Chapter 31- The Big Game
Five days before the big match.
After Monday’s Potions lesson, Professor Snape had asked Draco to stay behind. He needed to have a word with the Head Boy.
Draco waited for Hermione to pack up before walking up to the Potion Master’s desk. “You needed to see me, Professor?”
“Yes Draco,” Professor Snape said, looking up from his work. “I just wanted to ask you how training was going.” He threw Hermione a cold look. “I know it isn't easy, having to fly with a passenger, but I do hope it hasn’t been too much of a distraction.”
Hermione felt her cheeks heat up a little in anger.
Draco shook his head and gave the Professor an easy smile. “Hardly, Professor. I have gotten used to it. Besides, if Granger hadn’t agreed, I wouldn't have been able to play,” he added, a tiny part of him feeling that he should stand up for Hermione. She had, after all, gone through quite a bit so that he could play Quidditch again.
Next to him, Hermione smiled inwardly.
Professor Snape did not look convinced. “I'm still shocked that Professor Dumbledore agreed to this… arrangement.”
“I'm actually thankful he did,” Draco remarked.
“Well yes, of course,” Professor Snape said with a wave of his arm. “I'm just content that you're allowed to play in the next game.” His expression grew serious (well, more serious than usual at least). “This brings me to the main point of this meeting. Are we ready for the next game? How are the preparations going? I do intend to snatch the Quidditch Cup from under the Gryffindors’s noses this year.”
Hermione scowled.
“Preparations are going pretty well,” Draco replied, sounding certain. “The team has been practicing very hard and they are definitely going to put up a tough fight.”
Professor Snape arched an eyebrow. “I do hope their performance is not going to be as atrocious as the last the game,” he drawled, his face contorted in disgust. “That was too painful to watch.”
Draco cringed slightly at that memory. “The team has definitely improved a lot since that game, sir. We’ll play much better this time round.”
“I don’t just want better play, Draco,” Professor Snape hissed, shooting him a meaningful look. “I want us to win. Tell me, is that likely to happen?”
Though his gaze never wavered from the Professor, Hermione saw Draco shift uneasily.
“Yes sir,” Draco said, appearing confident on the outside. “I think that is very likely to happen.”
Three days before the big match.
Mr. Malfoy decided that it was time for another surprise visit.
Hermione was reading a book in the armchair when she saw his head appear in the fireplace and screamed. She was still not quite used to that.
“Relax, daughter-in-law,” Mr. Malfoy drawled, “I merely thought a visit was in order.”
“Malfoy, you have to tell your father to stop doing that!”
“Honestly father, the least you can do is send us a letter before you visit.”
“Glad to see you so concerned about your future wife, Draco,” Mr. Malfoy said dismissively, “but I haven’t had the time to write a letter. Your mother has, quite frankly, lost her mind, and in the process, she is losing most of my money on shopping as well.”
“At least she’s having fun in France,” Draco pointed out.
“Oh yes, she definitely is,” Mr. Malfoy agreed. “At my expense, nevertheless. She is even considering holding the wedding here.”
Draco fidgeted in his seat, while Hermione looked highly uncomfortable.
“But I am not here to discuss your mother,” Mr. Malfoy resumed, not catching the expression on the faces of the two Heads. “I paid Healer King a little visit just now.”
Draco and Hermione stiffened in their seats. How could they have not considered that Healer King would have reported their meeting to Mr. Malfoy? How much had the Healer divulged?
“You…you went to see Healer King?” Draco stammered, panic written all over his face.
“Well yes, I popped my head into his private office less than an hour ago. I'm one of the few people allowed there,” Mr. Malfoy informed them. “And I am exceptionally pleased to know that you do not have a drinking problem, daughter-in-law.”
Hermione was not sure whether or not to be relieved. “What else did Healer King say?” she probed.
“Apparently he said he discussed quite a number of things with the two of you,” Mr. Malfoy said, looking thoughtful. “I tried to pry as much information as I could from him about this discussion, but he was awfully tight-lipped about it.” An irate look crossed the older Malfoy’s face. “I even offered some monetary incentives, but he refused point-blank and went on and on about how his findings were only meant for himself and were strictly confidential. Then he proceeded to lecture me about ethics, at which point I left.”
There was a unanimous sigh of relief from Draco and Hermione. Their secret was safe. As loony as Healer King might have seemed, he was a man of his word.
Mr. Malfoy eyed the two students inquiringly. “Why do I get the strangest feeling that something is being hidden from me?”
“You're being paranoid, father,” Draco said hastily. “Why would we have something to hide?”
