The Redemption of Draco Malfoy

Chapter Three: New Recruits

On the Saturday morning of the second week of term, Ginny found herself sitting in the relatively empty Quidditch stands, watching Fred, George, Harry and Ron flying. Hermione sat beside her, and a group of younger students were sitting further down, watching and waiting for the Quidditch try-outs that were set to start in half an hour. Harry and the twins, however, had agreed to help Ron practice in advance. Other than that, the stadium was largely empty.

Hermione had brought a book along and was reading it studiously, but Ginny was watching the scene above with rapt attention. Ordinarily she wasn't a huge fan of watching Quidditch, even if she enjoyed playing it. But she did love to watch Harry fly.

It was obvious - to Ginny at least - what made Harry such a good flyer. If you analysed statistics and quizzed him on the intricate plays and patterns of the sport, you would see an average player. But if you watched the way he flew through the air, with a natural grace that couldn't be taught, you'd see how exceptional he really was. Harry flew like a bird; not like someone riding a particularly stiff length of wood. When he was in the air, it was almost as if the broomstick disappeared, or became a part of him. That was why none of the other Seekers could ever touch him - because they calculated plays and speed and the distance to the Snitch, whereas Harry felt his way through the game, and relied on something more than his knowledge of Quidditch to catch the elusive golden ball. That was why Ginny loved to watch him fly.

Ron was good too, she had to admit, if a little ostentatious. He was trying too hard, in Ginny's opinion; executing complicated manoeuvres that did little more than make him dizzy. Still, she liked his chances of making the team.

A sudden wind caught Ginny's scarf and hair. Beside her, Harry landed deftly in the stands. Where did he come from? She had been too busy watching Ron, she supposed. She quickly retreated into herself as Harry walked over to stand next to her.

His cheeks were bright red and there was a line of sweat on his brow. "Ginny," he said, "we need a Chaser this year, too. Why don't you try out?"

"Me?" Ginny squeaked.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I've seen you flying at the Burrow. You'd make the team easily."

Ginny felt herself redden with embarrassment. Harry had actually taken the time to come and convince her to try out for the team. Was he just being nice or did he really think she could make it? Sure, Ginny could fly, but she wasn't anything special. There would be older students trying out; there was no way she'd be able to upstage them. But then, the prospect of attending weekly training sessions with Harry during the year, with only five other people, was rather tempting. She could almost imagine walking out onto the stadium at the end of the year, the din of the crowd filling her ears as Harry turned and smiled at her, wishing her luck with a pat on the back. Oh, that would be lovely.

"Ginny?"

"Hmm?" Ginny realised she'd been staring, and lowered her gaze quickly. "Oh, sorry. Um...I don't know. I don't think I'd be good enough to make the team."

"Of course you would," Harry said encouragingly. "Here, take my Firebolt. Go and practice for a while."

Ginny opened her mouth, speechless. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll watch," he said. Watch me? thought Ginny. Was that supposed to comfort her? She'd almost certainly make a fool of herself if Harry were watching. But then, he'd be watching her.

"Okay," Ginny said in a tiny voice, reaching out her hand to take Harry's broom. The polished ash handle felt extremely solid beneath her grip. It wasn't nearly as heavy as she thought it would be, though.

Ginny slid her scarf off her neck and took off her cloak, then swung her leg over the side of the Firebolt. Almost instantly it veered to the left. "Whoa."

"It's a bit more sensitive than most of the other brooms," Harry said.

He wasn't kidding either. Ginny had never ridden an expensive broom before, and certainly never a professional standard one. It seemed as though it responded to the mere twitch of her muscles. Slowly, she lifted her feet off the ground and pulled the handle up so that the broom rose several metres above the stands. She looked down at Harry, who smiled encouragingly up at her, and then flew off towards Ron and the twins.

"Harry," George said with mock surprise, "you've changed your hair."

Fred laughed. "What did Harry give you his broom for, Gin?"

"He said I should try out for Chaser."

Both Fred and George frowned. "Are you sure about that?" asked Fred. "I mean, Quidditch is a dangerous sport and you can get hurt pretty badly."

Ginny appreciated the concern in her brothers' voices. She smiled at them, then looked back at the stands where Harry was sitting beside Hermione. He gave her the thumbs up.

"I'm sure," said Ginny, turning back to the pitch with new determination. She caught the Quaffle that Fred threw to her and sped towards the goal posts where Ron was circling.

