The Seeker's Student

The Seeker's Student

Chapter One--Quidditch Quarrels

It was a rather quiet evening. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were seated on their favorite couches in front of the blazing fire in the scarlet-and-gold common room. Hermione was reading Hogwarts, a History and Harry and Ron were chatting about Quidditch--as usual.

"The Holyhead Harpies aren't too bad--for girls, anyway," mentioned Harry.

"Yeah. You know what would be funny? If Hermione tried out," said Ron mockingly.

"I bet I could if I wanted," Hermione said absentmindedly

"You? Play Quidditch?" Harry asked incredulously.

"As a matter of fact," retorted Hermione stiffly, "I think it's a very interesting sport."

"Ha! Fat chance," Ron said disbelievingly. "I seem to remember you saying that you wouldn't touch a broom if the alternative was to kiss Malfoy."

Hermione ignored the latter bit and snapped, "Just because I didn't like it then doesn't mean that I don't like it now."

Ron snorted, and apparently did not see the warning glance Harry shot him. "Even if you wanted to, you couldn't. You hate flying. Besides, you have to be in shape--and you most definitely aren't."

Harry had enough foresight and experience to see what was coming next and tried to intervene. "Ron just means that you don't practice or exercise much. He doesn't--"

"Ronald Bilius"--Ron turned red at the use of his rather unfortunate middle name--"Weasley! Are you calling me fat?"

"Oh, boy," Harry said under his breath, burying his face in his hands as his best friends continued arguing. He had no doubt this would separate them for at least a few days, and Harry hated being the man in the middle.

"--so insensitive, if you just--" Hermione's angry rant was cut off by Ron.

"No, Hermione! You're the one at fault! You just can't accept the fact that I'm good at something and you're not!"

"Look, Ron, I'm not jealous at all that you can play Quidditch--"

"Like, hell you're not--Her--"

"Both of you!" Harry burst out, suddenly. "Stop it! This is such a stupid thing to fight over, come on--"

"Stay out of this, Harry!" both Ron and Hermione hissed.

Nearly the entire population of Gryffindor house was watching the fight. Seamus was collecting bets on who would get the last word. Dean was sketching the two screaming figures--Lavender was staring dreamily at Ron, and admiring the way his ears turned red when he was upset.

"Fine," Harry said shortly, stomping off to the boys' dormitory. He didn't want to involve himself in this silly fight, and he certainly didn't want to fuel it. If Harry had stayed, he probably would have ended up screaming himself, and that wouldn't help anything.

"See, now look!" Hermione snapped. "You've gone and upset Harry--"

"The only person who's upset anyone is you," Ron ejaculated loudly. "Why are you being so uptight about this anyway? What, is it your time of the month?"

Hermione gasped. No, Ron had--he had gone too far. She turned and barged straight for the girls' dormitories, an angry scowl on her face. Why did Ron have to be so crude, so immature?

Ron scowled at her retreating form.

Hermione paused before entering the dormitory and popped into view once again. "I can play Quidditch and I will, Ronald 'Moron' Weasley! You just wait and see!" she screeched before storming through her door and flopping down on her comfortable four-poster.

"Whoo-hoo!" chuckled Seamus. "Hermione got the last word! Neville, you owe me ten sickles!"

---

Delicious smells wafted through the Great Hall the next morning. Crisp, juicy slices of salted bacon--thick, soft, mouth-watering pancakes, and cold, refreshing glasses of orange juice were among the delicious breakfast entrees.

The mouth-watering victuals still did not stop Hermione and Ron from fighting, though.

Although Hermione and Ron had calmed down considerably, they were still not speaking to each other. Instead, Harry was called upon to be the mediator during breakfast in the Great Hall--he was in charge of directing the butter and such between his two feuding friends.

"Harry, would you please tell Ronald to pass the syrup for my pancakes?" asked Hermione, gaze never resting on the red-haired boy.

"Ron, would you pass the syrup to Hermione?"

"Tell Hermione that if she wants it, she can get it herself," Ron said, stuffing his mouth full of various foodstuffs.