“That is what I'm trying to figure out,” Mr. Malfoy said, glancing from Draco to Hermione. He watched them intently for a couple of moments and then said, “I guess I should get going. The Floo rates from France are ridiculously priced, and I do not want to waste anymore money.
“Your mother sends her love. She would speak to you two herself, but she is too busy spending my money.” Mr. Malfoy sighed lightly. “Now if you would excuse me, I have caviar waiting for me.”
And then Lucius Malfoy disappeared into the flames, thinking whether his chances of planning a wedding in June had increased or not.
“Caviar?” Hermione repeated, frowning. “Your father likes caviar?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Honestly Granger, out of the whole conversation we had with my father, you found that the most perplexing?”
It was the night before the big match.
No matter how hard Hermione tried, she could not get that fact out of her head.
Draco had suggested that they turn in early, so that they would be well-rested. Hermione wanted to insist on doing homework because she knew the moment she set herself down on the bed, thoughts (terrifying thoughts) of how the match might turn out would invade her idle mind.
But she could not argue with Draco. He threatened to carry her into his room if she continued being stubborn. Hermione relented of course.
“Get some sleep, Granger,” Draco said, throwing off his shirt. “You’ll need it for tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
“Yes,” Hermione said, trying to keep her voice steady, “I guess sleep is in order.”
Slowly, almost deliberately, she climbed into the soft bed. On any other day, the bed would have been welcoming, but not today. Today, its comfort provided Hermione’s brain the perfect opportunity to ponder over things she’d rather not think about.
What if I squeeze Malfoy too hard till he can’t breath? What if I distract the Gryffindors? What if I fall off the broom?? What if both of us fall off the broom?!
Ok, so maybe not ponder as much as spew random, incoherent thoughts.
She turned to her side.
Think calming thoughts, Hermione, calming thoughts, she told herself.
WHAT IF HE LOSES THE GAME BECAUSE OF ME?!
She was not used to being this panicky.
Biting back a groan, she turned to her other side.
So many things could happen at the game tomorrow and all the different scenarios rushed through her head.
She knew there would be victory, defeat, cheering and jeering. But there might also be rough play, accidents, injuries, fights…
Hermione tossed again.
And there was always the possibility that”
“Are there bedbugs on the bed, Granger?” Draco’s voice floated from beside her, leaving her thought incomplete.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Hermione said apologetically.
Draco shifted on his side of the bed. “You didn’t. I was already awake. Your tossing and turning is enough to keep the dead awake.”
“Well I'm sorry!” Hermione said harshly. “It’s just difficult to get some sleep when…” Her voice trailed off.
Silence prevailed for a few moments.
Then Draco spoke. “Nervous about tomorrow?”
Taking a deep breath, Hermione let out a long sigh that rang through the dark and quiet room. “You have no idea just how much."
“There’s really no need to be.”
“Well, you're not the one””
“”scared out of my wits of flying at maniacal heights, yes, yes, I know that drill by heart now.”
Hermione gave a lopsided smile in the dark.
“But you're not that scared anymore, are you?”
“I dunno…”
“You just have to remember what I taught you, Granger,” Draco said, and Hermione could tell that he was trying his best to sound reassuring. “Don’t focus on anything else except yourself and your breathing throughout the duration of the game.”
The smile on Hermione’s face faded. “There’ll be twice as many people chasing balls tomorrow!” she exclaimed, failing miserably in her attempt to calm herself.
To her surprise, Draco chuckled lightly.
“What's so funny?” Hermione asked, her brows knitted together in question. How could he possibly find this situation funny?
“It’s just the way you simplify the intricate game of Quidditch,” Draco responded, his laughter subsiding. “A game where people chase balls. That’s all it is to you.”
“Well, isn't it?”
Draco clicked his tongue. “Dear Merlin Granger, you've been playing, well maybe not playing, but certainly watching, this game long enough to understand that there’s so much more to Quidditch, right?”
“There is? Oh yes, I did forget the freak accidents that occur once in a while where a person’s skull splits open after falling hundreds of feet to the ground,” Hermione added wryly.
“Don’t be so morbid,” Draco told her, but there was mirth in his tone.
“I'm not being morbid,” Hermione defended. “I'm just stating a fact. According to Hassan Mostafa’s Complete Quidditch Handbook, statistics show that in every seventy””
“Looks like you have found an effective way to put me to sleep, Granger,” Draco drawled, faking a yawn. “Go on like that and I’ll be asleep in ten seconds flat.”
In the darkness, Hermione shot Draco a dirty look. “If you're so clever, Malfoy, why don’t you tell me what so good about your precious Quidditch?”