"Ginny," Ron called out in surprise. He grinned, then hovered around the centre post, waiting for her shot. With a silent prayer that she make the goal and that Harry be watching when she did, Ginny flew to the left, changed direction, and sped down the right side of the pitch. Just as Ron flew out to meet her, she went up and over him and hurled the Quaffle through the centre ring.

Fred and George both cheered and down below Hermione and Harry were clapping. Ginny couldn't help the enormous grin that spread across her face.

She took several more shots with Fred and George, scoring about half of them. Ron was a good keeper, and Ginny felt for sure he'd make the team. And now that she had been flying for twenty minutes, and doing an all right job of it, she hoped desperately that she would too.

* * *

Draco realised, as he walked past the decrepit Gryffindor Quidditch team on their way to the Great Hall (They must really be scraping the bottom of the cauldron), that his thoughts had been so caught up in his father's plan lately that he'd forgotten about Quidditch. He was still the Slytherin Seeker after all.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were at the back of the group, the two boys carrying broomsticks and all three of them congratulating the Weasley girl on something. Her brother looked as happy as she did. This year should be a piece of cake, Draco thought.

At dinner he entertained himself by throwing peas at the back of Crabbe's head and telling him they were coming from the Gryffindor table. It was amusing to watch the thick-necked boy smashing his fist into his palm and telling them all how he would beat every one of the Gryffindors to a pulp if the teachers weren't present.

"You tell 'em, Crabbe," Draco muttered, after he'd grown bored with the activity. He considered upending the salt shaker into Pansy's drink, but decided that her shrill cries of indignation wouldn't be worth it.

Instead, he found himself gazing across the hall at the bushy-haired, buck-toothed, fashion-inept Mudblood that he was supposed to swindle. She was reading a book that was propped open against one of the serving dishes, turning to smile every so often when Potty or Weasel spoke to her. Draco couldn't blame her for reading a book rather than conversing with those two eggheads.

They had Arithmancy again on Monday, which meant Draco would have to devise some way to further their association. There were other classes they had together of course, like Potions and Care of Magical Creatures; but the entire Gryffindor and Slytherin fifth year were also present, making it next to impossible to speak to her.

Draco glanced up at the staff table, to where Professor Lupin was sitting, deep in conversation with Dumbledore. How did that freak get his job back? Surely his father had attempted to intervene and prevent the shabby Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher from setting foot on Hogwarts' grounds. And why was it that these animal-men tended to ally themselves with Potter? Was it because he just had poor choice in friends or simply because he smelled like dog food?

* * *

"I can't believe we both made the team," said Ron on the other side of the Great Hall. "This is so cool."

Ginny had to silently agree. It was cool. After getting up in the air and feeling the wind in her hair she realised how much fun it would be to play Quidditch for the school. It would give her a break from her strenuous fourth year studies each week, and, of course, allow her to spend more time with Harry. She was sure she was still red in the face from being congratulated so ardently by him, and complemented on her flying skills.

"Does this mean we get new brooms?" Ron asked enthusiastically.

"Probably," said Harry.

Ron could hardly eat he was so excited. He shared the story of his acceptance into the Gryffindor Quidditch team with Seamus, Dean, Neville, Parvati, Lavender and anyone else who was willing to listen. Ginny couldn't help but smile at how happy her brother was. She turned to look at Hermione who had lifted her attention from her book and was gazing across the hall. Ginny swivelled around in her chair to see what it was she was looking at. She frowned.

"What's Malfoy gawking at us for?" she whispered, careful not to spoil her brother's elated mood with the mention of Draco's name.

"I don't know," Hermione said pensively. "But he's been doing it for the whole meal." Clearly the occurrence was unsettling Hermione.

"Probably just annoyed that we made the team," Ginny suggested, turning back to her meal. "He's got four Weasley's to contend with on the pitch now. I hope I get to be the one to knock him off his broom."

Hermione smiled, her gaze lingering on the Slytherin table for a moment longer before she turned back to her book.

* * *

Snape's dungeon was, as always, an unpleasant place to spend the afternoon. There was the gloomy decor for one; the fact that it seemed to be completely devoid of any heat whatsoever; the presence of the Slytherins; and, of course, Snape himself. But what made it really awful for Hermione was the fact that a certain indolent Slytherin would not stop looking at her when he thought she wouldn't notice. Hermione's stomach had churned sickeningly the first time she realised Malfoy was staring at her from his seat at the back of the room. She had no idea what he was so interested in her for, but knowing Malfoy, it would be for some deeply malicious purpose.

