Dawn

Chapter 1 : A perfect day... or so it seemed.

Winter was near, he could feel it, even though the weather was nice, for once. Well, as nice as it could be in Scotland... The crisp wind was whirling round the sand of the Quidditch Pitch. No clouds could be seen in the icy blue sky. The sun would rise soon, it would surely be a radiant day.

Tearing his gaze away from the sky, Draco Malfoy lowered it to the huge castle on his left. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry laid on a grassy hill, with its high, slender Gryffindor and Astronomy Towers, its tough walls of gray stone ... Everybody was still fast asleep. He had to admit, it was very early in the morning, even by his standards. He hadn't have a decent night's sleep since the beginning of the term. He came here everyday, at 5, to loose himself into Quidditch practice.

Brushing a strand of silvery-blond hair away from his gray eyes, Draco wondered if his father would show at the match, in the afternoon. He hoped he wouldn't. Though, obviously, he would come, if only to witness the outcome. Not to offer him the praise he longed for, even if Slytherin won. More likely to lecture him, or worse, beat the hell out of him if he lost.

Since the summer following his fourth year, all admiration and respect he had for his father had vanished for good. Lucius had captured two young Muggle girls, and while he tortured them, he ordered Draco to stay, and watch. Though extremely sick, he had somehow managed not to retch in front of his father. The latter had been rather proud of him, misreading the disgusted look in his gray eyes for one of Mudbloods' contempt. Although, he wasn't utterly wrong. Only did he not realize who his son despised.

Back at school at the beginning of his 5th term, his world's view had not been the same. Not at all. He had slowly reconsidered his way of thinking, his way of life and his behaviour. He had been far more careful with his fellow Slytherins, and more tolerant with the other Houses, especially Muggle-born students.

The word "Mudblood" could no longer appear on his mind without him remembering the terrified screams of his father's victims, and the sickening sound of the cracking leather whip.

Pushing away his rather pessimistic musings, he summoned his broom. It was black and polished, with Nimbus 2001 carefully carved in silver letters at one end of the handle. The tail was made of dark twigs. Draco loved his broom, and took real good care of it. He still had his Comet 260 at home, but never used it, for it awakened rather bad memories of his father coaching him. He winced inwardly.

Mounting his broom, he took off swiftly, and began feverishly practicing.

~*~

"Do you really think she is still mad at me?" muttered Ron in his better I'm-a-fool-but-forgive-me tone, glancing to the bushy-haired girl at the other end of the Gryffindor table.

At 8 in the morning, the Great Hall was buzzing with conversations, forks jangling and glasses clinking. Most of the students were eating their breakfast before going to their classes.

"She should," retorted Harry, shrugging. He scanned the Hall, looking for his sworn foe, who was, not surprisingly, not there. Malfoy had been missing from every breakfasts since the beginning of the term.

"Blimey, it's not as if I had, well..."

"Called her a 'stubborn bookworm ?'" he offered, helping himself with the sugar.

"That's it! Yes! No! "

"Well, you did it, Ron. You should ..."

"Apologize?"

"How very judicious of you," said Harry, tart as a lemon. He had eventually become used to the Weasleys' flaring temper, but it still annoyed him to see his two best friends arguing all the time. Buttering calmly his slightly cold toast, he turned his back to Ron. His thoughts wandering to the coming match in the afternoon, his gaze finally lingered to the High Table.

Dumbledore was talking rather animatedly with tiny, white-haired Professor Flitwick, while the latter was chewing some roasted bacon. Professor McGonagall, stern as ever, was eating a strange white mixture which looked like porridge. Well, I hope it is...
Snape, as usual, was missing. The overgrown bat surely doesn't eat buttered toast, anyway. He's more likely sipping infant's blood. Harry thought with a bemused grin.

He looked up to the enchanted ceiling. A perfect day indeed.

~*~

Clutching his broom with one hand, Draco dried the sweat that had dampened his forehead with the right sleeve of his green robes. The sunlight now bathed the pitch, and the atmosphere was sensibly warming.
Three hours of intensive training, and he was still dashing. Insomnia proves to have its benefits. The regular and rather hard morning quidditch practice has turned him into a quite muscular, even if slender, young man. His silver hair, disheveled by the flight, flowed freely around his face, emphasizing its sleek lines.