“Where do I start? The tactics, the maneuvers…” Draco recited, awe lining his voice. “The passion for the game, the adrenaline rush when you soar through the air uninhibited, the cheering crowd, the spectators chanting your name when you've made that one spectacular move to catch the Snitch…” He sighed. “Unparalleled, Granger, unparalleled by any other feeling in the world.”
Hermione already knew of Draco’s obsession with the game, but hearing him talk like that about it sent tingles down her spine. She could understand the feeling, she really could. “You know, I’d really pity your wife,” she commented, laughing softly. “She’d have a tough mistress to contend with.”
Draco dismissed her statement with a wave of his arm. “I don’t think she’ll have to worry too much about it. It’s nothing some sexy red lingerie cannot fix.” Or a dancing sheep nightgown with bright pink pompoms for buttons.
He cursed inwardly for having such a thought.
“That's just too much information, Malfoy,” Hermione cringed.
“I haven’t even gotten to the part about having champagne together in a hot tub,” Draco teased, chortling when Hermione emitted a groan.
“That’s disgusting,” Hermione said flatly. “You're giving me a bad mental image and it’s not helping me sleep.”
“Oooo, Granger’s having mental images of me dipping in a hot tub,” Draco turned to his side and propped himself up on one hand so that he was looking down at his companion. “Kinky.”
Hermione’s jaw dropped. “I…I'm…not…” she spluttered.
“Say no more, Granger. I understand,” Draco said with an impish smile as he leant closer. “I know you want me.”
Hermione was certain that she had a pretty good comeback somewhere in the back of her head, something to do with wanting an Acromantula more, but the problem was that, with Draco’s breath tickling the side of her face, Hermione, for the life of her, could not (or subconsciously did not want to) bring it to mind.
“I know deep inside you,” Draco continued, his voice low now, almost husky, “beneath all those layers of sarcasm and bitterness, you have a soft spot for me.”
Hermione felt her throat run dry.
Draco leaned in lower still, dropping his voice an octave. “And I know right now, more than anything else in the world, you want to snog me.”
The tension that hung between them lasted an eternity.
Despite feeling her brain turn into mush, Hermione, by some miracle, managed to get words of her mouth. “Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy,” she whispered, thankful that the darkness provided camouflage to the redness tinting her cheeks.
“Denial,” Draco whispered back, mimicking Healer King. “Classic. It obviously concludes that you're madly in love with me.”
At this statement, the tension shattered. Hermione could not help but utter a laugh. “Shut up, Malfoy.”
Having fulfilled his goal of making Hermione stop thinking about the upcoming match, Draco flopped back onto his pillow.
“Did you really think I was going to snog you, Granger?” he teased, grinning. Truth be told, he himself thought he was going to.
“Well, I wasn’t sure,” Hermione replied, her voice almost silky, “but considering how much you enjoyed the first one, I wouldn't be surprised if you did.”
That was not exactly the response she had in mind.
In the dark, Draco flushed, his cheeks burning wild roses.
No girl could quite throw as good a comeback as Hermione Granger when the need arose. She was sharp, in Draco’s opinion, feisty even.
Draco fought between changing the subject and defending himself with a stupid excuse about why he had claimed to enjoy the kiss during the session with Healer King.
Sensing his discomfort, Hermione giggled softly. “What, no clever retort?”
“I’ll have you know Granger,” Draco started, carefully choosing his words,” that I meant everything I said. I did enjoy it. I told you before, you're a good kisser.” If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.
There was silence in the room.
“Do you have any idea what your father would say if he ever heard us talk like that? About snogging?” Hermione blurted, smiling in disbelief. The tension involved with talking about that kiss was little too much to handle. She had to lighten the mood.
Draco snickered. “He’d announce our wedding tomorrow itself!” he exclaimed. “And if you think that’s bad, imagine the look on Potter and Weasel’s face if they ever found out about it.”
“And that is why, Malfoy, they should never find out about it,” Hermione said pointedly.
“Relax, Granger,” Draco smirked, “I don’t kiss and tell.”
The conversation carried on till late. It was only when Draco asked Hermione a question and received no response in return did he realize that she was finally asleep. Soon enough, he himself drifted off to slumber.
This was it.
The match between Gryffindor and Slytherin was here.
The big game.
All those weeks of practice had amounted to this.
“Goodness, you have to try not to give yourself a nervous breakdown, woman!” Jinx scolded from Hermione’s finger that Saturday morning, glowing a violent purple.
The mood ring was right. Hermione was very near a nervous breakdown. She was sitting at the Slytherin table, pretty sure that a population of butterflies had decided that it would be fun to settle in her stomach while she was asleep the night before.
