Chapter 5 "Quidditch"
Aside from occasionally staggering back from the Debauched Monk on our nights off, Draco and I behaved ourselves. No more manipulating the weather or summoning the plagues of Egypt (which was completely his idea…especially the part where it didn't work).
I'd never admit it, but, yeah, I had fun.
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"I'm not doing it Drake."
"Come on love. You'll like it." He wriggled his eyebrows and licked his lips by way of invitation.
She laughed and shook her head. Biblical plagues were one thing, playing Quidditch was quite another.
"Come on," he said with an exaggerated whine. "How can I humiliate you Gryffindors if I don't practice?"
"I don't know Drake. I'm sure you'll figure something out," she smiled indulgently and patted his shoulder.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course I will, but just help me now…please."
She rolled her eyes. "Sorry Drake, House pride and all. Go Team Gryffindor." She hummed a few unenthusiastic bars of "Weasley is our King" for good measure. Rah-bloody-rah…
"Look Granger, all you have to do is toss a few bludgers at me. That's it. Who knows, you might even maim me."
"Maim you? I don't want to maim you." She shuddered. "No thank you. I've seen Harry fall to his death too many times for that, and I'm not going through it in the off season."
Draco, however, was too surprised to enjoy her recounting Harry's numerous close-calls. He just stared back at her.
"You…You don't want to hurt me?" He swallowed back a tremor in his voice. "Granger…I'm
touched."
"Not yet you're not," she muttered, envisioning a random bludger hitting his temple, knocking him off his broom, and sending him flying into the press box. For some reason the press box invariably exploded on impact, incinerating Draco in a blaze of gut wrenching agony. Alright, yes, she did tend to mother her male friends, but, luckily it didn't present much of a problem: she didn't have many male friends, and she'd just as soon keep the few she did have.
"Granger, please." He gave her his big watery I'm-so-unloved-and-therefore-adorable eyes, and she found herself melting under their sickening cuteness. Wow, she thought. He's good. Thank gods he's on our side. Grevious curse nothing, I wouldn't stand a chance against those puppies on the field.
"Okay, fine," she sighed.
He smiled smugly at her, puppy eyes long gone. He punched her on the shoulder strode down the hall towards the Quidditch pitch.
"But I'm not going to hit you," she called, trotting after him. "In fact, I'm going to try to and not hit you. I'll be the anti-bludger-er guy, or whatever. Point is…no one's having fun here. So you can just stop enjoying yourself right now Drake."
She opened the pitch gate and found him holding two brooms over an opened trunk of Quidditch supplies.
"So…" he started, "just how much do you know about the game?"
She looked at him skeptically. What exactly did he think she was doing during the dozens of matches she'd sat through? Knitting? What? Well, I wasn't, she muttered feebly.
"Okay, okay. Fine, you know the basics. This," he held up a bludger, "is what you'll be hitting. Just follow it around the field and bat it towards me. It's an older one, so it's slower."
"Shouldn't it follow you by itself?" She asked.
"Yes, but with only one player, it gets confused and won't stay airborn."
"So I attract it, bat it towards you, and…what? All this time you'll be trying to catch the snitch?" She shook her head. "Pretty cushy position you got there Draco. Maybe I should be the seeker and you could chase after the zig-zagging bludgers."
He tossed a broom at her, not going to dignify that with an answer. He then threw the snitch as he rose above the stands. Hermione took that as her cue to do the same. She gingerly took two of the bludgers from the trunk. They were reddish and a little homely, so she named the bigger one George and the one with the stitches Fred. Once in the air, George and Fred looped towards Draco but then took off towards the far end of the field.
"Thanks guys," she murmured as she picked up a beater and gave a put-upon sigh, "helpful as ever." She settled on the broom, gripping the handle and rising from the ground at a painfully slow pace.
"Today Granger," Draco called from several yards above her. "What? You call yourself a witch? And a Gryffindor at that…pathetic."
Where's that bloody bludger when you need it? "I'm coming Drake. Just working up the will to kill you," she said with a shaky voice. Wow we're high…
He blew her a kiss and winked before darting after the snitch.
