of him and let him go without a word. Draco was pretty sure he heard a sob from Pansy, but he didn't turn around to check and walked straight towards the Castle. He could feel the stream of blood that had dried on his chin all the way down to the collar of his Quidditch robes.
The journey to the hospital wing was punctuated by coughing fits and cursing. His head was still sore, but when Draco ran a hand through his hair, he didn't see any blood on his fingers. Yet he was sure that Potter and Weasley had pushed him hard enough to crack his skull. If it was only a concussion, Pomfrey would be able to treat it easily, and Draco would probably no longer feel this terrible pain...
He climbed the stairs with difficulty, unintentionally tightening his face every time his foot touched the ground as it sent a jolt of electricity to the inside of his head.
When Draco finally reached the doors of the hospital wing, he could have cried with happiness. Madam Pomfrey, however, greeted him with the kindness of a mountain troll.
She treated his head by reminding him a hundred times that Quidditch was just a game, that violence solved nothing, and that he should not let his impulses lead him to hurt others, but Draco quickly muffled her, preferring to look out of the window so she wouldn't see the single tear of disappointment rolling down his cheek.
It took Pomfrey an hour to remove the lump from his head. Then, she repaired his nose so he wouldn't carry Potter's punch on his face for the rest of his life, wiped the blood from his chin and tried to make the bruise on his cheek disappear, unsuccessfully. She gave him a dozen potions to swallow, and despite all this care, Draco still felt the sting of the blows, or the imaginary blood in his hair. He left the hospital wing muttering a "thank you" so low that Pomfrey rolled her eyes.
By the time he returned to the corridor of the hospital wing, two hours had passed and the whole Castle seemed empty. There was no sound in the corridors, except for Draco's own footsteps echoing around him.
Draco walked on, not knowing where to go.
He didn't want to think about the match, Potter's victory, or his desire to continue where the fight had left off. He wondered what Granger had thought of the spectacle. If any part of her, however small, had been concerned for him as she watched him get beaten. Even though she would inevitably take Potter's side, he hoped he was important enough for her to care.
Draco was walking down a deserted corridor on the third floor when he suddenly heard furious footsteps coming in his direction. He lifted his head and squinted to catch a glimpse of something, but he couldn't see anything. He moved cautiously forward, and the footsteps got closer and closer, until someone suddenly appeared in an adjacent corridor and literally ran towards him.
Draco barely had time to take a few steps back before a red-haired man, taller than he was, threw him against the wall.
At first, Draco thought it was George Weasley, but the lack of a swollen lip told him it was his twin brother, Fred. He was still wearing his mud and blood-stained Quidditch outfit. As he grabbed Draco's collar to pin him to the stone wall, Draco noticed that his whole arm was shaking.
"So, are you proud of yourself, Malfoy?" he hissed, his voice filled with hatred. "You got what you wanted, didn't you?"
"Far from it, Weasley." Draco spat in the same tone. "If your brother hadn't come along, I could have crushed Potter's skull, but they had to team up on me, like cowards!"
"Cowards?" repeated Fred with a fake laugh full of bitterness. "You really want to talk about cowardice, Malfoy? Insulting your parents is the lowest form of cowardice, it's deplorable! Especially Harry's! Is that all you can think of to provoke us? Just because you lost like a piece of shit?"
Draco struggled to free himself from the twin's grip and met his angry gaze.
"Potter provoked me long before I did, Weasley, and you all need to stop thinking he's got nothing to be ashamed of!" he shouted. "I don't give a fuck if he's the hero of the Wizarding world, he never played Quidditch before he came to Hogwarts, but as usual he's given preferential treatment!"
Weasley immediately shook his head:
"Harry's just better than you, and you know it, that's why it eats you up inside that he can beat you at a sport you thought you'd mastered..."
This comment stung Draco much more than he would have liked to admit: he pushed the redhead a second time, but he took the opportunity to grab the collar of Draco's robes, and he did the same with his own. The twin looked him up and down, a look of deep disgust etched into his features, and Draco was sure that it mirrored the look on his face right now.
They stared at each other for several seconds, their jerky breaths bouncing off the Castle walls, and Draco was wondering whether to strike first or dodge the fist he was about to receive in a few seconds, when Weasley breathed out:
"Merlin... I don't know what she sees in you."
His voice was venomous, Draco had never heard a Weasley speak like that. Hearing this, his face fell against his will.
"What are you talking about, Weasley?" asked Draco in a hiss.
"Hermione."
Draco Occluded as soon as he heard her first name, as if by reflex. He pushed Weasley back with all his strength and sent him towards the wall in front of him.
"What does Granger have to do with this?" he asked, spitting out her name as best he could.
"Look, Malfoy, I tried to understand, I really did." Weasley confessed in a voice that had dropped several octaves. "I thought if Hermione saw something good in you, it was for a good reason. But I think she was wrong." Weasley's face tightened even more. "You don't deserve anything, and you certainly don't deserve anything from her. She's kind, and generous, and far too loyal, and she tends to feel sorry for those beneath her, and I think that's what you are to her, Malfoy. You're just a lost cause she's desperately trying to help, and she'll never succeed because you're rotten from the inside out by your family."
The look on his face was glaring, far fiercer than any look his brother Ron had ever given Draco in his entire life. He probably thought those words would push him over the edge, that he would immediately start fighting again to defend his honour.
It was a good thing Snape had taught him Occlumency, because Weasley's words rolled over him like a harmless breeze.
"Are you done?" asked Draco at the end of his tirade, a hint of boredom in his tone.
"Yeah, I'm done." the twin spat angrily.
"Then you'll listen to everything I say, Weasley, because I won't repeat myself." Draco warned, suddenly threatening.
Draco approached him, step by step, and Weasley was so surprised by this reaction that he let him speak.