The thought occurred to her momentarily - and it was more disturbing than her previous thoughts on the matter - that the pale, hawk-faced boy had become inexplicably attached to her after their odd bout of co-operation in Arithmancy several weeks ago. Okay, thought Hermione, so he's not so hawk-faced anymore, but still...Malfoy...eww! Hermione shook herself from her reverie and chanced a furtive glance at the back of the room. Damn, he's at it again. Malfoy slowly raised his focus to stare at the front of the room, as though his eyes had merely trailed over her on their way there. Hermione's skin crawled.

"Navitaserum," Snape announced in his silky voice, "is not a pleasant potion when brewed incorrectly. Boils, pustules, swollen limbs and intense muscle spasms are just some of the unpleasant side effects. However, when brewed correctly, it can add a measure of invigorating energy to one's mind - an effect that would be of great use to some members of this class." Snape let his heavy gaze fall on Neville. As always, he omitted the mention of an antidote.

"You will spend the next three weeks studying and brewing Navitaserum, at the conclusion of which you will each sit a test that would ordinarily prove too long for the time limit. If you fail to complete the test in the designated time, after taking your potion, you will fail - and be taken to the hospital wing if necessary." Snape's mouth twisted into a cruel smile. "I highly suggest that you take this unit's work seriously, and try not to mutilate yourself." Again, his gaze was on Neville. "Take out your quills and copy this down." Snape flicked his wand and lines of notes appeared on the board."

"Sounds nasty," Ron said as he unrolled his parchment. "Although I wouldn't mind having some of that stuff before O.W.L.s."

"They test for things like that, Ron," Hermione pointed out. She took out her quill and parchment and began copying down the notes on Navitaserum, doing her best not to think about whether Malfoy was looking at her again.

The class ended just as Hermione finished, whilst several other students were hurriedly copying down the last few notes before Snape would allow them to leave, Ron and Harry among them. Hermione collected her books and made for the door, somehow managing to reach it at the same time Malfoy did. He stopped to let her through. What the hell is up with him? Hermione thought. She would have been less surprised if he'd raised his wand and cursed her just so that he could get through the door first. She felt acutely self-conscious as she walked down the corridor, Malfoy trailing behind her with Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy and most of the other Slytherins grouped around him. He didn't seem to be talking to them much, Hermione noted.

She reached the Entrance Hall and promptly decided to skip lunch in favour of the library; Ron and Harry would probably be a while anyway.

The library was relatively empty, though filling gradually with students harbouring the intention of completing work for their afternoon classes during the break. Hermione chose one of the empty tables close to the stacks and dropped her bag onto it. She spread her books out and took a seat with her Arithmancy book in front of her, ready to complete some of the reading in advance.

Okay, she said to herself mentally, as she usually did when trying to learn a new concept. So the seven astral numbers are related to these four equations; the first two incorporate the solar cycle and the last two the lunar cycle and oh my God is that Malfoy again? Sure enough it was; he strode confidently into the library, his shrewd eyes darting about to take in his surroundings. Hermione rarely saw the Slytherin boy in the library, and when she did, he was usually accompanied by a whole throng of his fellow housemates, basking proudly in their reverent attention. Now, however, he appeared to be alone.

Hermione lowered her head and covered her face with a casual hand, hoping he wouldn't see her. Damn, she thought, as he approached her table. He took one of the chairs, spun it around and sat down on it, facing her with an amused look.

"Granger," he said, "fancy seeing you here."

Hermione lowered her hand and looked up with her muscles tensed and her face as impassive as she could make it. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Ah, now that's a tricky question," Draco replied, smirking.

Hermione sighed. "What are you doing here?" she rephrased.

Draco shrugged. "Well, I was in the neighbourhood, and I figured I could use some help with my Arithmancy work."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You want my help?" she asked sceptically.

"Well, it's more like I thought we could help each other."

"Why?" Hermione demanded.

Again, Draco shrugged. "We're already an exercise ahead of the class, so why not put our heads together and bash out those advanced problems."

Hermione stared back at the pale, smiling Slytherin boy with disbelief in her eyes. She leaned forward across the table and glared at him. "All right, Malfoy, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?" Draco asked innocently.

"I mean, you ask for my help with your Arithmancy work, you don't push me out of the way to get through the door in the dungeon and you tell me you want to work with me to get ahead in class. On top of all that you've just gone the last five minutes without calling me Mudblood, or making fun of my hair. What's going on?" She decided it was best to leave out the part about him staring at her during dinner on the weekend and in Potions this morning.

