fervere

Chapter Eighteen

“It would be our greatest honor to hand over captain position to Draco Malfoy!” Adrian Pucey clapped much to the fanfare of the rest of the quidditch team on their first official practice. Draco, who had been resting his tired head on his propped-up broom handle, perked up at the announcement.  

The news had taken him fully by surprise, especially since he was reserving the little energy he had for practice. Needless to say, he was exhausted.

Crabbe and Goyle gave him a friendly tousle and pushed him into the middle of their circle to give a speech as the small applause died down. Draco stumbled in, uncoordinated. The shock had certainly rattled him into attention.

“I can’t,” Draco quickly announced much to the annoyance of Pucey who, by all accounts, took the role of having the entire team to vote on it. Draco had an inkling that both his friends were the contributing factor of how the vote swayed.  

“Come off it Malfoy,” Pucey snapped, his joyous face was wiped off revealing his snarl, “You got the majority of votes.”  

Draco's grey eyes flickered to Montague, a quiet-natured sandy blonde seventh year, who had been on the team longer than anyone, smiling politely at him. He was tall and brawny, and quite an extraordinary chaser if Draco was honest.  

Draco nearly chewed on his bottom lip in thought while his teammates all waited for his speech.

The Slytherin team had been an extremely competitive team to get into for years. Slytherin had the resources and the experience of players who grew up with the game all their life. Even the worst Slytherin hopeful was still miles ahead than a well trained Gryffindor. Because of this, they have their pick at a vast number of students with exceptional talent which came in handy in the case any player was seriously injured during a match.

Montague was one of those players that was a talented flyer and was extremely intelligent with game plays. Was it not him and Pucey that had taken it upon themselves to arrange their former team? 

Pucey was not the leadership type but Montague was and he deserved it more than anyone on this team.  

Besides leading the formation of their team, it was known that Montague had trained their chasers to be a force to reckoned with. He could whip the entire team up like he did with the chasers. Is it not an obvious choice? 

Perhaps he wasn’t as boisterous or loud like Draco, 

He sure wasn’t a showboat like Draco had been but he was observant.

He was the silent type who studied the other teams closely to know exactly where their strengths and weaknesses lied.

Perhaps he was not one that most people would associate as authoritative, but Draco knew better. At least when it came to the game, Montague was leagues better at it than Draco. He was the kind of leader Slytherin needed.  

Draco knew that Montague was a better captain if he had a chance to prove it.  

“I have enough on my plate,” Draco snapped at Pucey, a fourth year who more than likely voted for him as well, “I’ve got OWLs and Prefect duties, I barely get enough sleep nowadays, so I decline. I'd be a pretty shitty captain anyways.” 

That left the team stunned. 

“But also,” Draco continued, “I decline on pure principle, if any of you actually used your head, you’d know that Montague is a better pick.” 

The seventh year casted a nervous glance at Draco while the others exchanged confused looks.  

“If you lot would just shut up long enough to hear him out, you’d know that he’s great,” Draco said with finality, “I’m sure he’s his chaser mates had his vote.” 

Draco looked at the two other chasers flanking Montague: Warrington and Bletchley. 

“The rest of you,” Draco pointed to the team, “You lot have a lot to thank Montague and Pucey for. If they didn’t have faith in you, we’d all be wasting time hosting tryouts.” 

Draco knew it was probably not fair to other hopefuls, but as a team, they decided that their team was as good as it got.  

“So if you still choose me as captain,” Draco continued, “Then I accept but, as Captain, it is my duty to steer the team to the best of my abilities, correct?” 

“Uh,” Crabbe hummed out, “Yeah?” 

“It was a hypothetical, dimwit,” Goyle grumbled, saying something intelligent for once. 

Draco huffed, “I am not the captain this team needs and I cannot, in confidence, lead this team. Even if I didn’t have all the shit going on, Montague would still be the best pick.” 

Montague’s celery green eyes glazed over.  