Draco knew she was anxious. She had been since she woken up at the crack of down.
“Calm down, Granger,” Draco comforted. “We still have a whole three hours before the game starts. Meanwhile, you should have some breakfast.”
Stiffly, Hermione reached for some toast and started to spread it with butter. She nibbled on it, and it tasted like sand in her mouth. It refused to go down her throat.
“Draco, she looks like she is going to throw up,” Blaise whispered to his friend. “You better do something, mate.”
Before Draco could make a move however, Pansy pranced in and plopped herself down beside him.
“Oh Draco!” she purred, snuggling up close to him. “It’s a big day for you! I'm so excited!”
Blaise gave Draco a sympathetic look.
“I have a little surprise for you!” Pansy squealed and then planted a kiss on Draco’s lips (Blaise scrounged up his nose in disgust at this). “Good luck snog.”
Draco was pretty used to Pansy’s good luck kisses (and they were usually much more intense), but this time, for some reason, he felt like wiping his lips. “You know I don’t need it, Pans,” he said, restraining himself.
“But I enjoy it,” Pansy said, licking her own lips. “I always do.”
Throughout this exchange, Hermione remained silent, poking her fork into her scrambled eggs, but never quite bringing it to her mouth. This was probably why Pansy never noticed her until now.
“I sure hope no one sabotages your chances though, Draco,” Pansy hissed, glaring at Hermione. “Considering you're going to have her behind you…”
Hearing this, Hermione dropped her fork noisily. Her face was ashen, tinged with an unhealthy green.
Upon seeing the expression on Hermione’s face, Draco decided it was time to get out of the Great Hall. “Come along, Granger,” he said, lifting Hermione up by her arm, “I think you and I need to go for a little walk. The fresh air might do you some good.”
And, despite Pansy’s protests and evil looks, Draco managed to whisk Hermione away from the Slytherin table.
“Why, that stupid bitch!” Jinx scolded indignantly as Draco led a silent Hermione out of the Great Hall. The purple on the mood ring was so bright that it was almost blinding. “If I had hands, I would wring her thick neck! Or I’d hex her! Why didn’t you say something, Blondie?”
Draco shrugged. “There’s no point. Pansy’s always like that.”
The mood ring cursed loudly. “Well, girls like that ought to be taught a lesson if you ask me.”
As they made their way to the Entrance Hall, the two bumped into Harry and Ron, which only served to make Hermione feel worse.
“Malfoy,” Harry acknowledged rigidly.
“Potter, Weasley.” The same hostility was evident in Draco’s voice.
Hermione opened her mouth to greet her two friends, but barely any words came out.
“Look Hermione,” Harry said to her, his voice gentle, “Ron and I just want to apologize for the way we’ve been acting. We have been complete idiots.” He paused and flashed her a sheepish smile. “We realized why you decided to do this, and we want you to know that we respect your decision.”
“Yeah, Hermione,” Ron piped in. “And we didn’t think it was right for us to not tell you this before the match today.”
It was like a small (though significant) burden lift off Hermione’s chest. She gave her friends a weak smile and enveloped them both in a hug.
“All the best for the match today,” she croaked, planting a kiss on their cheeks (Draco observed that Ron had gone crimson). “I'm sure you’ll do great. I’ll see you later.”
But as Hermione watched Harry and Ron walked off in the opposite direction, the nerves returned, ten times worse than before. Now that Harry and Ron were on good terms with her again, what if she did something to interfere with Gryffindor’s chance at winning later? Then her two friends will never forgive her for sure. The mere thought of this made her break out in cold sweat.
As these thoughts plagued Hermione’s head, the Head Boy led her out of the Hogwart’s castle.
The conditions were optimum for a match, Draco noticed appreciatively. Sunlight filtered down to the Hogwarts’ grounds. Big, white, fluffy clouds were dispersed across the azure sky, drifting in the slight breeze.
Draco walked with Hermione towards the lake, which was thankfully void of students. He saw that she was shaking slightly.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, Granger?” Draco asked as they took a stroll around the vast lake.
Jinx snorted. “I thought it’d be quite obvious, Blondie! You cannot be that daft.”
“Mood ring, shut your mouth and let me talk to her in peace,” Draco snapped.
“Well there’s no need to be rude about it,” Jinx growled. “Looks like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning…”
“Granger,” Draco prompted, “you didn’t answer me.”
Hermione, who had been staring off in the distance, turned to look at Draco. “I dunno, Malfoy. There’re just too many things going through my head to name each one. I've never ever been this unnerved, not even before I'm taking a major exam!”