"You really think you know Granger?" asked Draco through clenched teeth. "Because you have lunch next to her sometimes, because you share a Common Room? Then let me explain something to you, Weasley. You don't know anything about her. You don't know an ounce of her true personality, you only know the surface, only what she wants you to see." He pointed his finger at his own chest. "I know her. I know her like a book I've read a hundred times. I can guess her every thought, her every emotion, I know what she likes, what she hates, I know all her habits, even the ones she doesn't want to share. You bloody Gryffindors are convinced you know Granger, that she's this... nerd, a bit of a pain in the ass, with a soft spot for house-elves, but I know her. And I don't give a damn about your two-bit threats, because if I can challenge my own father by falling in love with her, it's not some bloody Weasley who's going to keep her away from me!"
He expected Weasley to lunge at him and strangle him, but he was far too shocked to fight back. He dropped back against the wall. His eyes no longer showed the anger of a few seconds ago, they were wide with surprise.
"If you really knew Granger, you'd know that she doesn't need anyone to tell her what to do. You'd know that she would be outraged at the idea of being seen as you've just described her, as a student assigned to help the less fortunate, as if it were her job to set poor Malfoy straight when he's lost his way! Did it ever occur to you, Weasley, that I might be the one to help her? That I'm the one who supports her when she has doubts, when she cries because you treat her like crap, when she needs to let go of the pressure of being seen as the best student at Hogwarts and just be herself again?"
"Hermione isn't..."
"I'm the one who gets her back when you force her to drink to make a fool of herself!" shouted Draco, interrupting Weasley's vain attempt at a reply. "I'm the one who has to comfort her when Potter treats her like a little dog that comes back to him every time he needs her, but doesn't hesitate to push her away when she tries to help him!"
Weasley made no reply, but his complexion had lost colour.
"So don't come in here and threaten to make me lose her, because the only person who deserve to lose her is you." Draco finished, and he could see that his words hit Weasley much harder than a punch. He was stunned and horrified to realise that Draco was right.
Occlumency prevented him from feeling all the rage that must have been thundering beneath his skin. It prevented him from wanting to fight, from wanting to hit Fred to get back at George. Draco turned on his heels, his heart lighter for letting go of that confession.
And Fred Weasley looked at him, speechless.
Draco was desperate for some fresh air, so he went out the hidden door he knew so well and walked through the snow-covered parks of Hogwarts.
He didn't want to sit on the bench, he wanted to walk, so he walked around the lake. He meditated as he did so, and it helped to ward off the anger that hadn't left him since the end of the match. He regained his composure. His little outburst against the Weasley twin had, strangely enough, calmed him. Much more than a fight, or alcohol, or Quidditch. He felt that by defending Granger the way he had, he had freed himself from a weight that had been pressing down on his chest for some time. And for once, he didn't really care if anyone knew he had feelings for Granger. He didn't regret a single word he'd said in that corridor.
He knew that if he stopped Occluding, the turmoil would return. He still hadn't gotten over his defeat in the match, or Potter's injustice in getting back at him with a two-for-one. He wasn't ready to face the reactions of Pansy, Blaise and Theo.
As his left leg threatened to collapse from the day's exertions, and the snow had covered the whole of Hogwarts Park, Draco returned to the Castle.
The sun was almost over the horizon when he returned, casting a lovely golden light over the valley. Draco decided to skip dinner. The potions Pomfrey had given him were making his stomach hurt, and he didn't want to suffer the murderous stares of the other Slytherins, who would no doubt blame Draco for the beating they'd taken at the match.
He climbed to the sixth floor, and took the corridor to the Astronomy Tower. If he stood on the spiral staircase leading to the platform, he would have a perfect view of the sunset through the stained glass window.
Draco had reached the bottom of the stairs when, for the second time, he heard the sound of other footsteps approaching at full speed.
This time, however, the footsteps had nothing to do with Fred Weasley's drums. These footsteps were light, barely touching the ground because they were so fast, and Draco chuckled as he heard them. He could recognise Granger's footsteps anywhere: he'd spent over a year memorising them as she entered the Library behind him.
She came like a fury from the end of the sixth floor corridor. Her cheeks were flushed, she was out of breath, and her eyes were full of vehemence despite the distance between them.
Draco had instantly chosen this expression as his favourite of all those he knew of Granger. He loved it when she was angry like that. Vibrant. Feverish.
Alive.
She approached him in a few paces and pointed an accusing finger at him in the middle of the corridor:
"You!" she shouted in a piercing voice. "What were you thinking, Malfoy?!"
And as soon as he heard that sentence, Draco knew he was in for an excellent time.
.
.
Hermione
.
.
"HARRY HAS CAUGHT THE GOLDEN SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"
Hermione heard everyone around her roar with joy, and Ginny pushed herself forward to cheer Harry on as he soared back into the air. Hermione shouted too, she really tried to cheer with the others, to smile, to celebrate the victory. But strangely, she couldn't. Not quite.
She tried to convince herself that the knot in her stomach, the one that made her nauseous, was due to that horrible Slytherin song and Ron's pale complexion. She sincerely tried to turn that feeling of disappointment into compassion for Ron.
But she knew it wasn't true.
It wasn't true, because the moment she heard Lee Jordan's comment, her eyes automatically scanned the air for Draco. And even though he wore the same badge as the others, even though he had prepared that foul song for the sole purpose of humiliating Ron, Hermione couldn't help but feel a tiny pang of sadness as she watched him bow his head in sorrow.
Seeing him like that, defeated, desperate, Hermione had a strange desire to take him in her arms. To comfort him.
She knew she shouldn't. She knew she shouldn't want to comfort Draco, but Ron, a few feet away, who must have had the same expression on his face, despite the victory. She knew Ron needed her, needed support, but Hermione was simply unable to turn her head to him at the moment. Her eyes were glued to Draco.