“Dylan,” Draco smirked, “I, hereby, override the team’s vote as captain and transfer the duties to you.” 

Dylan Montague ducked his head.  

“You will make a great captain,” He assured placing a rough but appreciative pat on Montague’s shoulder. Draco then ripped the captain badge from Pucey’s hand, who looked displeased, and handed it over to Dylan Montague, “I expect great things this season.” 

Montague held his badge with disbelief and a growing smile. Draco who had placed a congratulating hand on his shoulder uncharacteristically brought him into a hug. He gave him a sturdy pat on the back and pulled away.  

“Let’s go have a kick ass first practice.” Draco announced to the cheers of his team. They put their broom handles together and began to chant over and over again.  

The team, warming up to the change, gave Montague gentle pats on the back. Something Draco could see, he really appreciated.  

“Not so fast,” A voice drawled, a voice that challenged the patience of every Hogwarts’ student. Even Draco's shoulders had involuntarily tensed up at the sound of Umbridge who, for the better part of the year, has been tormenting them.

Professor Umbridge stepped into the Slytherin changing rooms, a sickly placid smile stretched over on her twisted ugly face. Draco did his best to fix his face when he wheeled around, along with the rest of the team, in shock that a Professor, no less a woman, had stepped into their private area.

The pink she wore was not a color that was often seen in the realms of Slytherin nor did it suit green and silver well. What looked like should be a fitted coat and skirt simply clung on to her like a sack of potatoes, even moved like a sack of potatoes as Umbridge floated in further to approached them.

“Boys," She said with a pompous twitch of a brow, "So glad to come across you. It was scheduled to be announced tomorrow but seeing as I was a former Slytherin, myself."

Dear, Merlin, Draco thought.

Umbridge continued, "Thought to give your team the heads up. I will be needing all academic, sports, or social organizations to be approved by the Ministry, through me, of course."

The announcement Professor Umbridge revealed had send a silencing shock through all seven boys, who stared at her openly. Umbridge sent a small wink towards Draco as if she wanted him to know that she was on his side. That Umbridge would do anything in her power to make sure that Slytherins wouldn't be harshly affected by her own harsh standards. 

Draco really struggled to hide his face of disgust, feeling his own sneer pull on his cheek.

“It will be a new educational decree. If you schedule a meeting with me to have your organization approved, then there will be no obstacle on having a Slytherin Quidditch team play for the House Cup.” She blinked innocently, as if she was giving them a fair heads up, one that Draco doubt the other teams were getting. 

Draco’s eyes fluttered in utter disgusted astonishment. It was yet another thing she was ruining.  

They had already suffered an entire month of dealing with the absolute bore of a class with Umbridge, it wasn’t until the last week when she cracked and began terrorizing the entire school, outside of their Defense Against the Dark Arts class.  

It started fair enough with a decree against spell check quills but after a few days, she had racked up twenty-eight. The reign of terror all started off with a spell check quill and now they were soon to reach thirty decrees.  

And with what authority? 

She had called herself the Ministry’s Schooling Highest Investigations Teamhead.  

S.H.I.T. 

Draco winced when a rolling wave of laughter threatened to disable his senses when she mentioned that title to them again assuring them their quidditch team would have no problem being approved.  

It was bad enough that Umbridge had been the worst Defense Against the Dark Arts professor Hogwarts had ever seen but this was starting to be comically terrible. It rivaled the total shit show (Draco held in his breath trying not to chuckle), that was Lockhart from their second year.  

A memory of Hermione pining after that professor quickly spoiled his mood and Draco was back to sulking for a moment.  

Draco wouldn’t have minded if Umbridge turned out to be as rotten as Father’s other friends and taught them actual Dark Magic. At least it would have made for an interesting lesson than the boredom she forced upon them every lesson. It only took Draco a single class to realize her lessons were a waste of time. He later charmed his charms book to look like the Ministry approved textbook so he could catch up on other homework while they were supposed to read silently in class for an entire hour.  