Then, Hermione came to a sudden halt, still facing Draco. She stared into his stormy gray eyes intently. “Malfoy, will you blame me if you don’t win? Will you blame me if anything goes wrong?” she blurted. “And, what if I””
Draco grabbed Hermione by her arms and gave her a little shake. “Granger, listen, I'm not going to blame you at all if Slytherin loses, and dare anyone else.”
“But what if I fall or you””
“I won’t allow that to happen!”
“But then””
“Granger, I'm taking full responsibility of you, darn it!”
Hermione shut her mouth in surprise.
“Ooooh, good one Blondie,” Jinx remarked softly. “Very gallant.”
“I will be responsible for you tonight,” Draco went on, his grip on Hermione’s shoulder’s tightening slightly. “It’s the least I can do. You just have to trust me. Can you do that?”
Hermione nodded dumbly. On her finger, Jinx shone a pale pink.
“And now, I need you to calm down. Breathe slowly,” Draco instructed. “Calm yourself down. I need you to be calm.”
And then, an idea hit Hermione. “That’s it!” she exclaimed. “I need to be calm.”
Draco rolled his eyes. The tension of the game was apparently messing too much with her head. “That’s what I've been trying to tell you since last night.”
Hermione had not heard Draco. She was marching back toward the castle. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that before? I cannot believe I was so stupid!”
“I probably could if you’d tell me what you're talking about,” Draco said, staring after her. “What are you on about, Granger?”
“Yeah Hermione, what is it?” Jinx inquired.
“How could I not have thought of this before?” Hermione said more to herself than anyone else. “It’s perfect! I'm certain it’ll work out superbly.”
“Lost a couple of marbles, have you, Granger?” Malfoy questioned as he trotted along beside her.
“I think you’ll like the idea too, Malfoy.”
“It’d be good if I knew what this idea is!”
“It’s too bad I can’t read minds,” Jinx sighed. “Maybe they should start incorporating mood rings with that feature as well…”
“I can’t think of any potential side-effects and the pros definitely outweigh the cons.”
“Can you at least drop a hint? A small clue that will help me make sense of your blabbering?”
“Oh, you’ll love it, Malfoy!”
“GRANGER, I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!”
Moments later, Draco found himself in the Headmaster’s office, seated and waiting for Hermione to disclose her fabulous plan to himself and Dumbledore. Why Dumbledore had to be present, Draco had no idea.
“Go on, Miss Granger,” the graying Headmaster prompted, a kind smile on his face, “tell me what it is I can do for you today.”
“Professor,” Hermione began, “I need your permission to request Madam Pomfrey to prescribe me a Calming Draught. I intend to take it before the match.” She went straight to the point.
“What?!” Draco and Jinx cried in unison.
Dumbledore, however, remained unruffled. “Ah, I do believe I understand your reasons for this, Miss Granger,” he said, looking pensive. “Nonetheless, I would like to hear why you have chosen to do so.”
“Sir, I have given this a fair bit of thought,” Hermione explained, “and I think this is one way that I can avoid being a hindrance to Malfoy or anyone else in any way.”
“Are you off your rocker, Granger?!” Draco spat once he had recovered his voice. “The breathing exercises I taught you should be more than enough to calm you down. You don’t need a bloody Calming Draught!”
Quite obviously, Draco did not like the idea. As it is, Hermione was already doing more than enough for him. He hated being… being in debt, so to speak. Being indebted.
Hermione glanced at Draco. “Malfoy, the circumstances are different under the match conditions. What if I freeze up or do something stupid to jeopardize your chances of winning?”
“This is ridiculous, Granger,” Draco growled. There was an obstinate look of a five-year-old child on his face.
“She has thought this through, Malfoy,” Jinx offered, turning into a pale orange. “She is certain about it.”
“You do realize the implications of taking such a step, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore queried.
“Absolutely, Professor.”
“Mr. Malfoy, are you agreeable to this?” Dumbledore turned to the Slytherin Captain.
Draco did not answer.
“Oh come on, Malfoy,” Hermione urged. “Don’t be difficult.”
Defiantly, Draco stared at Dumbledore’s table, his arms folded. “You don’t have to do this.”
“But I want to!”
The Headmaster was the only who noticed the color changing on the mood ring.
“Fine, I have no objections then,” Draco said finally with a defeated sigh. “I hope you know what you're doing, Granger.”
“You just have to trust me. Can you do that?”
Draco let out a small laugh and shook his head. She was using his own lines on him. “Whatever, Granger.”