Show off, she thought. She hovered a bit, actually enjoying the view. Contrary to popular belief, she liked flying. Well, maybe 'liked' was too cheerful a word. She tolerated flying. Flying and Hermione weren't friends, they were amiable neighbors that kept off each other's lawns.
She watched Draco fly around after the snitch and suddenly remembered her task. She looked around to find George making loop de loops at the opposite end of the field. Rolling her eyes, she took off towards it. "Okay," she muttered, "no different from tennis, just hit the stupid squash-shaped thing with the bat, er, the stick, and yeah…we're all going to die."
The bludger then started slowly towards her and she swung at it with a half-hearted whack.
To her surprise it went soaring towards Draco. He managed to dodge it before it got too terribly close, and it began its slow boomerang back.
She then noticed Fred lying motionless on the ground. Sighing at her insultingly easy task, she went to fetch it. She landed and picked Fred up, shaking him a bit, trying to find signs of life. "Poor little thing," she thought. It looked like a shriveled prune. Pitiful. Honestly, maybe she was new at this, but Draco was just being insulting having her face off against this thing.
She tossed it into the air and followed it as it took off. She gently batted Fred towards the darting Draco, who easily dodged it and waved his thanks. She hated to admit it, but, yeah, she was having fun. Without the impending doom of Harry's death hanging over the field, Quidditch was actually a pretty pleasant sport.
Hermione was surprised at how quickly the day went by. She became pretty consistent with her hits, once nearly knocking Draco off his broom. She wanted to end the practice right then, but he seemed so happy about it that they went for a few more rounds.
She met Draco up in the dorms after he put the equipment back.
"Get Debauched tonight love?" He asked as he tossed his towel on an armchair.
"Only if you shower first…for my sake."
He looked at his sweat-covered shirt and turned back to her with a sick grin on his face. "I am a mess," he said slyly as her eyes widened with fear. He took a step towards her as she slowly backed away.
"Don't you dare…" she gave a high-pitched squeak as the stupid sod dove at her, trying to lock her in a greasy, sweaty hug.
"Come on sweets," he cooed as he reached for her, "friends and all, right?" He nearly caught her arm as she put the couch between them, looking for a way to get to the Gryffindor girl's dorms. "Hermes, please. I just want to thank you for helping me practice…"
He leapt over the couch and, laughing, she sprinted for the door. "Just one hug love, honestly, you're the best friend…" he suddenly caught her to him and wrapped his arms around her.
She was laughing too hard to curse him as he shook his head and flicked sweat onto her. "Drake, that's disgusting, stop it…" she cried. Of course he didn't, instead he started humming "Singing in the Rain" while grinning in a ridiculous way. She was having a hard time standing, what with trying not to laugh and trying to push him away, so she fell against him and swore her revenge into his sweaty collar.
Suddenly, his grip loosened and he pushed her away. Hermione looked up to see what was wrong. He couldn't
have stopped because I'd yelled at him. That would just be too cooperative on his
part…
"Drake?" She asked, tilting her head to look up at him. His eyes were riveted behind her and she turned and
followed his gaze.
"Harry?" She whispered, recognizing her raven-haired hero standing in the doorway.
Dear gods…
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"Harry…" Hermione said gently, never taking her eyes off him. Harry didn't answer, he just stared grimly at the pair in front of him. Draco was frozen, still holding her shoulders, looking all-too comfortable doing so…
"Drake," Hermione said softly. Harry cringed at the nickname, pet name, whatever…His fists began shaking as she gently laid her hand on Draco's arm and pushed him away, motioning towards the back staircase. Draco looked at Harry then back to Hermione, asking with a look whether she'd be all right alone with the enraged Gryffindor. She nodded and smiled, trying to reassure him. She thought it funny that Draco Malfoy was afraid to leave Hermione Granger alone with Harry Potter. Tragically funny, but still funny.
Drake left, shooting a last, warning glance over his shoulder at Harry. Harry, however, missed the bravado, his steely gaze still fixed on Hermione.
Hermione watched Draco climb the stairs and turned back to face her best friend.
She took a breath, "Harry," she was surprised at her own calm, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" He echoed absently.