So glued, in fact, that she was able to see the moment when he turned from disappointment to anger.
And then, everything happened very fast.
First, Ginny stopped clapping to Hermione's right and shrieked in horror. Hermione looked for Harry immediately. He had been knocked off his broom by a last-second Bludger thrown by Crabbe and fell heavily onto his back. The sound of his fall made both Ginny and Hermione jump.
"Merlin, that Goyle, what a git!" Ginny shouted, and Hermione didn't have the strength to tell her that it wasn't Goyle, but Crabbe.
Crabbe landed on the grass, being yelled at by Hooch as Angelina helped Harry to his feet. He didn't look hurt, but he was definitely in a bad mood.
"Oh no, look at Ron..." Ginny muttered worriedly.
Hermione turned her head towards the goals and found Ron on the ground, walking towards the changing rooms, looking overwhelmed.
"I hope he doesn't blame himself too much..." said Ginny as she looked at her brother, her mouth twisted in pity.
"I hope so too..." Hermione started, but a movement towards the centre of the pitch tore her from her vision of Ron to focus on Draco.
He had just landed too, just behind Harry, who was in the middle of the Gryffindor team congratulating him. Despite the distance between them, Hermione could see that Draco's expression was murderous. He looked like he was going to explode at any moment. He said something to Harry that Hermione obviously didn't hear, but she could tell it wasn't a compliment on his performance.
"Oh no." Ginny said, looking in the same direction as Hermione. "That's not a good sign..."
None of the Gryffindors were paying attention to Draco, but that didn't stop him. Hermione watched him shout insults and had a sudden urge to get up and join them. Her hands trembled with apprehension. She knew Draco, far more than she could admit to herself, and she knew that his angry impulses were as devastating as the look in his eyes. She knew he would get through to Harry the way he had gotten through to her: with his words.
And Hermione was right. She saw Fred rush towards him and Angelina grab his arm to hold him back. That didn't seem to intimidate Draco, who continued his rant until Harry had to restrain George as well.
"Oh, that's not good, not good at all..." whispered Ginny, her eyes wide.
"What's not good? What do you mean?" asked Hermione in a panicked tone.
"Fred and George never fight." Ginny explained, her words coming out quickly, her eyes still fixed on the scene on the pitch. "They prefer other ways, like being sarcastic. If they do fight... It's because Malfoy has hit a nerve. A very sensitive nerve."
Hermione wasn't surprised, she knew Draco liked to press where it hurt the most to make people react. But that didn't stop her heart from pounding in her chest.
"Let's hope Harry can hold them off. Let's hope Hooch gets to him before he can..."
But it was too late. Draco opened his mouth one last time, and as soon as he spoke, Harry's reaction was immediate. He let go of George, and they both threw themselves at Draco with such force that all three of them fell backwards.
It had to be Hermione's imagination, because there was no way she could have heard the sound of Draco's head hitting the frozen ground from so far away. It was physically impossible for the sound to echo so loudly, and resonate so clearly in her own skull.
Ginny let out a frightened cry, but Hermione said nothing. She stood transfixed by the horror before her eyes: Harry and George, hitting Draco with all their might. Her fingers gripped her seat in the stands so tightly that she was sure she would be scarred the next day. She watched Harry, and felt her stomach turn as he punched the boy she loved in the face.
Without her being able to control it, her brain counted the blows.
One, two, three, four, five, six...
George's fist smashed Draco's nose, which began to bleed uncontrollably, and he retaliated by tearing the twin's lip with his ring. Harry punched him in the stomach, and Draco returned the favour by hitting him in the jaw.
Hermione felt as if she could feel each blow on her own body.
Ginny stood up, but Hermione remained motionless. She couldn't feel her legs. The feeling of nausea when Draco had lost had increased, but she couldn't concentrate on it. When Draco hit George in the jugular, Hermione groaned in terror, but Ginny screamed in protest.
Hooch finally turned away from Crabbe and immediately drew her wand and pointed it at the three boys. Hermione didn't hear the spell she cast, but she recognised it at once by its turquoise colour, which hit Harry right in the chest: the Impediment Jinx. It was so powerful that it knocked Harry onto his side, releasing Draco from his grip. He immediately began to cough, obviously suffering from something that was preventing him from breathing.
"What's wrong with him?!" asked Hermione in a high-pitched voice.
"Well, I suppose he's going to McGonagall's office..." Ginny guessed.
But Hermione wasn't talking about the same boy.
She barely watched as Harry and George were sent to the Castle to be punished. She didn't listen to Ginny as she wondered about their fate, or what Draco had said to make them spiral. Hermione didn't even notice Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini running up to Draco and kneeling beside him.
All she saw was his back vibrating, his body shaking above the lawn and her heart stopped as she realised he was choking on his own blood.
Hermione didn't even realise she had stood up. She wrapped her swollen fingers around the railing, almost wanting to jump over and help him. She was already thinking of a dozen possible spells to clear his airways and she clutched her wand, which she hadn't even realised she was reaching for.
"We've got to help him!" cried Hermione helplessly. "He's choking! HE'S CHOKING!"
Ginny frowned and looked in the direction Hermione was shouting and stopped talking instantly. Her features fell as she realised who Hermione was worried about.
"Hermione..." she started, but the brunette couldn't hear her. She rushed towards the stairs and ran down them at full speed, almost falling several times.
She had completely forgotten that she was surrounded by other Gryffindors; all she could see was Draco on the grass. Snape had picked him up and was casting a healing spell on his chest, but Draco was still coughing. "A clot!" Hermione shouted inwardly, maybe even out loud without realising it. "He's got a clot in his throat, he's choking!"