And as Dumbledore handed them the permission slip and watched them walk out of his office, he could not help but smile, a satisfied yet amused sort of smile. Things had certainly changed from the last time those two had been in his office. And for the better it seemed.
It was an hour before the big match.
Draco and Hermione were alone in the Slytherin changing room. They were seated on the bench, waiting for the other Slytherins to arrive.
Hermione checked her watch. She had been instructed to take the Calming Draught exactly fifteen minutes before the game. The potion, which was currently resting in her pocket, would last for twenty-four hours, so she hoped the game would not go on for that long. She doubted it would.
Abruptly, Draco stood up. “I have something to give to you,” he announced.
Hermione gave him an odd look. He had gotten her something?
“No, no, it’s not a present or anything like that, Granger,” Draco clarified with a shake of his head. “Why in the world would I get you a bloody gift?” He went to his locker and from within in, produced a set of black robes. “Quidditch robes,” he told her, handing them to her. “I thought you’d be more comfortable flying in them.”
Taking the robes from Draco, the first thing Hermione noticed was the color; they were neither green nor red, they were black, a neutral color. She was grateful for that.
“You got me new robes?”
“Of course I didn’t!” Draco said somewhat defensively. “I found some old Slytherin Quidditch robes a couple of days ago after practice, probably left behind by the previous players, so I just changed the color. That’s all.”
Hermione looked down at the robes. They did not look the least bit old. Besides, if Draco had indeed done what he said he had done, how come Hermione did not know about it? She was stuck with Draco after all, for twenty-four hours a day.
“You're not convinced with what he said,” Jinx said softly, turning a dark gray.
Obviously Hermione was not. She got the feeling that he had ordered new robes for her. How thoughtful of Malfoy junior.
“Thank you, Malfoy,” Hermione said, hiding a smile.
Draco gave a casual shrug. “I’ll turn around so that you can change.”
Waiting for him to face the opposite direction, Hermione started to open her button, when suddenly Draco shouted, “WAIT!”
Hermione jumped.
“Merlin Blondie, couldn't you shout a little louder?” Jinx cursed. “I don’t think the people in Ireland quite heard you.”
“What it is, Malfoy?”
Draco trotted up to the changing room door and locked it to prevent anyone from getting in. “Don’t want any of my players coming in while you change and getting a heart attack, do we? Now you can go ahead.”
Whether it was meant as a compliment or an insult, Hermione never quite figured out.
A couple of minutes later, Draco heard Hermione call, “Uhm, Malfoy, I don’t quite know how to get these shoes on.”
Facing her, Draco saw that she had managed to get the robes on right (they fit her perfectly), but the laces on her Quidditch shoes were done up all wrong.
“Sit down,” he instructed, before kneeling in front of her.
This move of his startled the Head Girl and she instinctively moved her feet away from him. “What in the world are you doing, Malfoy?”
“What does it look like I'm doing, Granger?” Draco retorted matter-of-factly. “I'm helping you with your shoes.”
Hermione gulped. “You could just tell me how to do it and I'm fully capable of doing it myself.”
“Awww Hermione, come on now, don’t be shy,” Jinx teased. The mood ring was a light burgundy.
“I'm not being shy!” Hermione defended, her cheeks the same color as Jinx. “I'm just saying that it’s not necessary…”
Draco sighed. “Granger?”
“Yes?”
“Do you want me to help you with the shoes?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then shut up.” Pulling Hermione’s feet towards himself, Draco started to fix the laces on her Quidditch boots for her by resting her foot on his knee.
“Draco Malfoy’s tying my shoes up for me,” Hermione said, a cheeky smile on her face. “Imagine that. What would people say if they ever found out?”
“They’d say that Draco Malfoy’s bloody mental,” Draco grumbled. “Because I sure think he is.”
Fifteen minutes later (after Hermione’s shoes were done up and Draco had unlatched the door), the Slytherins gathered in the changing room, and began to get dressed and prepared for the game.
Seeing the anxiety level in the changing room, Hermione started to get anxious again. She checked her watch. She still had time before taking the Draught.
“I still don’t see why you insist on taking the potion,” Draco scowled as he adjusted his Slytherin green Quidditch robes.
Hermione knitted her brows together. “And I don’t see why this is bothering you so much.”
Draco shrugged. “You can do whatever you want, it’s your problem. I just don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Blondie,” Jinx interjected, “she has made up her mind. She’s going to do it, and that’s that.”
Still scowling, Draco turned to his teammates and ordered them to gather around him. Once they had settled down, he said, “I don’t think I need to stress just how important this game is for us.”
He paused for emphasis and allowed his words to sink in. “We have had more than enough practice and I do not want any of you to wreck this for us. I want us to win, and nothing less. I want us to defeat the…other team. Tell me, can we do that?”
