Better Angels

Better Angels

Chapter 8

The Match

Over the week leading up to Draco's Quidditch match, Severus saw fairly little of him. He made a point of stopping by every day to say he was fine and tired from practice, but that was the extent of it. The Prophet stories were as scurrilous as ever, and at first Snape thought he was being evasive, but eventually he decided Draco really didn't care. His teammates knew what had really happened, and that seemed to be enough for him.

There were a few scuffles in the corridors between Draco's Dragons and the remaining Slytherins, but the altercations were minor. The wind seemed taken out of the Slytherins' sails by the capture of their leaders. It was power vacuum that would be filled, eventually, but at the moment they were off balance and keeping to themselves.

Miss Zenobia moved back into her dorm, telling anyone who would listen that the Parkinson Plot was so idiotic it was her duty as a Slytherin to foil it. Severus had no trouble seeing Draco's fingerprints all over that.

The Dragons' notoriety led to a larger-than-expected crowd at the Sunday morning match, as well as to somewhat shortened odds on the outcome. Many students, apparently, wanted to see the teamwork that had driven six Death Eaters from Hogwarts.

Severus took his seat in the staff box, next to Minerva McGonagall, who was wearing red-and-gold robes. "You'll want one of these," she said, passing him a badge.

He glanced at it. It was a silver dragon on a blue field, over the words "Support the Dragons."

"Who made those?" he asked, tucking it in his pocket.

"Grumbine, I think. She did them up as a surprise."

"They're not bad."

"Care to make this interesting?" she asked him.

He considered. "Not to win. But I'll put five Galleons on Draco to catch the Snitch," he decided.

"Done." They shook hands. "You've no faith in the rest of the side, then?" she asked slyly.

"I'll put another five on the scoring at least five goals," he decided. If Draco asked later, that would suggest a healthy level of confidence, but not outright lunacy.

"Hm...well, all right." They shook again. "Flitwick, who are you supporting?"

"The Dragons, of course. Miss Grumbine and Mr. Neddington are from my House."

McGonagall prodded him. "Zenobia's in yours," she pointed out. "Why don't you put on that badge?"

"True," he allowed.

"Oh, go on. Anyway, it's the worst kept secret in the school that you think a great deal of young Malfoy."

He pinned it on. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," she said dryly. "Look, they're coming on the field."

The Gryffindors wore their official robes, while the Dragons were dressed in an assortment of school robes and mufti, with one exception.

At first, Severus thought it was Draco in the bottle-green Slytherin robes, but the hair was several shades too dark. Miss Zenobia made a half-bow in the direction of the near-empty Slytherin stands, then turned to the staff box and saluted with her Beater's bat.

Draco was giving some last minute instructions to his team. Then the two teams lined up, and Draco and Angelina Johnson shook hands. Granger leaned over and said something to Weasley, who was Keeping for the Gryffindor side.

That might be interesting, if he had any gentlemanly instincts to speak of.

The game started, and the Gryffindors quickly took possession and scored three goals in rapid succession. On the fourth try, Grumbine managed to keep one out.

The Dragons took possession, and one of their players--Neddington, he thought--threw the Quaffle at the goals. It was difficult to tell which hoop he may have been aiming for, and Weasley kept it out easily. Gryffindor took possession again, and scored another series of goals.

The Gryffindor streak was only broken when Zenobia sent a Bludger sailing toward the Slytherin stands and Madame Hooch was forced to halt play.

McGonagall was on her feet. "Foul! That's obviously bumphing! Foul!"

"Prove it." Severus smiled thinly.

Madame Hooch didn't call the foul, and play resumed, with Gryffindor in possession once more. The game went on for a while, and then even McGonagall thought one of the Gryffindor Beaters had fouled the Dragon Seeker. Draco made a bit of a show of half-sliding off his broom and looking wounded. Severus, who had read over Fifty Greatest Fouls before giving it to Draco, kept his suspicions to himself.

Draco tapped Granger to take the penalty shot, and, with all the time she needed to set up the shot and no Gryffindor players in her way, she made it easily.

"That's one," Severus told McGonagall, with satisfaction.