She nodded. "I should've told you…"
He held his hand up, and she fell silent as he shook his head gravely.
"I don't want to hear it," he answered darkly. "I don't care what happened." He turned and strode towards the door, muttering under his breath, "I don't care what you do anymore Hermione."
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I remember Harry standing there, frozen to the spot, staring at us with burning eyes, looking betrayed and hurt and…well Harry always looked betrayed and hurt, but especially so then. I remember Harry's knuckles were white as he gripped his wand. His breathing was ragged and hard, which was actually a good thing since it'd prevent him from cursing me to hezpah and back. Not that he was going to.
What? You're saying he was thinking about it?
Really?
Wow. Who knew?
Anyhow, I had no idea what to say to Harry. Although, my friendship with Drake should be the least of his worries, but
I knew an apology was in order.
I wish now I had said something brilliant and insightful, something that was reassuring and heartfelt and healing. Something that would've made him see and understand… But all I could manage was that one apology… I couldn't grovel. I couldn't snivel and sob, or clutch at his leg and beg and cry and plead for his forgiveness.
I couldn't run after him. I just couldn't.
Because I expected him to trust me. To at least let me explain.
Apparently a little trust was too much to ask for after five years of friendship. Five years of a completely one-sided love. He refused my apology. He looked at me like I was something disgusting and turned on his heel and left. I heard his footsteps echo down the hall and felt, rather than heard, the great doors slam shut. Then I was alone.
Yeah. Pathetic I know. Push the people you love away…cling to your righteous and lofty notions…use your Deatheater injury as a buffer for human contact.
I'm talking about Harry of course, not me.
Needless to say that was hardly the highpoint in my relationship with the Boy Who Was An Ungrateful Prat.
No, thank you, I doubt I'll "feel better if I talk about it."
I'm sorry, but no…What did I just say? It hurts. A lot…especially when I talk about it.
Fine. Fine. No need to get snappish. All right! I said I'd tell you.
I did write to Harry afterwards. None of the heartfelt "I'm sorry" rubbish though. Stuck strictly to script: how are you, I'm fine, super duper… I haven't envisioned your death for three whole days, that's probably a good thing…Study this…read that…thought much about (insert topic here)?…
And so forth.
Not that he'd read them.
That little episode started the darker days of our friendship. The Trio became the Twosome or whatever ridiculous nickname the house thought up, and I was left to my assistantship with Graves.
What? Miss him? Of course I missed Harry. I missed his voice and his warm eyes and his lovely hands and the way he made me feel when he walked into a room and the way he smelled and smiled and…
I just missed him. But I really couldn't help but feel angry and betrayed for my own part. It wasn't a matter of choosing Drake over Harry. It was a matter of Harry trusting me. Which he obviously didn't.
I don't think I could've left Harry the way he'd left me. In fact, I know I couldn't.
And so began my self-imposed exile from All-Things-Harry.
Summer went on much the same as it did (BP) before Potter. Draco and I spent most of our days together, finding ways to fill the time.
We received our owl scores in August. Draco, of course, snatched mine before I could read it and made me chase him around the bloody castle before he gave it back. Prick.
Twelve Owls. Twelve Blasted Owls. Of course I was pleased. To a point. Owls like that could open a lot of doors. It'd just be a matter of living long enough to walk through them.
And when classes started (like proper threats to the softly snoring schoolchildren) Draco and I were given our own private prefet rooms, although I had since relinquished my duties and Draco just ignored his.
I spent most of my time in the library, researching lesson plans for Graves and reading the early volumes of Defenses Against Unlikely Attacks. Sixteen in total. Lovely thick books that took two to carry. Mmmmmm. Of course I wasn't making much progress in the way of Avada Kadavra, but I kept at it.
And although SPEW never made it to the official clubs roster, I did organize an elf newsletter "Dust and Drabbles." Simin, took charge of it after a while. I think the proudest moment of my short career as an elf-rights advocator was when he told me he didn't want a witch heading "his people's" paper.
So, no, I didn't see much of the common room or the dining hall. The only time I caught a glimpse of Harry was during DA meetings, which, of course, had changed as well.