“Oh we’ll slaughter the Gryffindors, all right!” Hanson, the Slytherin Keeper, exclaimed fervently. “Now with her sitting behind you,” he gestured towards Hermione, “those morons will have to be extra careful.”
Jinx stuck her tongue out, disgusted by the behavior of the Slytherin team. And she thought Malfoy was bad.
“Don’t you dare ever make the mistake of saying something like that again!” Draco bellowed at Hanson with such intensity that it caught Hermione and Jinx completely off-guard.
Hanson’s cheeks flamed red.
“All of you listen up!” he continued, staring at his teammates intently. “Granger should be considered neither an asset, nor a liability. She’s here only to help me play. Nothing else. She doesn’t even exist for the rest of you, am I understood?”
The team nodded dumbly, slightly puzzled at their captain’s sudden outburst.
Hermione, on the other hand, did not know what to make of what Draco had just said, though Jinx seemed to have a good idea about how her owner was feeling.
Draco’s lecture went on for a while and when he was done, there was barely twenty minutes left for the game to start. Dismissing his team, he took a seat on a bench and Hermione did the same. He noticed that her hands were still shaking. Maybe the Calming Draught would help…
Soon, it was time for Hermione to take the potion. Fishing out the vial from her Quidditch robes, she stared at the light blue mixture contained within it.
“So you're really going to take it?” Draco asked, pulling her to a corner, away from the other players.
“Yes I am,” Hermione confirmed.
“All right then.”
Hermione popped open the cap of the bottle and downed the liquid. It tasted minty and cool, quickly sliding down her throat.
For a couple of minutes, the two waited, but nothing happened.
And then, Hermione felt a sudden cold rush flow through her body, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, which caused her to close her eyes and inhale sharply. The sensation spread through her muscles and every cell in her being, very much like the breathing exercises Draco had taught her, but the intensity was ten-fold.
Finally, when the feeling faded away, Hermione opened her eyes and felt a strange sort of calm course through her veins, as if nothing in the universe could disrupt that tranquility within her.
It was at that moment, Jinx turned into a sky-blue so bright that it was almost blinding.
“Merlin, mood ring, will you cut that out?” Draco snapped, shielding his eyes from the light.
“I can’t help it!” Jinx called out in midst all the blue light. “I'm just doing my damn job!”
Hermione, who had an effortless smile on her face, reached for her finger and pulled off the mood ring.
“Hey Hermione, what in the name of heaven do you think you’re doing?!” Jinx asked, her tiny eyes widening.
In response, Hermione smiled. “I think I'm going to put you away,” she replied light-heartedly. “The effect of the potion is going to last for the next twenty-four, so my mood’s not going to change anytime soon, Jinx. I hope you understand.”
“And if she doesn’t get you off her finger, you're going to be blinding me all through the match. I don’t need the distraction,” Draco added, glowering at the ring.
Jinx pouted. “Fine, put away the mood ring. She’s not important anyways. Just put her on when you want to and chuck her away like a useless piece of garbage when you feel like it. Honestly, we mood rings have no value!”
“Oh don’t be so dramatic,” Draco said with a roll of his eye. Before Jinx had time to protest or argue, he lifted her off Hermione’s palm and placed her in his locker, under his bundle of clothes. Then, he turned back to Hermione. “Ready, Granger?”
Hermione smiled. “I never thought I’d say this, but yes Malfoy, I am ready.”
The game was, in one word, dirty.
Players from both sides had been hit by Bludgers many times, sometimes legally, sometimes illegally. Pushing and shoving, though discreet, was rampant, so much so that Madam Hooch did not even notice most of them.
However, those that she did notice enabled the Gryffindors to take a significant lead. It was almost an hour into the game and the score was one-hundred and seventy to ten, in Gryffindor’s favor. The Slytherins had given away eight penalties. Not much of a surprise there, considering most of them had attempted to kill the opposition. Goyle, for instance, had purposely collided so hard into Ron, that the Gryffindor Keeper had been slammed into one of the hoops he was guarding. It was an outright foul.
From above, Draco watched his team give away penalty after penalty. He had shouted at them a couple of times, but they seemed to think it was fun to try to murder the other team. Well, Draco admitted to himself, it was fun, but they were losing because of it.
Draco knew that if he did not catch the Snitch now, his team would be thrashed badly. To save his team another humiliating defeat, finding that little golden ball was crucial. He would deal with Professor Snape when the need arose.
The Snitch, however, was still out of sight.