Hermione couldn't count how many times she had run down those stairs, but she knew it had always been for Harry. The last time had been when he'd arrived with Cedric's body in his arms.
And this time it was to save Draco's life, who was suffocating, with no one to help him.
Ruthlessly pushing the remaining Gryffindors down the stairs, Hermione finally reached the grounds. She was just arriving at the edge of the pitch, wand in hand, ready to launch a powerful Deobstruere, when Draco finally managed to breathe. He spat out the clot, helped by Zabini's pat on his back. She stopped running.
When Draco sat up, she was horrified at the amount of blood on his lips, chin and neck. She hadn't seen him covered in it since the towers. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe and Hermione saw that his teeth were stained red.
Just then, Zabini shouted:
"COULD SOMEONE BOTHER TO FIX HIS FUCKING NOSE?!"
He had shouted so loudly, anger and fear shaking his voice, that Hermione was sure Ginny could have heard him from the stands. Flitwick stepped forward immediately and aimed his wand at Draco's nose, repairing it with an effective Episkey.
Draco winced in pain, then got to his feet. Hooch tried to stop him, but Hermione knew it was impossible to hold him back. Even though his legs were shaking and his wounds were much more impressive than Hermione had thought, he would never have wanted to lie there.
His face was painted with rage. Hermione had rarely seen him in such an advanced state of anger. For the first time in her life, he almost frightened her.
Snape assessed his condition and muttered something to him, probably about going to the hospital wing. Draco took a few steps forward, but Zabini stopped him by grabbing his arm.
He turned sharply towards him and shouted:
"Get the hell away from me! I don't need you!"
Zabini let go of him and Parkinson burst into tears. Draco didn't seem to notice, or chose to ignore them, because he crossed the pitch with a determined stride, despite the pain he must have been feeling.
And even when he passed within a yard of Hermione, he didn't look at her. Didn't even glance at her for a second. And the look in his eyes... Hermione would probably never forget it.
For his gaze had never been so grey.
.
.
.
Hermione didn't see Harry all day. Nor Draco. Nor Ron.
She searched the whole Castle for them, made several rounds, but after a few hours of intensive searching, she had to face the facts. Draco, Harry and Ron had probably reacted the same way: by hiding.
She wasn't too surprised about Harry. He had always preferred to be alone after moments like this, to digest and talk to them more quietly afterwards.
She was more worried about Ron, though. Usually, he preferred to mope around with someone, to feel comforted by a presence at his side. The fact that he was avoiding her did not bode well for his mental state. Besides, he hadn't witnessed the fight between his brother, Harry and Draco, and Hermione was sure that it would make his mood even worse if he found out.
As for Draco, Hermione had to admit that she had no idea. He'd never reacted like this before. He'd burst in, throw the most horrible things at someone to make them snap, but Hermione had never known the "after". She didn't know how Draco calmed down, and not knowing where he did it drove her mad.
She looked on the bench, in the Library, in the dungeons, even near the Herbology greenhouses, but she couldn't find him anywhere. Perhaps Pomfrey had kept him longer than expected, perhaps his wounds were too deep. Maybe he'd aggravated them by walking, despite the protests of Hooch and Zabini. Perhaps he had bled to death, foolishly, because of his ego.
Hermione didn't eat lunch, and avoided Ginny. She wasn't ready to talk about what had happened. She wanted to talk to Draco. She wanted to check on him and then yell at him for provoking Harry like that.
At five o'clock, Hermione couldn't stand it any longer and went to the hospital wing. If he couldn't be found in the Castle, he had to be there, or in the Common Room. She hoped it was the first option, because at least she could talk to him there.
She opened the doors eagerly, receiving a strange look from Madam Pomfrey from her office. She looked for him on the beds or for blood on the floor, but found neither.
"Are you hurt, Miss Granger?" the nurse asked, examining her thoroughly.
"No. I'm looking for Dra... Malfoy. Malfoy." Hermione said firmly. "Is he here?"
Pomfrey did not lose her look of surprise.
"I beg your pardon?"
Hermione still looked at the beds. None of them were occupied.
"Malfoy." Hermione repeated. "Have you seen him by any chance?"
If he hadn't gone to the hospital wing, he was definitely bleeding out somewhere in the Castle, a prospect that made Hermione's heart beat too fast all of a sudden. She gripped the door handle to keep herself from panicking.
"Mr Malfoy has been out of the hospital wing for two hours." the nurse said, her eyebrows furrowed. "May I ask why you would want to know such information Miss Granger?"
Hermione's brain fused with a lie.
"Professor Snape was looking for him." she said, as if it were evidence.
Immediately the nurse's face relaxed.
"Oh, I see. Well, I don't know where he's gone, but I certainly hope he's resting. He lost a lot of blood, and suffered a severe concussion to the skull and a severe bruising to the lungs. You should tell Professor Snape that it's imperative that he lets the potions work before he goes off to fight Merlin-knows-who again.
She rolled her eyes to show that she was completely against this kind of practice and Hermione muttered a "thank you", before turning on her heels.
If Draco wasn't in the hospital wing, she had no idea where he could be. Probably in his dormitory, although Hermione doubted he'd taken Pomfrey's advice to get some rest.
As Hermione made her way up the stairs to her Common Room, her fear was replaced by anger.
Hermione rarely felt anger. She was usually the calmest and most collected of her group of friends. Her logical mind prevented her from giving in to such impulsive feelings. She preferred to analyse a situation pragmatically.
With Draco, however, her emotions were so disturbed that she rarely remained calm and collected. He was able to make her react much faster, much more violently. So when Hermione thought back to the way he had managed to get Harry angry to the point of aggression, something that had rarely happened in the past, she felt the beginnings of anger rising in her.