When play resumed, Potter flew near to Draco and said something to him. That was all he needed--to be distracted by Potter. That was his downfall in every game he'd played against Gryffindor as the Slytherin Seeker. But this time, Draco just jabbed two fingers in the air, and flew away, to swoop by Zenobia and say something to her.

The Snitch hadn't made an appearance yet, but Draco had plenty to do advising his players. The Dragon Keeper got a bit better with practice, and by a half-hour into the game she was keeping out perhaps one goal in three. The Dragons attempted several goals and finally put one in using a moderately tricky maneuver where Granger feinted toward the leftmost hoop, then passed to Neddington, who put the Quaffle through the right hand hoop. It worked, Severus thought, mostly because Weasley hadn't been expecting anything that even resembled strategy from the Dragons.

"That's two."

McGonagall looked sour. "Yes, I see. It's twenty to a hundred sixty," she added pointedly.

He was stung. "There's no need to be nasty."

McGonagall gave him a disbelieving look. "Severus, are you feeling all right?"

"I think they're doing quite well," he said stiffly.

"Yes, they are," she agreed, with the air of humoring someone who was quite mad.

The score mounted to two hundred to thirty, then two fifty to forty as a result of another dodgy-looking foul against Draco.

"One more," Severus said triumphantly.

"He still has to catch the Snitch."

The Snitch had made one brief appearance, and Potter and Draco had given chase, but the tiny golden ball winked out again before either of them reached it. Other than that, it had been a dull game for Seeking.

"He will."

Presently, the Dragons scored their fifth goal on another highly-suspicious penalty shot--which Violet Huffnargle was brought onto the field especially to take. She made the goal--barely--and Draco and Zenobia flew alongside her and clapped her on the shoulders like she had done something particularly impressive.

"I'm surprised he isn't hogging the spotlight," McGonagall commented.

"He's not like that," Severus said. Unlike some other people. Now Potter was doing loop-the-loops and barrel rolls for no apparent reason, while the Gryffindor Chasers scored another handful of goals. Finally Grumbine managed to keep one out, and put her team in possession. But the Dragon Chaser, apparently flustered, attempted to pass to Zenobia, who swatted the Quaffle with her Beater's bat and earned a foul against her own team, for a change.

Even the Gryffindor Chaser looked a little embarrassed to take the resulting penalty shot.

About an hour into the game, with the score at fifty to three hundred twenty, the Snitch reappeared and Draco and Potter both dove for it.

Potter was leading--he had been closer to it to begin with--when a Quaffle slammed into his shoulder and gave Draco the edge he needed. He caught the Snitch while Potter was still attempting to right himself on his broom.

The spectators were on their feet, the Dragon supporters cheering and the Gryffindor ones crying foul.

"Gryffindor was in possession," Severus said.

"Yes, but--"

He hadn't seen what happened, but it might have been a Horncrunk maneuver--a Beater tactic that wasn't quite a foul, involving using a Bludger to hit the Quaffle off course, like a cue ball in billiards. It was insanely tricky--Zenobia was either very good or very lucky.

Draco, holding the struggling Snitch on one hand, flew up to meet Zenobia and clasped her forearm with the other, confirming his suspicions.

The flyers were landing now, the Dragons in a tight knot around Draco. He was nodding and gesturing. Madame Hooch approached, and there was a brief consultation. Johnson, the Gryffindor captain, joined the conference and there was more gesturing and, possibly, some shouting.

"Come on now," Snape muttered, "You can't take it away from him just because his Beater's good."

Finally, Madame Hooch announced, "The final score is three hundred twenty to two hundred, Gryffindor."

Both teams' supporters cheered the final result.

"Pay up," Severus told McGonagall.

Grumbling, she did. "If they had played a clean game..."

"It would have been incredibly boring."

#

Madame Hooch was shoving him and Johnson at each other. "Shake hands, now," she said, between clenched teeth.

Draco gave her a bewildered look and extended his hand. "Good game, Johnson."

Gingerly, she shook his hand. "Good game," she said dubiously.

What was their problem? Shrugging it off, he circulated among his players. "Nice work, Granger. Grumbine, you did really well--their Chasers are really good. Zenobia--" He bowed to her. "Couldn't have done it without you."

