Chapter Two: The Quidditch Match and the Aftermath
Hermione had never been much of an athlete, but she found herself at the Quidditch pitch in record time. While climbing the stairs to the Gryffindor section, she heard a new voice booming through the air. Ever since Lee Jordan, commentator extraordinaire, had left Hogwarts they hadn’t been able to keep a steady one. Hermione finally reached the top of the stands, and after taking a moment to catch her breath, began desperately searching for a certain red haired friend.
“Hermione! Where’ve you been?” Hermione recognized it as Ginny, but couldn’t for the life of her figure out where she was in the mass of red and gold clad students.
“Ginny, I can’t see you!”
“A bit to the left!” Hermione turned to her left, and saw her smiling friend, cheeks flushed from the cold.
“Have I missed anything?”
"Eh, not really. The game only started a few minutes ago. Where’ve you been?”
“I don’t exactly know how, but I slept until nearly twenty minutes ago.” At the realization at how short of a time she’d been awake, Hermione rubbed her eyes and yawned.
“Jeez…at least you made it to the game!” Ginny chirped optimistically.
Ginny and her Quidditch…I just don’t understand it sometimes! Hermione thought.
“Yeah, at least I made it to the game…” Hermione trailed off somewhat sarcastically, hoping that Ginny would get the drift that actually liking the game was not in Hermione’s mind at all. She didn’t. Hermione sighed, and turned towards the action. Gryffindor had the Quaffle, and Ron, even from far away, looked relieved that it was nowhere near where he was. She searched the skies, and eventually found Harry circling the pitch, ever the watchful Seeker.
He looks so free…she thought. With barely a care in the world. He’s not a hunted man anymore. He’s so happy. Everyone is so happy. If only “ but her thoughts were interrupted by a shrieking Ginny.
“Great Merlin! Hermione, look!” Hermione’s eyes darted around the field until they came to something that had never been seen before in Hogwarts history. Harry was chasing the Snitch…and Malfoy wasn’t following. Now, Hermione may not know a lot about Quidditch, but she knew that this was definitely not supposed to be happening.
“What’s he doing?” she whispered to herself. Almost immediately after, Malfoy shook his head slightly and shot off on his broom.
“MALFOY TAKES OFF AFTER POTTER!” shouted the commentator. Everyone’s eyes were on the speeding Slytherin, who was nearly a blur. Surprisingly, he was gaining on Harry. He was a few meters behind, then at his ankles, and in practically no time at all they were neck-and-neck, arms reaching for the tiny, fluttering Snitch. The whole crowd seemed to be holding its breath, wondering who would be the victor. But apparently fate was not on Malfoy’s side that day, for seconds before Harry’s fingers grasped the Snitch, a bludger went crashing right into his head.
“Did you see how hard the ferret fell?” Ron repeated for nearly the twentieth time since the game had ended.
“Ron, seriously, can you just drop it? We all know ‘how hard the ferret fell,’” said an exasperated Hermione, quoting with her fingers and mocking Ron’s voice. They were in the common room, waiting until it was time to head down to dinner.
“But Hermione, he deserved it!”
“Deserved it? What did he do to deserve it?”
“Oh, so you’re sticking up for him now, are you?”
“No. I just don’t think he 'deserved' to get hit in the head with a bludger! Now can we just drop this, and go to dinner?” Hermione got up and headed toward the portrait hole, determined to end the conversation, not to mention that her stomach was rumbling loudly.
“Whatever you say, Hermione,” Ron said sarcastically while linking arms with Lavender and stepping out into the hall.
“Don’t talk to me like that, Ron.”
“Oy, now you sound like my mother!”
“Do not!”
“Do too!”
“Will you two shut up?! You sound like two old witches!” exclaimed Ginny from behind them, clearly very frustrated.
“Ginny, she’s sticking up for the bloody ferret and sounding like Mum!” Ron whined, throwing out his arms for dramatic affect.
“So…?”
“So, something’s wrong with her! Hermione, you haven’t talked like my Mum in ages. I thought you stopped doing that! Now you’re even sticking up for the sodding ferret! Why?”
Hermione stopped. Why had she been sticking up for Malfoy? She’d never said one good thing about him before, and now she was sticking up for him. But still…something about him had changed. She didn’t know quite what it was, but it definitely had happened. She slowly turned around and looked Ron in the eye.
“He’s different.”
“Oh, he’s different. That explains a whole lot,” Ron snorted.
“Can we just forget about this?”
“No, we can’t just forget about it! You’re sticking up for Mr. Ferret, the boy who calls you a Mudblood! Just because your parents are muggles doesn’t make you any less of a witch! And you’re defending him!”
“Just because his father was a Death Eater doesn’t make him any less of a wizard either, Ron.”
Now this clearly hit a nerve. No one had ever thought of their prejudice towards Malfoy the same as his prejudice towards Hermione. Most of the surrounding Gryffindors gaped, and Ron looked like he’d been smacked across the face.
“You…I…” Ron struggled to find the right words.
“Yes, I know, you didn’t mean it that way. That’s how it always is with you, isn’t it?” her eyes filled with tears.
“Hermione, don’t cry, this is silly…”
“Don’t tell me what to do Ron. I’m a big girl, and I can defend who I want to. You just need to actually think sometimes,” and then Hermione ran off, her appetite completely lost.
“I have to say,” started Harry, “That she has been a bit moody today. But she kind of has a point, Ron.”
Ron looked at his best friend then huffed off towards the Great Hall, Lavender running after him the whole way.
Draco woke up with a splitting headache and a purple bruise the size of Britain. Adjusting his eyes to the light, he groaned when he saw Madame Pomfrey approaching with a glass full of what looked like lime green goo.
Sit up, Mr. Malfoy! Once you take this, you can be straight out of here.”
Why, to make room for all the other patients? Malfoy thought, glancing around the empty ward. Still, he took the glass, grimaced, and chugged the disgusting stuff down. Immediately, the tension released on his head and he swore he could feel the swelling go down.
“What exactly happened to me? I don’t remember…” Malfoy asked, straining his mind to remember the end of the Quidditch match.
“You took a bludger straight to the head, Mr. Malfoy. It'll be a while until that memory comes back, so don’t go straining your mind. Your head is in a bad condition already. Now, head of to dinner before there’s nothing left!”
Malfoy stood to get up and was quickly shooed out by the old nurse. He made his way towards the Great Hall, but realized that after the green goop his stomach didn’t want anything else.
There she goes again, ruining my appetite, he thought bitterly.
With nearly half an hour until dinner would be finished and two hours after that until curfew, Malfoy found himself wandering the halls. His memory had come back, and he was thinking about the Quidditch game. What had happened to him? Usually he was so focused in games, but this time, one second nothing is happening and the next Potter’s been chasing after the Snitch for two solid minutes! Malfoy had not been pleased with himself. Then again, was he really himself? He seemed so different lately, and though he knew why, he didn’t like it one bit.
Pushing the thought from his mind, he started to look at all the various tapestries and paintings surrounding him. He studied Barnabas the Barmy, a drunken Sir Cadogan, and a rather fat lady (little did he know what lay behind her!), and he quickly grew bored. He walked down to the ground floor, and decided to head out to the lake.
He strode across the grass and walked around the lake a bit until he came to his favorite spot. It was a large willow tree, and underneath was a flat rock, large enough to lie down on. He half-smiled to himself as he walked towards it in the dark. He didn’t hear the crying.