When she reached the seventh floor, the Fat Lady had left her frame, probably to have tea with a friend in a nearby painting. Hermione stood in front of it for a few moments, wondering where to go next. She thought about the bench, but it was snowing outside and she had nothing on but her burgundy woollen jumper with the Gryffindor emblem. She was considering the Library option when someone came up behind her.
Hermione turned around, and came face to face with Fred.
His face was different. Fred was usually smiling all the time, even when no one was looking at him. This time, however, he was glum. He looked like he'd been drained of all his energy, like he'd been completely shut down, which was a bit scary. He was still wearing his Quidditch robes.
"Fred? What are you...?" she said in a small voice.
"Did you hear?" he asked coldly. "Harry and George have been banned from Quidditch. For life."
Hermione took the news like a punch to the gut.
"What? But... But McGonagall..."
"Oh, it wasn't McGonagall's doing." Fred said with a dry laugh filled with despair. "It was Umbridge. She obviously jumped at the chance."
Hermione closed her eyes when she heard this. She could only imagine the state Harry must be in. Quidditch was very important to him, it was one of the few legacies he'd received from his father and an excellent escape from the worries that were constantly on his mind. Taking it away from him was probably the worst possible punishment, but that wasn't very surprising coming from that demon Umbridge.
"No... God, Harry..." Hermione breathed.
Fred looked at her and Hermione thought she saw a shadow of pity on his face before it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. There was a pause as Hermione digested the news and Fred watched her with a frown.
"You're looking for him." he said in a breath. "Aren't you?"
She didn't have to ask who he meant. She pursed her lips and nodded shyly.
"Merlin." said Fred, raising his eyebrows. "So Malfoy gets a second chance. That's great."
"I'm not looking for him to forgive him." Hermione said hurriedly, as if justifying herself. "I'm looking for him to reproach him for what he did."
"Well, I hope you have better luck than I did." sighed Fred, crossing his arms over his chest. "I ran into him earlier."
Hermione's eyes rounded.
"Ran into him?" she repeated.
"Well, let's just say the portraits on the third floor witnessed a fine show."
"Oh my God, Fred, did you get into a fight?!" squealed Hermione.
"No, not really." the twin replied with a shrug. "We yelled at each other, and I admit I pushed him against the wall a little harder than I intended, but nothing too bad. He went west, but I don't know where he went."
"Thank you." said Hermione hastily as she turned back, but Fred grabbed her arm to hold her back.
"He insulted our mother, Hermione." he said curtly. "That's why Harry got into the fight. Our mother. The one who taught you to knit, the one who welcomes you in every summer because she loves you. The one who raised us, despite the difficulties, despite the war. He insulted our mother, and our father, and Harry's mother."
Hermione could only swallow. She knew he'd said something serious, otherwise Harry would never have attacked, but to know he'd used something so personal to torment Harry was particularly vicious.
"I thought you'd want to know." Fred explained, letting go of his arm.
She heard him sigh behind her back as she took the stairs again, but she didn't look back. She went down one floor with the firm intention of finding Draco.
She crossed the sixth floor from top to bottom, but she wasn't discouraged. She would search every corner of Hogwarts to find him. She couldn't go to sleep until she'd unloaded the rage inside her that made her want to break something.
Fortunately, she didn't need to look any further. When she turned into an empty corridor near the entrance to the Astronomy Tower, she heard someone walking a little further along. And without understanding why, her instincts told her it was Draco.
She sped up, and when she saw him, illuminated by the golden light that the sunset was casting through the windows and turning his hair the colour of honey, the anger Hermione felt took possession of her whole body, burning every inch of her skin. She almost ran towards him.
"You!" she cried, calling out to him. "What were you thinking, Malfoy?!"
He watched her walk towards him calmly, as if he hadn't noticed how furious she was. He had a huge bruise on his cheek, running from his jaw to under his eye, but Hermione was surprised to find that it didn't matter to her at all. She was too furious with him to care.
"Ah, we're back to Malfoy?" he asked with a grin.
"Yes, of course we're back to Malfoy!" stormed Hermione. "Did you seriously think I would call you Draco, after what you said to Harry?!"
"Oh, Granger, don't tell me you're going to defend him again!" he replied, rolling his eyes. "Did you even see what happened? They attacked me, two on one, without a wand! There was nothing I could do!"
"You wouldn't have needed to fight if you hadn't provoked Harry!" retorted Hermione angrily, pressing her fingertip against his chest to make him back off. "I know what you said to him! How dare you? How dare you insult George and Harry's mothers, when you know full well that parents don't define someone?"
Malfoy lost his smile at this and straightened up, towering over Hermione by about five inches to look down at her.
"Don't you talk to me about my parents, Granger, or I swear I will..."
"Swear you will what?" she asked, and heard her own voice vibrate with animosity. "That you're going to insult me too? That you'll provoke me to make me react? That you're going to fight me, hurt me?"
Malfoy twitched slightly at hearing this, but his gaze was as grey and cold as ever as he stared at her wickedly.
"You always only see one side. Always Potter's side, never mine." he retorted coldly.
"You provoked him for no reason!"
"I was just pissed off at losing!" disputed Draco in a loud voice. "I was furious with him, he's always better, always, no matter what the subject! Even mine, Quidditch, my greatest passion since I was a child! Do you know how long I've been training for this match? A lot more than him, in any case! I deserved to win, and yet I lost, because Potter always gets away with it! Because fucking Potter always get what he wants!" He stepped back abruptly and ran a hand through his hair reflexively. "Maybe Dumbledore put a spell on the Golden Snitch so it always falls into his palm, I don't know, it wouldn't surprise me, because he's always the fucking favourite, and I've got nothing! I've never had anything! Not even this win, even though I've worked day and night for it, so I apologize for getting carried away with Saint Potter!"