Surely, Dumbledore knew what was happening.It only took a moment of pause to remind Draco of something Dumbledore had asked of him. Draco contemplated if he was expected to report every whim of suspicion he had of her. Dumbledore hadn’t left him with precise instructions this time but, when had he ever really. There was something seeded inside of Draco that he absolutely knew if he had to deal with Umbridge, this would be the start. He didn’t even have to seek her out.

She was right there, almost begging to be accepted by bribing them with certainties.  

It might be a terrible thought, but Draco wouldn’t have minded being favored if it was actually from a decent Professor. Having Umbridge’s stamp of approval, didn’t mean much in terms of honor.  

Umbridge giggled, waiting for their response. It was like nails on a chalkboard. 

Draco gritted his teeth. It was then when he knew he made a sound choice. Montague would be an infinitely better Captain than he was, after all, Draco forced the want to punch that ol’ frog in her face deep down inside at the moment. 

Draco cleared his throat, “Perfect, rest assure our team captain, Montague, will be willing to schedule a meeting as soon as possible.” 

She was taken aback but swiftly turned to the other members of the team to spot out the most unlikely student. Montague raised his hand and led Umbridge out of their changing rooms while Montague discussed a time when they could come to an agreement for the coming educational decree.  

Draco gripped onto the sleek handle of his broomstick and motioned over to the opposite exit that led straight to the pitch.  

“Shall we start our first practice?” 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

Draco was stunned that they were in the middle of October now and they were still somehow surviving the terrorizing reign of Umbridge. She was in and out of classrooms, disrupting class and making it nearly impossible for students to receive a complete lesson.  

Completing assignments had become a heavier chore for every student, especially when they had to go back and forth to each Professor in their spare time to spend an extra ten minutes of review with them. It was all because of precious class time taken from them by Umbridge. 

Lucky for Umbridge, she caught wind of the whispers behind her back of her title, Schooling Highest Investigations Teamhead, so her title was withdrawn, soon to be announced. Surely, she was busy scribbling new names during their tedious boring lessons. Draco nearly dozed off trying to write a quick in-class essay for Umbridge over the topic of “Best Five Laws the Ministry has Passed”. When he heard his name being called, snapping him out of his slumber, Umbridge simply let out her high pitch giggle and scolded him. 

It was nothing like the punishments he heard Harry Potter was getting for speaking out of terms in class. 

Judging by the suffering around Draco, he wasn’t the only one struggling to writing something of worth. Umbridge went back to her own parchment, crossing out words she just wrote and jotting down new ideas. Draco sighed and looked at his terrible essay, wincing at the fact that he could turn in anything and Umbridge would happily accept his work with top scores. 

Draco looked forward to anything that wasn’t her useless class.  

Even History, that was once a bore, seemed pretty exciting now.  

Ignoring the struggle of the first six weeks at school, Draco held out for their first Quidditch match against Ravenclaw, a week before Halloween. It was something Draco been looking forward to it since he knew that most of the school would be in attendance.  

It was possibly the biggest game of the year because, by the looks of Umbridge’s disapproval of jovial students around her, it might be the only game of the year if she had her way.  

Hufflepuff and Gryffindor had yet to land a meeting with Umbridge to have their team approved due to her ‘busy’ schedule.  

Considering that the game also landed on a trip to Hogsmeade (thanks to the scheduling cleverness of the Head Boy and Girl), there was already whispers of plans of celebration after the game, no matter the outcome. Draco pictured that the Three Broomsticks and the Hogshead would be filled to the brim with students.  

All four houses just bidding their time to relax out of the reach of Umbridge. Extensive plans were being made, even by the most rule abiding students who unwillingly had to follow direct orders from the toad when Dumbledore was not around as much.  

“I’ll be going to Puddifoot,” Hermione whispered over to Goyle during a Potions class.  