Directly across Draco, Harry was keeping his eyes peeled for the small gold ball as well.
“No luck with the Snitch?” Hermione inquired loudly over the cheers of the crowd. Gryffindor had scored again according to the commentator.
The Head boy sighed. “No, not yet.”
And then, quite suddenly, he saw it.
Unfortunately, on the other end of the field, Harry had spotted it too.
The Golden Snitch had zoomed into the middle of the pitch, above the heads of all the players, unaware that it had been noticed.
Ensuring that Hermione’s hands were securely around his waist, Draco marked the Snitch and prepared to make a dash for it.
Both Seekers flew towards the centre of the field at full speed. They wound in and out through the other players so fast that to the audience, they were nothing more than blurs.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, looks like the Snitch has been spotted!” Ernie Macmillan, the commentator who replaced Lee Jordan, announced to the crowd. “I suppose Slytherin can prepare themselves for another crushing defeat…”
They reached the golden ball almost at the same time. But Lady Luck seemed to be on Draco’s side today because from nowhere, a Bludger appeared and knocked Harry right off his broom.
The Gryffindors gasped in shock as their Captain hung from the handle of his Firebolt, attempting frantically to swing himself back on.
Draco used the situation to his advantage. He followed the Snitch, which kept ascending to greater heights, as closely as he could. Eventually, the little ball started to lose its momentum and slowed down.
At this point, Draco tried to clasp his hands around the ball, but it was still out of his reach. He realized that Hermione’s arms around his waist were restricting his ability to grasp the Snitch.
“Granger!” Draco hollered over the winds. “I need you to release your grip around me for a while!”
“What for, Malfoy?!” Hermione shouted back. There was no anxiety in her voice (for obvious reasons). She just wanted to know why.
“I can’t reach the Snitch with your arms around me!” the Captain explained. “So I need you to let me go for a while and hold on to the handle of the broom! Don’t worry, you’ll be fine!”
He felt her hands slide off his waist. Immediately, he made a grab for the Snitch, but yet again, he missed by an inch.
With adrenaline pumping through his veins at maddening alacrity, Draco did something he never imagined himself doing.
Letting go of the handle of the broom, Draco lifted his legs off the sides and propped himself onto the broom in squatting position. Slowly, he stood up, balancing himself on the handle. All this while his eyes never left the Snitch.
Once he was sure he was steady enough, he raised his hand to clutch the Snitch. This time, he was certain he was going to catch it.
And he did.
What he did not anticipate was a Bludger smashing right into his broom, toppling both him and Hermione.
Everything seemed to happen in the blink of an eye.
Before they knew it, they were plummeting down hundreds of feet, toward the Quidditch pitch.
Draco half-expected his life to flash by him, but he was too busy looking at Hermione.
His first instinct was to save her, to protect her at any cost. He could not let anything happen to her. He would not let anything happen to her. Not after everything she had done for him, not after everything she went through.
All he could think of at that moment was to reach out to her, to shield her from any possible harm. He did not even care what happened to him and that thought surprised him, even frightened him for the briefest moment.
He would never be able to forgive himself if anything happened to her. He had promised her nothing would.
Wind was rushing past Draco at such high speeds that he was finding it impossible to even keep his eyes open. Nevertheless, he managed to reach across and grab on to Hermione’s arm, grateful that the Love-Knot never allowed more than three and a half feet distance between them.
She looked at him, a calm smile still on her lips. Her brown eyes were wide in questions, but other than that, she was eerily relaxed, from the effects of the Calming Draught no doubt.
Wrapping his arms around her, Draco pulled Hermione close to himself, shielding her body with his own. He positioned his body in such a way that he would hit the ground before her.
“Close your eyes, Granger!” Draco yelled, his heart pounding in his chest, random thoughts speeding through his head. “Everything will be all right! I swear nothing will happen to you!”
He waited for his back to make contact with the hard earth.
The last thing Draco remembered seeing before he blacked out was a bright, white light.
Author’s Note: So… What did you guys think of this one? ;)
I want to thank StiinaE (via email) for the wonderful idea of the Calming Draught. Thanks! Your idea really helped piece this chapter together!
I would also like to add that voting for Round 3 of the “He Had It Coming” Dramione Awards is now open, so do vote for TUP if you think it deserves it. The link is http://dramione.tornpages.net/vote.html. Thanks for your support so far, guys! =D
Oh, and lastly, I just wanna say that I have this story up on Fanfiction.net (nowhere else, at the moment) under the name of “scarlet-sparx” as well, but it is much slower there because I added it recently. Just thought I’d let you guys know, so you won’t think it’s someone else there. Adios for now amigos!