"Hermione, Ron says--"

"Tell Ronald that if he wishes to be a rude, inconsiderate brat--he should feel free to," she snapped, grabbing the bottle of maple syrup herself--then furiously chopping up her pancakes.

"Ron, Hermione says--"

"Harry, tell Hermione that if she wants to go shove it up hers, then she should feel free."

"Er...Hermione--"

"Harry, tell Ron that if he wants to be an asshole, he's doing a wonderful job," she snarled, and stomped off, clearly to leave the Great Hall, leaving her butchered pancakes.

"Good riddance," muttered Ron.

Harry glared at him. "Why did you get her so mad? Can't you just shut up for a few moments?"

"Harry--" Ron began.

"No! Listen to me, Ron! You always get her so mad and then, she ends up not speaking to me, and--"

"Harry!"

Harry ignored him. "--and you need to stop fighting! What the bloody hell is wrong with the both of you? I swear, Ron, you--"

"She's at the fucking Slytherin table talking to Ferret Boy!" Ron hissed.

"She's what--?" asked Harry, whirling around to face the Slytherin table. Sure enough, Hermione was sitting there, talking to Malfoy! A bit more than just talking apparently.

"She's flirting with him!" said Parvati.

"How sweet--a love-hate relationship," Lavender commented dreamily.

Harry spluttered angrily, glaring in turn at Parvati and Lavender. "Sweet? SWEET? He's over there, flirting with Hermione and you think it's sweet?"

"Let's go beat Malfoy up," whispered Seamus to Harry and Ron--obviously under the impression that he was being sneaky.

Apparently not. "Ten points from Gryffindor, for threatening another student, Finnigan," said the silky voice of Professor Snape, walking briskly past the table, on his way out.

"Damn."

"Another five points, Potter, for language."

---

Draco Malfoy had been most surprised when the almighty Mudblood Granger decided to practically try and get herself killed. Granger had decided to actually leave the sanctuary of the Gryffindors and actually approach him--at the Slytherin table! During breakfast!

Stupid Gryffindors. They simply didn't understand that Pansy Parkinson with a butter knife was a force to be reckoned with. And Hermione Granger in close proximity with Pansy was provocation enough--she hated Hermione's guts; not just her guts, mind, but her entire being from her unruly hair to her "sensible" shoes. Not that Draco didn't.

"Malfoy," Hermione said, in way of greeting.

"Granger," he replied. "Come to ask me to the next Hogsmeade weekend? Although I daresay you'll have to wait quite a while--I have a long waiting list, you see."

His narcissism both amused and annoyed Hermione. "Who could refuse a date with the great Draco Malfoy?" Hermione said sarcastically. "That's not what I'm here for, Malfoy." He looked almost--one couldn't really call it interested, but it seemed sort of--he was listening and he was focused on the speaker--which was Hermione, at least. "You see--well, no doubt you heard of the fight I had with Ron. A--and he said that I would never, ever be able to play Quidditch."

Malfoy raised a dark-blond brow as Pansy scoffed, "Your point, Mudblood? I assume that the entire point of this was not to simply sit there, pollute my robes, and disgrace us with your presence?"

"Parkinson, you of all people don't need me to disgrace you. I believe that for the last six years, you have done that by yourself." Malfoy smirked amusedly. Who was he to break up a catfight? Pansy gave a quiet snarl and was about to open her mouth to retort when Hermione spoke, effectively cutting her off. "Anyway, Malfoy, like I was saying--Ron told me that I would never be able to fly a broomstick, and I want to prove him wrong. I--I want you to help me--help me learn how to fly and play Quidditch so I can try out for Chaser."

"No."

"No--what? Why? You haven't even thought about it--you can't just say 'no' like that!" Hermione seethed.

"The answer, Granger, in case you're deaf, is 'no.' What the bloody hell have you done for me?"

"Couldn't you simply do it for the pleasure you'd get for helping a fellow student?"

Pansy choked on her cereal.

Draco grinned snarkily. "Why, Granger, are you offering?"

Perverts, Hermione thought, rolling her eyes. She scoffed at them and haughtily walked away. After all, it wasn't as if she was going to beg him to help her. She knew exactly where she could find help--and what she required.