Draco’s eyes suddenly flickered towards the pair next to him, one of the oddest pairs Snape selected, and yet, their shared respect was evident. Hermione had guided and tutored Goyle like a gentle general and he reinforced her gift in teaching and instruction. 

Mentions of another kind of plan aside from the Three Broomsticks and the Hog’s Head made the grip on Draco's quill tightened in anticipation. They were discussing their weekend plans, something Draco hadn’t really heard about about Hermione nor did he ever think she’d be sharing this information willingly to Goyle like an old friend. 

Draco felt the tinge of jealousy.  

Wasn’t he her friend? 

Draco fought his conflicting feelings internally as he continued to witness the blossoming friendship between Granger and Goyle that stretched far beyond the boundaries of just a mutual respect in potions. 

Draco huffed, envy heating his neck.

He had to admit, it was an interesting place to announce, Puddifoot’s that is.

It wasn’t a place most students were planning on going.  

“You’re not going to the game?” Goyle asked, squinting at Hermione’s book filled with notes. He had a goofy smile on his face, as if he thought he had the perfect cheat sheet next to him. Goyle had declared once during dinner that Hermione had gotten him some perfect scores in classed other than potions.  

It was nearly laughable until Goyle proved it with some of his first exams. Goyle nearly made Professor Flitwick faint when he whisked his wand around and made all the exams from his desk dance over to each student.   

Surprisingly, Goyle said Hermione’s notes were easy to understand.  

Draco had no idea how Hermione had cracked Goyle, but she did, and now he was displaying quite the talent at potions. He wasn’t the best by any means but he had certainly surpassed Neville towards being one of the midrange students. A feat that was not only impressive, but a downright miracle.  

“Oh,” Hermione breathed out, “Well only if Viktor wants to watch, actually I'm not sure if he'll be too tired to do anything in the morning.” 

Draco bit his lip as a wave of agonizing disappointment washed over him.

For fuck’s sake, KRUM? 

“He’s coming to stay at Hogsmeade.” She whispered over to Goyle who gawked at her in surprise, “I’m not sure if Dumbledore would allow a visitor on school grounds.” 

“Why not?” Goyle gasped, “I’ll go beg the beard off of that old man. It’s not like Krum hasn’t been here before surely Dumbledore would make the exception. And I don’t mean to gloat but I really think Montague can be scouted. He’s really an amazing player-” 

“Hey Malfoy,” Neville whispered, pulling Draco’s laser focus away from the conversation. 

“What!” Draco hissed back attempting to keep his voice low. He didn’t want to miss a single word even if it killed Draco.  

“You spilled your ink bottle,” Neville pointed out.  

Draco turned back to his essay, or what was left of it. The biggest ink blot had been smeared by his own hand and Draco had the urge to hurl his ink pot across the room for the mistake.  

“Let me,” Neville said, his wand out, “I always spill ink. I’m pretty good at clean up spells now.” 

With a sharp twist of his wand, Neville pointed it at his writing and the ink gathered around in beads undissolving off the parchment. Draco gave Neville an appreciative smile as he whipped the ink around the air and swirled it around back into his ink pot.

Draco turned his ears back to Hermione and Goyle cradling his chin with his thumb, feigning his interest in his book. 

“If you ask me,” Goyle pointed to Hermione’s book, “You run the risk of dehydrating the properties out of the Valerian root, if you use a spell. I think a more proper term the book should use is aged. Which means we have to prepare our Valerian root now if we want to make a proper sleeping draft potion.” 

Hermione nodded in agreement and Draco sulked. They had moved on to a different topic. Perhaps it was a bit naive of him to hope that Goyle would convince Hermione out of meeting Krum that day and go to the Quidditch match so Hermione could witness Draco's glory.

Draco grumbled under his breath.  

“Should we reschedule our next study session?” Neville asked, “I know you’ll be practicing for Quidditch for the next few nights and I promised Professor Sprout to help her trim the Mandrake leaves which means I can also prepare the Valerian root...” 