He took a deep breath at the end of his sentence, his pupils dilated with anger. Hermione could see his body trembling under his bloody Quidditch robes.
"It's not normal to feel so much rage after a game of Quidditch, Draco." Hermione said. "I understand you're sad, but it's only a game..."
"It's not just a game." Malfoy assented abruptly. "It has never been just a game. It's a competition, and I lost, and maybe your precious Weasleys would have accepted defeat with a smile, but I'm not like that. And I'm certainly not going to apologize for not being, because that makes me a good player, unlike your Ron."
He spat out the name as if it were vulgar. Hermione could see the resentment on every feature of his face, on his contracted jaw.
"You promised me you wouldn't insult them." Hermione said, her voice suddenly more wispy. "You promised."
"I warned you that deal wouldn't apply to Quidditch."
Hermione let out an angry snort:
"Oh, stop it! We knew damn well you wanted to talk about your nasty little jokes during the games, when I agreed to your deal I didn't think you'd write a fucking song to humiliate Ron!"
Draco seemed surprised that she would use such a word, but he soon regained his frozen expression, the one that made him look like the marble statues of Greek mythology.
"I didn't write that song." he said, leaning against the wall.
"You were wearing a badge." she spat vehemently. "Again."
"You want to talk about promises, Granger?" shot back Malfoy. "Weren't you the one who promised me you'd stop telling everyone about our "friendship"? Why does that prick Fred Weasley know about my feelings for you, then?"
She usually loved to hear him say that, but this time there was nothing sweet about his tone. He spoke of his love for her like a sentence.
"I didn't tell him." she gritted out. She felt the waves of anger Draco had already described inflame her skin. "He guessed it all by himself. And he promised me he wouldn't tell anyone else, because he respects me, but I suppose his respect has limits, given what you did to his twin brother."
Draco rolled his eyes as though it was derisive.
"It's fine, it's just a split lip..." he said, waving his hand in the air.
"Harry and George have been banned from Quidditch." Hermione cut in ferociously. "For life."
She had expected this information to surprise him, but he merely shrugged, which irritated Hermione even more. His lack of compassion was cruel.
"They've earned it." Malfoy said, not even hiding the pleasure it gave him to know that Harry would never play again.
Hermione clenched her fists along her sides.
"You're the most unsympathetic boy I've ever met."
Malfoy smirked:
"I've been insulted far worse."
But Hermione wasn't finished. He was very good at throwing Harry off balance with his words, but she knew she could do it too, and far more slyly.
"How can I spend time with you, when you treat people with so little consideration?" she asked, weighing each of her words so that they would register well in Malfoy's brain. "Sometimes I think you deserve to be liked, and then you do stuff like that, and I think maybe I shouldn't go to that table in the Library after all."
Malfoy's features hardened all at once. One second he was grinning wickedly, the next he was looking at her like he wanted to hurt her.
"Granger, stop it." he said, more of a growl than a sentence.
"I thought it might make you better, that it might make you Draco instead of Malfoy, but he always stays below the surface, doesn't he?" she continued, moving closer to him slowly, her eyes locked in his. "The real Malfoy, the one who insults and hurts because he doesn't know how else to express himself, he's still there, isn't he? So what's the point of me being here, of us spending time together, if I know you're going to go back to being the inner rotten boy I've come to know all these years?"
Suddenly, something snapped in Malfoy. She saw it in his stormy eyes. Something snapped, and he became almost feral: he lunged at her, and Hermione was almost afraid he was going to hurt her, until she felt his hands close over her wrists, triggering an electric current that ran through her arms the instant his skin made contact with hers, and sent her reeling backwards.
"Don't say that!" he shouted.
He pushed her towards the stairs that led to the Astronomy Tower, and Hermione climbed the first step to try and regain the upper hand, but it was no use. Draco climbed two steps higher, towering over her.
He let go of her wrists as if she'd burned him.
"Don't fucking say that, Granger!"
His voice was softer, but far more threatening than his shouting.
"I know what you're doing." he said angrily. "You want to drive me over the edge, break me, Granger? You think using the Library is going to bring me to my knees, is that it?"
Hermione didn't answer, her heart on edge but refusing to break eye contact with his stony eyes.
"You thought by threatening not to come around anymore that I was going to start crying, begging you to forgive me, didn't you?" hissed Malfoy, and his tone was so cold that it froze Hermione in place. "As if it was just me, as if you weren't as addicted as I am!"
Hermione definitely was. She woke up every morning hoping he'd be here that evening and went to sleep thinking about all the things they'd said to each other. She hated Thursdays, and loved Sundays. She recognised his footsteps. She loved it when he worked on Potions because he was so focused on it that she could sneak a peek, and she loved it when she felt his gaze devour her when he thought she didn't notice.
She was addicted, that was obvious. But her pride prevented her from admitting it out loud.
"You think you're stronger than me, but I know you like talking to me as much as I like talking to you." Draco continued, and he stepped down a step to stand only a head above her. "I know you like it when I ask you to go to our bench, and I know you like it when I call it our bench, even though you wouldn't admit it for the world. You don't have to tell me, Granger, I can see it in your eyes. I've been able to read you for years. And I know you love it."
Hermione swallowed and Draco's gaze watched the movement of her throat before moving up to lock into hers.
"You act like you're stronger than me, but you're just as dependent on these moments as I am. I may have been afraid of losing you for a while, but not anymore, Granger. Now, you're as addicted as I am. Admit it."
She shook her head and he pushed himself away from the wall to get closer to her:
"You keep coming back to our table in the Library because you're incapable of feeling what I make you feel with Weasley or any of the others. Admit it."
Hermione smacked him on the arm when she heard that, but it was as if he hadn't felt a thing.
