Not Quite a Love Song, in Ten Scenes

Part 3: Quidditch (or: Falling in Love)

The day of the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match dawned bright, blue and crisp, with the first sunbeams promising an exceptionally warm November noon. Birds were chirping happily in the air. As he marched onto the pitch, Draco took the sight of a silvery chicken hawk swooping down on a hapless Golden Snidget in a briar bush as a good omen for today's game.

On the other side of the pitch, the Gryffindors were assembled around Captain Weasel, who was giving them what obviously qualified as a rousing pep talk - for Gryffindors. The Slytherin team huddled together, and Draco linked with his team mates in the Secret Runespoor Handshake (attributed to the surviving one of Salazar's three sons), and in chorus they muttered the team motto: "Slaughter Potter!"

Draco kicked off and soared into the air, one eye scanning the pitch for the Snitch, the other glued on Potter, who flitted around the opposite hoops at high altitude with that typical, disgusting ease of his. Oh, if Father would just acquiesce and buy him a Firebolt like Potter's, or even shell out for one of those experimental new Lightning Bolt models! On a better broom, he'd show the four-eyed git the true meaning of defeat in a way that would make the Dark Lord's plots look like the antics of a pissed-off Flobberworm in comparison!

He motioned to Crabbe and Goyle to get some Bludgers over into Potty's direction, which provoked an angry obscenity from the Weasel, who hovered in front of the Gryffindor hoops below Potter. Draco replied with an explicit gesture, careful to keep his body between his hand and Hooch's eagle eyes in the process, and watched with glee how the Weasel's face turned an ugly Howler red.

Potter got some more speed to his act as the Slytherin Beaters started to use him for target practice, and Draco flew up to get a better look at his frantic swervings. He was zigzagging out of the way of first Bludger with breath-taking speed, and if he had the broom sticking up his nether regions instead of sitting on it, he'd look just like a manic Billiwig.

The second Bludger, however, impacted on Potter's chest with a satisfyingly sickening crunch.

Whoa - two ribs at the very least, Draco thought as he observed Gryffindor's broom-borne miracle boy flailing to regain his balance. Finally, he managed to steady himself on the handle with one hand while the other clutched at his chest. From his position a bit higher up, Draco watched the sharp line of pain forming around Potter's mouth in fascination. His lips were trembling, but the determined look that seemed able to conjure the Snitch out of thin air by sheer force of will was back.

Then his eyes widened and he stared directly at Draco; no, not at him - just at a spot a few inches over his shoulder. Draco saw whirring minuscule wings out of the corner of his eye and pulled his broom around to grab for them. Potter's Firebolt shot at him like a liberated branch of the Whomping Willow, broken ribs seemingly forgotten in the exhilaration of the chase. Potter slammed into his side without any trace of affection, and sent him veering off course. Rage closed Draco's throat like an invisible hand as the enemy Seeker threw himself forward for the Snitch.

That was when the second Bludger slammed into Potter's side with no less force than the last. Potter was nearly thrown off his broom, saved only by his cloak tangling in the tail twigs of his Firebolt. Still, it wasn't going to buy him more than a few seconds.

Reflexively, Draco reached out, noting wide, panicked eyes as Potter's body weight, slight as it was, pulled him down. Only inches away, the Golden Snitch hovered just a tiny, tantalising bit out of reach. If he gave a little push and stretched... Draco thought, unable to tear his eyes away from the Gryffindor Seeker, so close and just an instant away from falling two hundred feet to the ground of the pitch.

"Take my hand!" Draco yelled over the sound of the wind and the screams of the audience. He shivered under the intensity of Potter's gaze that never left his as the Gryffindor threw his injured body into Draco's direction and blindly reached for him.

Draco leaned forward, hand outstretched until his fingertips touched Potter's above his fingerless Quidditch gloves. He saw relief light up in the emerald-green eyes, and smiled.

And pulled back his hand.

"Oops, missed."

Draco watched Potter's flailing body plunge towards what would hopefully be his doom, before he lazily picked the Snitch out of the air above him and smirked.

Set and match for Slytherin.

~ tbc. ~

Next: The Hospital Wing (or: Watching You)