Neville trailed off, his eyes widening at Draco once he turned to him. The expression was quite a strange one, causing Draco to narrow his eyes at Neville in suspicion. 

“That’s fine,” Draco nodded. 

Neville stared on. 

“I’ll have night patrol for the rest of this week and the next.” Draco continued to no reaction from Neville. Only that blank stupid expression was on his face.  

Frustrated, Draco closed his book a bit more forceful than he intended, causing a few to look at them.  

“Do I have something on my face Longbottom?” Draco snapped.  

Ron looked over his shoulder and Blaise began to cackle maniacally.  

“Oy mate!” Blaise loudly announced gathering the attention from the entire class, even Snape who glanced up disinterested, “You’ve got ink on your face!” 

Ron’s face twisted in a smirk.  

“It looks like whiskers,” Ron snorted.  

From the corner of Draco’s sight, he saw Hermione’s hair. She was leaning over to get a glimpse of him, beaming to see ink smeared on his cheeks.  

“Someone give him a nose!” Crabbe roared. Goyle had dipped his pointer finger in his own ink pot and before Draco even thought his friends would betray him like this, Goyle dotted a black nose on the tip of his own nose.  

Then entire class roared in laughter and Draco sunk in his seat. Neville peered into his sight with his wand in his hand.  

“I didn’t think you’d believe me,” Neville whispered, “I’d have to point my wand at your face.” 

Draco sighed, “Do it.” 

The laughter didn’t die down immediately as Draco silently sulked at the slight embarrassment but at least Neville was kind enough to ignore the small comments and jabs from his friends by continuing their conversation. 

“You said night patrol? All of this week?” Neville repeated. 

“And the next,” Draco sighed out, 

“Don’t you do that everyone once in a while?”  

“Nope,” Draco shook his head.  

“Ron and Hermione do night patrol twice a week.” Neville pointed out something that Draco already known. It was the norm for prefects.  

Except for Draco, considering the fact that Pansy had an extreme fall out with the Slytherin Head Boy from the stress of OWLs and dramatically quit. Draco had witnessed the entire debacle centered over Pansy misusing the Prefect’s Bathroom as a secret snogging spot to let off steam with a very willing Adrian Pucey. 

Truth be told, most of the school witnessed the screaming during lunch when Pansy was confronted, about to have her bathroom privileges taken away. She gave a shrill excuse that it was the Head Boy that had invaded her privacy and that she knew first hand, how he used his Bathroom privileges as well.  

It was quite the scene the more the fight went on and ultimately Pansy quit. Draco had the audacity to hide his smirk behind the Daily Prophet throughout the entire thing during breakfast.  

That is until the Head Boy turned to him and reminded him that Pansy’s patrolling hours still needed to be covered by Slytherin until the next official Prefect meeting, where they could sort out a more even distribution between houses. 

Draco turned to Neville narrowing his eyes in concentration.  

“If you set up the root tonight,” Draco began, “I can check up on them for the next two days during my patrolling nights. The Greenhouse is along my route anyways.” 

Neville sat up straight, “Okay, sure. I can let Professor Sprout know you’ll be stopping by at night to check up on them.” 

Neville stopped to count on his fingers. 

“We’re about two weeks away from Snape’s midterm exam, the root should be ready by then,” Neville nodded. He cocked his head to the side, his book wide open but his eyes cast to the side in thought.  

“Don’t you have quidditch practice tomorrow?” Neville asked, “Your match-” 

“Don’t worry about it Longbottom,” Draco waved off, “It’s honestly not a big deal.” 

And it wasn’t.  

Draco was up to his neck in school but the workload guaranteed him peace of mind that he wouldn’t let his mind wander too much over Hermione and he was thankful for it. 

Free time was his true enemy. 

The free time he had in Snape lesson was proof. He just had to hear of Hermione’s plans and ruin his own mood.  

If he had a minute of rest, he’d use that to torture himself one the million ways he was a fool for fancying her and make use of his Wand Whisperers magazine to fantasize over some other witches. 