"Admit it, Granger. Stop lying to yourself." Draco breathed in a barely audible whisper.
"I hate it when you insult Ron and Harry, I hate it when..." she began, but he climbed down another step to be on the same level as her and moved closer, just enough for her back to hit the wall of the stairwell, trapped. The sentence died on her tongue.
"Admit it, Granger."
"I'll never admit that." she said, her voice shaking but determined.
"Yes, you will." he said, sure of himself. "Why wouldn't you? We both know I'm right. You look for me in the crowd of students every morning, and you think of me before you go to sleep. Don't you?"
Hermione shook her head a second time. She'd forgotten why she was angry with him. The minty scent he gave off every time he spoke made her lose her mind enough to forget everything that had happened that morning. But she knew she shouldn't admit it. It would prove him right and she didn't want that. She clung to that last wish not to give in.
Suddenly, he was leaning against her, so close she could see the blue of his eyes. Ocean blue. A whiff of apple cologne hit her nostrils and she had to stop herself from leaning forward. Her cheeks flushed.
"Admit it, Granger." Draco repeated, in a whisper far too low for her to hear if he weren't so close.
There were three heartbeats of silence that Hermione heard clearly against her skin, so loud she thought Draco could hear them echoing around them. He slid his blue eyes down her cheeks, down her neck, before coming back up to stare at her.
And she gave in.
Hermione shut down her reason and nodded.
"Say it." Draco ordered. "Out loud."
Hermione took a deep breath.
Mint and green apple.
"It's true." she said. "It's true, Draco. I'm as addicted as you are."
And then, Draco kissed her.
His lips crashed against hers and Hermione reacted instinctively, as if her body knew what to do when she had no idea: she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, hard. Draco's palms were cold against her cheeks, but his lips burned against hers.
He wasn't gentle, he kissed her with an intensity that could have knocked Hermione off her feet if he hadn't held her against him. He gave her all his anger through his kiss, and Hermione gave him hers, and the combination was violent. It was as if all the tension between them had exploded, as if she had just fallen off the cliff she had thrown herself off when she realised she loved him.
It wasn't just their lips that had joined, but their magic, too. Hermione could feel hers colliding with Draco's, so violently that it created sparks around them. She could feel Draco's magic against her fingertips, down to the tips of her curls, as if she'd been electrocuted.
Hermione wanted more, so she intertwined her burning fingers with Draco's hair and pulled gently, and the sound he made deep in his throat was intoxicating. She did it again, and he removed his hands from her cheeks, one resting on the back of her head to bring her even closer and the other brushing her jaw, right between her ear and neck, making her shiver instantly.
Draco wasn't kissing carefully, he was kissing passionately. Hermione could feel every emotion he wanted to convey to her through his lips: anger, rage, fury, but also anticipation, envy, desire. It was searing. She had the impression she was hearing words he had never spoken before. That they were connected in a way they had never felt before.
Hermione's breath caught as she felt his mouth capture her lower lip. He ran his tongue over it and Hermione felt a trail of shivers run down her arms and back. She had never felt like this before. She'd never thought her body would react so strongly, so intensely.
Draco pulled away from her for a second and she moaned in protest, gripping his hair tighter so he wouldn't pull away, but soon she felt his breath in the hollow of her neck, against her thin skin, pulsing with pleasure. He peppered her with kisses and Hermione automatically lifted her head to give him even more room. Between two soft kisses, he whispered in her ear:
"Fuck, Granger, if you only knew how long I've wanted to do this..."
His voice was deep and longing. Hermione wanted to answer, but her own voice was gone. She sank further against the wall, held down not by gravity, but by Draco's hands.
When he stopped kissing her neck, she opened her eyes to look into his: a blue ocean as far as the eye could see. He leaned down to place his lips on hers one last time, then slowly pulled away, and Hermione had to pull her hands away from his neck to catch herself on the banister of the stairs.
They looked at each other for a second, seeming to realise at the same time what they had just done. Hermione felt her cheeks burning, but not with desire, only embarrassment. She had never kissed anyone like that before. In fact, she'd only kissed Krum in her life, and that kiss had been nothing like the one she'd just shared with Draco. It was as if she'd been a different person.
She remembered moaning, and looked away in shame.
Now that the air was no longer saturated with mint and apple, she could think more clearly and all the memories of the day hit her hard. She was supposed to be furious with him, so why did she want to kiss him again? Why did she want to feel his tongue against the sensitive spot under her ear again?
"Oh God, Draco..." she said, her voice shaking. "I don't..."
She looked at him furtively. He looked terrified. His eyes, half grey and half blue, had gone wide and he was looking at her as if he couldn't really see her. He ran his hand through his hair again, the hair Hermione had just pulled, and she could almost count the number of colours he lost on his face as the seconds ticked by.
There had been a tension in the stairwell just before he had kissed her, and now there was another, much heavier, almost palpable in the air. Hermione felt it fall on her shoulders as she fully realised what they had done.
The impact of their two mingled magics had shattered a pane of the window, but the wind that escaped could not extinguish the fire that was burning every bit of Hermione's skin he had touched.
"Fuck, Granger, I... I don't know why I did that." Draco blurted out without looking at her.
Hermione's heart fell hard in her chest, a fall so dizzying that she slipped down a step.
She was panting, her stomach was churning, every nerve in her body was on fire, but he didn't like it?
"You..." she started, but Draco stepped back, putting as much distance between himself and her as he could.
He put his hands up, as if he was afraid she'd throw herself at him to hit him, and a look of pure panic on his face.
"Granger, I'm... I'm sorry."
Hermione frowned, wanting to ask him what the hell he meant, because she wasn't sorry: it wasn't right, it wasn't reasonable, but something so good couldn't have been so bad, could it?
But before she could say a word, Draco fled down the corridor, and Hermione was far too paralysed to follow him.