She bowed back. "All part of the service."

"Was that--"

"Horncrunk, yeah," she said modestly. "I didn't know if it would work, but--" she shrugged.

"That's never been done at Hogwarts, has it?"

"Nope. I checked."

"Malfoy, you're disgusting. In an exhibition match!"

He turned. Potter. "What are you talking about?"

"That--Beater of yours! I can't believe Madame Hooch didn't see that!"

He looked over at Zenobia, who gestured for him to go ahead. "She saw. It's a legal play." She hadn't commented on what an impressive bit of play it was, which rankled.

"She almost knocked me off my broom!"

"That's your look-out." Draco clapped Zenobia on the back again. "Stop being such a sore...winner."

"I am not--you cheated."

"I didn't. Now shut up." He turned back to his players, who were now looking around at each other guiltily. "Don't listen to him, guys. We did great."

But they didn't look convinced.

#

"Severus." Minerva McGonagall pulled out the chair next to his at the staff table and plunked herself down.

"Minerva," he growled.

"I must say, I'm surprised you tolerate Draco cheating at Quidditch."

He chewed meditatively. "Why, exactly?"

"You seem determined to stop him going to the Dark--"

"I see. I, unlike you, draw a line between not playing nicely with the other children and worshipping the Dark Lord. One of many important points on which we differ, I'm sure."

"It's not as simple as that. There's a slippery slope--"

"I'd know more about that than you, I daresay." He hesitated, then took a swallow of pumpkin juice to stop himself saying more.

"Indeed, but--"

"Your moral vision lacks subtlety." He continued, against his better judgment. "Has it ever occurred to you--no, I daresay it hasn't."

"What hasn't?"

"That it might have been to my advantage had you not assumed when I was eleven that 'socially unpleasant' was equivalent to 'irredeemably morally corrupt.'" He dragged his train of thought back to Draco. "Anyway, I'm not sure I'd care if he robbed banks, as long as he's happy and doesn't kill anyone."

"Believe me, none of us we were at all sure we could get you through your school years without killing anyone."

"You didn't."

"What?"

"I was killing people by seventh year. Not on school grounds, of course."

She looked startled. "Does--" her eyes slid over to the Headmaster's vacant seat.

"He knows."

"I didn't believe it when Albus said you'd come over to our side," she said conversationally. "I do now, of course, But you were such a Dark child."

"I know." He wanted, sometimes, to reach back through the years and shake his former teacher--and present day colleagues--for not telling him it didn't have to be that way.

Not that he'd have been at all likely to believe them.

McGonagall echoed his thoughts. "We all assumed that anyone who reached out to you would be hexed into next week when you decided it was a sinister plot to trick you into something-or-other."

"You were probably right." He ate for a while, watching Draco dart from table to table, talking to his players.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yes. I might not answer."

"Of course. How did you know they were going to get five goals?"

"He asked me how many I thought they ought to be able to get."

"And you told him..." She said disapprovingly.

"Not being a complete moron, I told him I'd be proud of him no matter how they did. He told me to stop being so wet, and I said five." He shrugged.

"I see. And you taught him about the Grumphawk maneuver?"

"I pointed him in the direction of Fifty Greatest Fouls," he admitted.

"I'm still not sure that was wise. He has--unbelievable as it may seem--some influence over young and impressionable students."

"He only gave it to Zenobia. If he'd really wanted to play dirty, he could have had her knock all of the players off their brooms and maybe even won the game on penalties." That option had apparently not even occurred to Draco. "He had her foul him because he could handle it without getting hurt. And, not incidentally, any Slytherins who happened to see what she was doing will think twice about doubting her blood loyalty."

McGonagall watched him with an unreadable expression. "If you don't want him turned into a sacrificial lamb--"

"It's a game. Remember what I said about drawing a line? It's not a...metaphor for life."

"I'm sure you know best," she said dubiously.

"As a matter of fact I do," he retorted.

"I mean it. He's--" she almost choked on the words "--done well under your care."

Severus examined her words for traps. "But?"

"But nothing. You've done well."

"Thank you," he said grudgingly.

"You're quite welcome."

#