The day after, he had used Quidditch practice to blow off some more steam. He had read in the Daily Prophet that morning that Krum had been spotted around London, no doubt coming in to have a wonderful weekend with Hermione.  

It nearly made his eye twitch in annoyance how persistent this news was when Draco really need to focus on himself.  

Draco didn’t want to think about it but Krum had made its way onto school gossip, all speculating why he was straying far off from Bulgaria during the training season.  

Even later on in the evening during practice, Draco stole Crabbe’s bat to take out his frustration on a bludger after practice was over. His team hadn’t abandoned him on the pitch. They merely stared at the streaks of green and silver in the sky swatching away the angry balls, wondering what was wrong with their team seeker.  

Draco hopped off his broom in a swift motion, storming passed his team to hit the showers. He only wanted to take the grime off with a steaming hot pour of water. Draco stepped out of the showers red and squeaky clean, only wanting to quickly change to get to the Prefect Bathroom.  

His real goal of the night was to sneak into the Prefect’s bathroom and begin a bath so he could get a good soak at the end of his patrol duties. He thought perhaps it would loosen him up enough for tomorrow’s match considering how tense he was.  

Draco marched over to the changing room just in time to find his own team still in their practice robes surrounding a glimpse of pink in the middle. Draco didn’t need to strain his eyes to know it was Umbridge.  

Again. 

Draco ran his hand through his thick sloppy wet hair and stomp over in frustration, readying himself to yell her out of the changing rooms.  

He had the full right to kick Umbridge out of their locker rooms when male students were changing. Thankfully, Slytherin had the funds to dress their players in lush bathrobes for their showers but it still didn’t mean a female professor could waltz in for...  

Well, Draco didn’t know exactly why Umbridge’s toad face was smiling up at him, as if she were glad to see him. They had been approved as a club ages ago, what could she be up to now? 

The reason for the invasive intrusion was summed up in a single straightforward pamphlet that she promptly handed to him. 

“What’s the Best Developed Students for the Ministry?” Draco read off, squinting at the print steam nearly coming out of his ears. 

“B.D.S.M.,” Umbridge proudly announced, “Is a Ministry approved club that allows students to report anything suspicious.” 

Captain Montague snorted out a dry laugh before slapping his hand over his mouth. Draco’s sight swept over to his team, withholding a tight smile. She couldn’t be serious, could she? 

“I see,” Draco cleared his throat, fixing and refixing the stupid incredulous smile on his face that failed to be the vision of a composed Slytherin. 

“Just an invite only organization,” Umbridge blinked slowly, hoping they would all get the gist, “To welcome students who I believe have a promising future at the Ministry.” 

“We already have a student government,” Montague handed the pamphlet back, “Take it up with the Heads if you want actual responsible students in B.D.S.M. We only care about Quidditch here.”  

Draco smirked. The more he thought about the name, the more it broke him to not laugh. It was torture. He stuck his tongue into his cheek to relax his muscles.  

There was a flash of something nefarious behind Umbridge’s eyes once she saw the pompous looks on each of their faces, as if they were mocking her (and maybe they were). She took her time to look everyone square in the face and gave a meek shrug.  

“Then it would be a shame if you’d have to forfeit tomorrow’s game when I take back my approval.” She said as if the threat had hurt her to say. Draco’s mouth parted in disbelief at how diabolical this professor was at forcing her recruitment.  

“Meetings will only be once a month,” She blinked her eyes innocently and Draco knew that he had no choice in the matter. Draco’s father was the only parent here that worked deep within the Ministry. Draco had a feeling Umbridge wouldn’t hesitate to mention his insubordination to his father casually over a prompt letter by the next morning.  

He begrudgingly accepted on behalf of his team. He didn’t wait around to hear her response after he declared that if he joined, then that should be enough representation from the Quidditch team. 