.
.
Draco
.
.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Fuck.
He'd just kissed Granger.
He'd given in. After all this time, he'd given in.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
He made his way across the Castle to the dungeons, not even bothering to be quiet. In any case, if he met a prefect, he would probably cast a spell on him without even having his wand: he could feel his magic burning his fingers, ready to spark at any moment.
He tried to Occlude, to push the memory to the back of his mind, but it was useless. He couldn't concentrate enough to meditate. He couldn't close his mind, because Granger's lips were burned into it. He was physically unable to think of anything but her, the warmth of her skin against his fingers, the sound he'd managed to elicit from her by kissing her in the hollow of her jaw.
Draco reached the dungeons and loosened the collar of his robes. The heat he felt had nothing to do with the anger he knew: this was different, and much more pleasant. If he were honest, he'd even admit that kissing Granger was the best thing he'd been able to do in his life so far, but he hadn't absorbed enough reality yet to be able to do that.
He practically shouted the password and the door to the Common Room opened. There was a party going on, of course, but no one was dancing. Everyone was sitting in chairs or on the floor. Blaise was chatting with Travis Davis. Daphne was making out with a boy a little further away. Two third year girls were trying to tune the gramophone to jazz music.
Draco couldn't understand how the world kept spinning. His had stopped the moment his lips had touched Granger's.
He headed for the dormitories with the intention of taking the longest shower of his life, but when he opened the door, he was surprised to see Pansy. She was lying in Draco's bed, her head turned towards the ceiling of his four-poster bed. Her make-up was gone, but there were still traces of black mascara running under her eyelashes.
When she saw him, she let out a cry of relief and scrambled to her feet:
"Draco, oh Merlin! You're here! I've been looking for you all day! Pomfrey refused..." she stopped suddenly when she saw the bruise on his cheek. Her mouth twisted. "Are you all right? How are you feeling?"
"Terrible." Draco replied, and it was the truth, but not for what Pansy thought.
She sulked a little and took his hand gently:
"Come."
She led him into the dormitory bathroom and made him sit on the edge of the tub, then leaned over him to examine his wound more closely. Then, she rummaged through the bathroom cupboards for a few minutes, finally finding a witch's ointment which she applied on her fingertip.
"May I?" she asked softly.
Pomfrey had already put every unimaginable cream on his face to speed up the healing process, but Draco nodded anyway, because he knew Pansy needed to do something with her hands to feel useful. He winced a little when she spread the ointment, but her fingers were so delicate that it was hard to complain. She barely touched him, but the cold touch of the cream against his cheek managed to calm the heat emanating from his body.
The warmth Granger had given him.
He enjoyed the sensation as he closed his eyes. When she stopped her massage, Draco's heart rate had miraculously slowed. Pansy swung her leg over the bath to stand behind him.
"Did Pomfrey treat your concussion?" she asked.
Draco mumbled a "yes", but Pansy pretended not to have heard him, probably wanting to check for herself. When she ran her fingers through his hair to get a better look, Draco flinched, but it wasn't from pain. Just the memory of Granger's fingers entangling in the same spot a few minutes earlier.
Pansy's fingers abruptly withdrew from his hair.
"Am I hurting you?" worried Pansy.
Draco shook his head and let her apply whatever cream she wanted. All the fatigue of the last few hours was so overwhelming that Draco's shoulders wobbled slightly. The movement of Pansy's fingers against his skull didn't help: it rocked him and made him want to give in to the pressure of his heavy eyelids.
For ten minutes or so, neither of them spoke. Pansy was still working on him, and Draco took advantage of the silence to try and meditate. It was difficult to find his way through all the thoughts flying around inside his skull.
"That was really horrible." said Pansy suddenly. "Pairing off against you... that was vicious."
Draco shrugged.
"I imagine I'd react the same way if someone had told me the stuff I told them. That's what I wanted. I wanted to fight." he said.
"If Weasley hadn't got involved, it would have been just you and Potter. Here, you were clearly at a disadvantage."
She clicked her tongue in a disapproving sound and went back in front of him to tend to his bruised knuckles. Each one was open, and Pansy tended to them one by one, with a gentleness she rarely showed.
"Theo said I deserved it, I bet?" muttered Draco.
Pansy rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated by Theo's behaviour.
"At first, yes, but Blaise shut him up pretty quickly." she said dryly. "He wasn't there. He didn't see what we saw."
Draco looked up at her. She was crying.
"It's all right, Pans'. It's just a few scratches." he said softly.
He gently raised his hand to wipe away the tear that was running down her cheek and smearing the remnants of her make-up. Pansy sniffed and took his palm back in hers to continue tending his knuckles.
"That's not what I'm worried about." she murmured. "Draco, you were so... so angry. I thought you were going to hit Blaise when he tried to stop you leaving."
"I would never have done that." Draco replied immediately. "You know very well I would never do such a thing."
"I know that now, but at the time I had no idea. I've rarely seen you so angry. And when you choked... Draco, I thought you were going to die. I looked at you and I couldn't help you. I was paralysed with terror."
Even though her words were meant to be terrible, Draco felt a pleasant sensation warm his chest.
"Did you?" he asked, almost pleading. "You've been worried about me?"
Pansy looked up from his hands for a second to give him a weird look.
"Of course I worried about you, Draco." she assured. "I'll always worry about you."
Maybe it was the smell of cold tobacco clinging to Pansy's skin at all times that had a way of soothing him, maybe it was the adrenaline rush that made him dizzy, maybe it was the fact that she'd worried about him, maybe it was the familiarity of her smile.
Maybe he wanted to reassure himself with a familiar touch.
He didn't know.
In any case, Draco leaned forward, and kissed his best friend with every ounce of strength he had.