He dove at full speed, then skillfully executed a loop as the ground was nearing. Slowing down, he landed gracefully. Draco stretched his sore arms, and had just picked up his black broom when...

"Hi, Ferret Boy!" snarled a familiar voice.

Draco stiffened. "Potty and Weasel," he stated, without even looking at them. He was far too worried to argue. Swallowing his rising anger, he turned swiftly on his heels.

"Up for a morning practice, Malfoy? Afraid of being the looser, again, at the next match?" added the redheaded boy.

"Bugger off," he said harshly, refraining from punching him right in his infuriating face. He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday and was beginning to feel rather lightheaded.

"Ooooh poor Draky. What is your father going to say? I thought he would have taught you manners..."

You have no idea. He scowled hard at the two Gryffindor, then turned away abruptly and left.

Harry looked at Malfoy in disbelief. He hadn't even retorted... A silent Malfoy was not exactly a reassuring sight.

~*~

In her silent and quiet common room, Hermione was finishing her Transfiguration essay, a satisfied smile slowly spreading on her face. Being Head Girl had its privileges...

Ron had come to her earlier, awkwardly apologizing for his previous day's outburst. In proof of good will, she had even agreed to come and cheer Harry and him, at the Quidditch match that afternoon.

She sighed. How boring. At least, they were playing against the Slytherin team: she would have the pleasure to see them defeated again. It wasn't that Malfoy, the Slytherin seeker, was a bad flyer. Actually, it was quite the contrary. Yet he had never beaten Harry... the young Gryffindor had always seemed naturally gifted for Quidditch, since his first year.

After every defeat, Malfoy always became sullen and silent for days. Even Crabbe and Goyle avoided him. Hermione had always found it rather strange, but never gave it a second thought. It was Malfoy, after all...

She carefully rolled up her homework , then stuffed it in her leather-brown, tatty school bag. Parvati was constantly whining about it. "Honestly, Hermione! This is such a rag!" Rag yourself, she thought furiously, hearing her it would be the end of the world, maybe even worse, if I kept my old schoolbag any longer. That old Trelawney bat must have been fading on her... She shook her large brown plait in silent indignation at the mere thought of the Divination Professor, and so-called Seer."A whole bunch of crap, all that," she muttered as she rose of her comfortable chair by the fire.

Hermione quickly checked her watch, a tenacious habit of her Muggle life. Almost lunchtime. So much for my little trip to the library, she realized with a pang of regret, as she passed through the portrait, nodded politely to the Fat Lady, then headed to the Great Hall.

~*~

The sun was high in the sky, wrapping the Quidditch pitch and its crowded stands into a bright light, offering little warmth in the chilly afternoon. The Houses' flags flapped proudly in the roaring wind.

The whole school was waiting for the match to begin, the Slytherins and Gryffindors were anxiously looking at their respective teams. The players were facing each other, waiting for the referee, Professor Hooch, to blow the whistle.

She released the Bludgers and the Snitch, then threw a red ball in the air... And the game began.

Hermione, perched in one of the highest Gryffindor tiers, exploded in cheers with the crowd as Jim Hallward, their Captain, caught the Quaffle and headed straight to the Slytherins' hoops.

"Andddd 10 points to Gryffindor !"

As Hallward was going to score again, a mad Bludger hit him hard in the back, and he lost the ball. One of the Slytherin's Beaters, Graham Pritchard, caught it swiftly, a cruel sneer on his face. Then he rolled over and rushed at the Gryffindor side of the pitch.

Draco was scanning the area with anguish. Where is that damned little golden fly? He couldn't afford to loose. He couldn't. Then he spotted it. A tiny ball with silvery wings. Scoffing at him. Quickly looking around, he glimpsed Potter. The Gryffindor Seeker was busy at the other end of the pitch, pulling off a Wronski Defensive Feint. Had Draco not seen the Snitch a few seconds ago, he would indeed have been fooled. Sorry, Potty, not this time... He grinned. And now, ladies and gentlemen, let the chase begin.