Sure, Draco wasn’t the captain, but Draco could see it in her eyes that if he followed through it would be easy to have the others join in too.  

Draco locked himself in a private lavatory and changed with a flick of his wand and rushed out. The sudden thought of having to check up on Neville’s and his Valarian root sidetracked him.  

He completely abandoned his idea of a bath, forgetting it from the extreme annoyance of having to comply with Umbridge’s wishes.  

Draco mental went through the list of instructions Neville left him with. He warned him of warding off any ice ants or flutterbugs that might want to start snacking on the root. Be sure to gently flick off any dust, in fear of spore contamination and check the firmness of one to see how much more time they needed. 

Thankfully on this very serene night, their roots were perfectly fine, drying as expected. He used his wand to gently blast a bit of dust with soft air off the roots. Thankfully there were no signs of pests and best of all, Draco guessed they only needed one more week to have the roots fully prepared.  

Professor Sprout ushered Draco off with a tired look before locking up the Greenhouses just in time for curfew. 

Draco hiked back up to Hogwarts slowly readying himself for Prefect duties, his mind whirling in thought. He had the sneaking suspicion that Umbridge was aware of something that was out of Draco’s knowledge. Umbridge might be insane but she was purposeful, and she wouldn’t go out of her way to form a new student group if it didn’t serve her needs.   

Draco ran his hands through his damp hair finally reporting for Prefect duties. He lightly jogged across the courtyard of the clock tower. He took out his prefect badge and pinned it on his robes, looking down the corridor wondering what way to head to.  

To his left, would lead Draco to the Hospital Wing. 

And to his right, would take Draco straight into the warm brown eyes belonging to Hermione. Her brows hitched up a millimeter in surprise. She was standing with her hands intertwined together, giving him a hopeful smile even if her face indicated nothing but hesitation.  

“Draco,” She breathlessly said, “Hi.” 

Draco’s eyes rapidly blinked wanting his mouth to respond but his brain drew blanks.  

Say something. 

He gulped and he nervously ran his hands through his damp hair again a few blond strand falling over his forehead. Hermione’s eyes darted up and her mouth parted slightly. 

Draco let out a forced laugh, “Hi.” 

He shook his head, feeling the rush of all the embarrassing feelings of jealousy and wanting to rip Krum’s face off only to be brought to his knees when she managed to corner him in a place he couldn’t make a smooth escape.  

“Sorry,” He apologize feeling the warm coming to his sharp cheeks, “I feel like I’m getting caught red handed for sneaking out.” 

Hermione licked her lips causing Draco to gulp as if he hadn’t had any water to drink in days.  

“Oh,” She scrunched her nose up in an adorable way that made Draco want to punch himself in the face for it, “I saw you come from the Greenhouses. Neville mentioned that you two are drying your Valerian root there?” 

Draco nodded.  

“Goyle and I as well... I assumed that’s what you were checking on,” Hermione confirmed, “You’re patrolling again?” 

“Yeah, Pansy-” 

“Quit.” Hermione gave a confirming nod, “I heard.” 

“Who didn’t?” Draco joked, a crooked smile spreading lazily across his face at the amusing memory. 

“So you’re doubling up on patrol.” Hermione pointed out, nervously kneading her hands together, “You must be exhausted.”  

There was a twinge in his heartstrings that he loathed but still relished in the feeling that Hermione’s keen observation of him was still present in her mind. She was thinking of him. Maybe not in the way he thought of her, but still.  

Draco in some way had been occupying her mind.  

“I am but I can wait until our next Prefect meeting. I think the Heads will can evenly delegate patrol hours in November,” Draco let out a long sigh and shrugged, “Our Head Boy told us there’s always at least two fifth year prefects that quit during the year. I suppose it’s too much.” 

Hermione continued to stare at him as a lull in their conversation settled in. 

She cocked her head.  

“Is Ron patr-” 

“Did you just shower?” She abruptly asked and she shook her head as if she was scolding herself for such a stupid question when, clearly, Draco’s question was the “better” one. The more standard kind of question. 