"Hey, I come here bearing an olive branch and you throw it back in my face," Draco said defensively.

Hermione stopped short, some part of her, for some strange reason, feeling ashamed. She narrowed her eyes further and leaned closer. "You're up to something Malfoy and I don't know what it is, but it won't work."

Draco craned his head back to look at the ceiling and sighed in exasperation. "Look, are you going to help me or not?"

Hermione didn't particularly want to spend any more time with Draco Malfoy than was absolutely, one hundred percent, unavoidably necessary; but then she had never turned down a fellow student in need of help. Also, the prospect of working with Malfoy intrigued her. The boy was certainly smart; one of the cleverest students in her Arithmancy class for sure. And they had worked kind of well together on those harder questions. Plus, Hermione was curious to see just how far this phoney amiability of his would go.

"Okay," she said, "I'll help you. But no cursing me behind my back and no calling me Mudblood and no ridiculing my clothes."

"What about your hair?" Draco asked with a grin.

"No!" Hermione snapped.

"Okay, okay," said Draco. "Although, you know, all you'd really need is a few drops of Sleekeasy's Hair Potion and you'd..."

"Malfoy!"

"Right," said Draco. "Shutting up."

Hermione lowered her suspicious gaze back to her work. Draco extracted his bag from beneath the table and emptied his books onto the table.

"What are you up to?" he asked.

"I was reading through chapter four," Hermione replied, unable to keep the mistrustful note out of her voice. This all seemed so strange - socialising with Malfoy as though they were acquaintances, or peers, or...friends. Hermione shuddered.

"Well," said Draco, "let me know when you're finished and we can start the questions."

"You've already read it?" Hermione asked, her surprise eroding her suspicion.

"Yeah," Draco replied, glancing up, as though this shouldn't be that big a deal.

Hermione shrugged mentally and turned back to her book, reading extra fast.

* * *

"Bloody Snape," Ron complained as he and Harry walked out of the Potions' dungeon a full ten minutes after class had ended. Ron put on a mocking voice of the hook-nosed Professor that wasn't quite icy enough or menacing enough to be convincing. "Potter and Weasley, behind as always. Blah, blah, blah. One of these days..."

"Forget it," Harry interceded. "He's just annoyed that Lupin's back. I mean, not only did he miss out on the Dark Arts job again, but he lost it to one of his most bitter enemies."

"That's true," said Ron, cheering up. "Ha! Bet the oily git is just crawling with jealousy."

Harry forced a smile and jogged up the stairs with Ron to the Entrance Hall. They crossed the wide marble stone floor and walked into the Great Hall where pleasant smells of lunch wafted over the tables. They found several empty seats down their usual end of the Gryffindor table. Hearing the word 'Chaser', Ron sat down beside Seamus and incorporated himself into the conversation.

"I think I'll go talk to Ginny," Harry told him, seeing the young Weasley sitting by herself.

"'Kay," Ron replied, barely glancing up. Harry walked further down the table and took the seat next to Ginny.

"Hey," he said. Ginny's eyes swivelled towards him and then quickly back to her plate.

"Hey," she said without looking at Harry.

"How come you're not up there with your friends?" Harry asked, looking up the table to where the other fourth year girls that Ginny usually hung around with were laughing and talking amongst themselves.

"Them?" said Ginny, following Harry's eyes. "They're all a bunch of scatterbrains."

Harry laughed. "That's not very nice."

Ginny smiled. "Maybe not." She turned back to her plate.

"So are you excited about making the Quidditch team?" Harry asked, sensing the need for some un-girly conversation.

Ginny nodded. "Not sure how good I'll be in the actual games though."

"You'll be fine," said Harry. "You've had six brothers to practice with. The other Chasers won't be half as good as you."

A smile lit up Ginny's face. Harry noted his still-empty plate. "Can you pass me the potatoes?"

* * *

Draco punched his hand viscously into his bedroom door. His knuckles ached like hell afterwards but he barely registered the pain.

"Damn, Mudblood," he spat.

After spending an entire, mind-numbing hour with Granger and her stupid Arithmancy homework, Draco was sure he wouldn't be able to hold up the facade for the next few weeks. It had been hell acting politely and pretending that he, of all people, would need her help - a Mudblood's help!