"The Slytherin Seeker is unleashed. Beware !" shouted the commentator, and the crowd's gaze immediately followed the silver-haired player, as he shot off in the chase of the Snitch.

The Gryffindor supporters held their breaths. And then ...

"Harry Potter has regained his senses and he's catching up with Malfoy ! Go on, Harry! Huh, sorry Professor McGonagall..."

Thank you, O Lord Firebolt sneered the Slytherin inwardly.

The two Seekers were now side by side... when, all of a sudden, Potter was rather unbalanced by a Bludger, which broke his shoulder with a sickening sound. The crowd emitted a disappointed gasp. Draco Malfoy would obviously win now !

But the Bludger decided otherwise. It rushed to the Gryffindor stands, and nobody saw it until it was too late.

Hermione, bent over the edge of the tier, was feverishly looking for her friend. The heavy iron ball hit her square in the face. She moaned softly before she mercifully blacked out... and fell.

The commotion diverted Draco from the Snitch. He saw the girl falling. The Snitch was moving away quickly. His internal battle lasted but a mere second.

Brutally changing his direction and his mind, he dived at full speed to the unconscious Gryffindor. He was flying too fast... Even if he caught her, they would crash in the wood tower supporting the stands. Calm down. Done that before. Easy, boy, easy. Like in practice. Yeah.

The impact knocked the wind out him. Don't pass out! his mind shouted at him. Easier said than done... Getting a mental grip on himself, and a physical one on Hermione, he achieved a flawless loop to slow down, then rolled over skillfully, stopping abruptly within a few inches of the stands.

Meanwhile, Harry, oblivious to everything but the game, had successfully pursued and caught the Snitch.

"The victory is for Gryffindor !" A thunder of applause and cheers exploded from the Gryffindors' stands. However, the eyes of the three others Houses were still locked on the Slytherin Seeker, who was holding an unconscious bushy-haired girl in his arms as he landed carefully on the grass. Everybody had followed the rescue, forgetting temporarily the match, yet nobody could believe it. Especially a particularly angry looking Lucius Malfoy.

Draco felt suddenly exhausted, for the adrenaline push that had sustained him was now gone. Dropping Hermione softly on the ground, he realized that the teachers were running towards them.
Professor McGonagall reached them first, worry engraved on her face, her eyes full of restrained tears. She kneeled immediately by the side of her favorite student, not even noticing that she was dirtying her emerald green robes.

"Miss Granger! Can you hear me, dear?" the older woman exclaimed, as Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout joined her, their faces flushed by the run and the cold.

"She will be all right Minerva, calm down and let her breathe, if you please!" said the nurse, in her usual bossy tone. However, since she was smiling kindly, the effect was somewhat diminished.

Draco, feeling out of place, turned his gaze to the crowd. Maybe Father wasn't there, maybe he didn't see... Then his gaze met Lucius'. He couldn't help shuddering.

Professor Snape shook his shoulder without gentleness. The gray-eyed boy looked at him quizzically. The Head of Slytherin's gaze, was, as usual, black, deep and especially unreadable. Yet, this time, Draco discerned a flicker of pride... or was he imagining things?

"Well done, boy," he said simply, almost smiling. Almost. The young man smiled back, overcome by a strange feeling he didn't quite understand. He knew of Snape's role as a spy for ages, and he respected him for that. But, above all, the Potions Professor had been the father he had always longed to have. Stern, sarcastic, sometimes mean, yes. He was Snape, after all. However, he had always guided him and supported him when he was lost. And that was saying a lot.

Madam Pomfrey summoned a stretcher and carefully levitated Hermione on it, before heading with haste to the Hospital wing.

Draco sighed heavily. He would have to deal with his father soon, maybe that evening, he was going to have a though time explaining himself. . And, was he still here to tell the tale tomorrow, he would still have to face the Slytherin team and his housemates. Oh, joy.

All in all, it had been a perfect day.