The work wasn't difficult; he could have done it with his eyes closed. Well, most of it. But sitting there and pretending to have buried the hatchet with that wiry-haired bint was more than he could handle. And so the first thing he'd done when he got back to his room was to take out his frustration on his unsuspecting door. The pain that lanced through his hand was calming and cleared his mind - for the moment at least.

Some of his ire was directed towards his father. Either Lucius was completely oblivious to the relationship Draco had with Hermione, or he was blindly obeying Voldemort's orders, who was almost certainly completely oblivious to their relationship. When would this ridiculous farce end? And when would his father owl him with further instructions? All Draco knew was that it had better be soon because he couldn't pretend to enjoy Hermione Granger's company for much longer.

* * *

On Thursday evening, Ginny left the Gryffindor common room with Ron and Harry to make their way down to the Quidditch pitch for their first practice session. Ginny's skin was tingling with excitement at the prospect of flying around in the sky with Harry. She kept a subtle distance between herself and the two boys, as Ron bombarded Harry with questions about the team. "Do you think we'll win this year? What kind of brooms do you think we'll get? Is it really nerve-racking before the games? Do I have to wear the shin-guards?" Ginny herself was lost in pleasant thoughts of Harry holding her up at the end of the year with the Quidditch Cup in her hands.

Fred, George, Angelina and Katie were already out on the pitch when they arrived - Alicia having taken the year off to travel around Europe with her parents. A case of balls, a bunch of shin and elbow protectors and two new broomsticks were lying on the ground beside Angelina.

"Here," she said, picking up the broomsticks and handing them to Ron and Ginny. "Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They should be all right for this year."

Better than all right, judging by Ron's expression. His eyes were wide with admiration, his hands running lovingly along the polished handle. Ginny, too, admired the fine craftsmanship that was second only to the Firebolt's. She held it out in the air and took her hand away, smiling appreciatively as it hovered in place.

"Okay," said Angelina, "we're just going to take it easy tonight; get a feel for our brooms again; practice with our new members. So I'll let the balls out and we'll just have some fun."

Her stomach filling with relief - now that she was sure they wouldn't be asked to pull off the Wronski Feint - Ginny climbed onto her broom and rose into the air. Once more she was overcome by the exhilarating feeling of weightlessness, made all the more poignant by the Nimbus Two Thousand and One beneath her, which was a far better broom than any of the ones she had ridden in her childhood. Whatever worries or doubts she'd had before were left on the ground as she rose higher and higher until she was above even the goalposts.

"Catch, Ginny," said Fred, lobbing the Quaffle towards her. Ginny turned her broom to the right and sped forward to intercept the throw. She caught the large crimson ball in her hand and doubled back to the centre of the pitch.

She didn't miss nearly as many passes as she'd thought she would and again she scored a fair amount of goals against Ron, despite him proving to be a skilled Keeper. Harry, too, joined in for a while, before he rose higher than the rest of the team and trained solo with the Snitch, spinning in a loop to catch it before releasing it and diving like a lead weight towards the ground to seize it once more. Ginny winced just before Harry pulled up his broom, as she did every time he dived so recklessly at the ground.

At the end of the hour, when all seven team members had hit the grass and were discussing the training session with reddened cheeks and wind-ruffled hair, Ginny had to admit that she could get used to this.

"We'll win the Cup for sure this year," George proclaimed.

And Ginny couldn't help but feel that perhaps he was right. Perhaps they would win.

* * *

Deep in the darkened woods that Muggles said were haunted, in the tallest spire of his ominous stone fortress, the Dark Lord stared contemplatively out of the window at the trees below. Outside he could hear the calls of birds in the night; birds that sang for entirely different reasons to their Muggle counterparts. They lulled lost travellers further into the forest with their harmonious song, where they would peck out their eyes and eat them while they were still moist.

There were other things down there too - things that could eat a person whole or drain the blood from their veins within seconds. None of them could gain entry to the castle of course - Slytherin himself had withstood a thousand-strong siege inside its walls with only a meagre force - and even if they could, they wouldn't dare approach the Dark Lord. No - the beasts were his, just as his servants were his.

"Have you heard from your son, Lucius?" he asked the best of them.

"No. Not yet, my Lord."

Voldemort's throat rumbled ruminatively. "No matter," he said. "It is early yet. But you must be ready to retrieve the girl, when he is ready to deliver her."

"Of course, master."

Voldemort gazed deeper into the woods, where the trees rustled softly from the wind and the creatures beneath. "Harry Potter shall be mine," he hissed. "His heart shall lure him here, and when it does...I shall cut it out."

* * *