“Yeah,” Draco nodded, “Quidditch practice. Actually I was going to use the prefect’s bathroom after we finish...” 

Another lull accompanied by Hermione’s scarlet face. Draco’s hand shot up nervously to shake his damp hair.  

“I mean it would be past our curfew but...” He gulped let out another nervous laugh, “You make me feeling like I’m going to get in trouble for something I haven’t done yet, Granger.” 

“That’s more telling of admission of intended guilt than anything to do with me.” She playfully glared back.  

Draco winced, “You got me there Granger. Maybe I am as bad as you think I am.” 

She gulped and glanced around. She probably realized that they shouldn’t be so chummy and stick to the fact that they shouldn’t be so friendly. Yet, Hermione couldn’t help herself and Draco certainly wasn’t going to stop her, not when he had stop himself from indulging for months. 

“Maybe I should start-” 

“Ron’s sick.” She abruptly admitted, “I told him to go to the hospital wing but he insisted on resting up in the dorms. I suppose he felt guilty since we usually patrol together, so he swiped Harry’s map for me and...” 

She pulled out that mangy old piece of parchment and showed it to him.  

“I think he wanted my patrol to be pretty simple.” She made a face of her own guilt, “I’ve usually scolded him about using this as a cheat to see who was out of bed but when I noticed you’re always on duty I...” 

Draco was probably jumping to conclusions but he assumed Hermione wanted to see him and just the hint of the gesture sent an urge to pull her into the nearest classroom to snog her senseless.  

Draco couldn’t help his smirk because within seconds his guards had vanished and his heart fully pumping foolishly and happily for her. 

“You wanted to see me?” He asked boldly. It was the right question to ask seeing Hermione cave into her own confusing thoughts.  

“Well,” She gulped, “I think it’s been a while since we’ve talked and...” 

“Are you trying to say you missed me?” Draco teased in a way that didn’t feel like teasing. He was hopeful.  

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled, “Honestly Draco...” 

But she didn’t retort his claim. She blinked rapidly, trying to come up with something to explain herself. Why she had used this map to lead herself to him.

“Perhaps?” She scoffed and shrugged, “You out of all people, can you even imagine?” 

Draco gawked at her, the pull of his heartstrings becoming uncomfortably taut.  

“Granger...” 

“Don’t you dare,” Hermione narrowed her eyes, pointing her finger as a warning. Everytime he had used her last name, even as a tease, she notably became annoyed.  

“Wait. Did you also use this map to find me in the Astronomy Tower that night?” He guffawed at the realization; stunning Hermione speechless before she could even register his question, “You did? You did!” 

Hermione sharply inhaled, “I stumbled upon the fact that I saw you on the map! I did not use the map exclusively to corner you or or- or follow you! It was a matter of convenient circumstances.” 

Draco snorted, “Is this also a matter of convenient circumstances, too?” 

Hermione playfully shoved him, glancing around and exhaling as if she was tired of not knowing him at all.  

Draco sighed, “Shouldn’t you be avoiding me?” 

Hermione crossed her arms, “Well first, you’re the one who said we couldn’t and second, I’ve checked the map. No one is close by.” 

Hermione paused for a moment before nervously checking the map just in case. She huffed out a smile, assuring herself. 

“I know I shouldn’t be misusing this but,” She bit her lip, “We don’t have to walk around if we know who's out by checking the map.” 

It clicked for Draco.  

She was using this as an excuse to meet with him.  

They both have been keeping a respectable distance so far this year. Hermione was clever enough to know that the sudden familiarity of each other would be questioned by everyone in the student body, so they interacted only when it was needed in classes, nothing more.  

This, however, was a desperate attempt to reclaim something that was meant to stay in the past. In their summer.  

And it was Hermione who had broken Draco’s flimsy boundaries.  

Draco took a look at his watch and frowned.  

Was two hours enough to spend time with her? 

He bit his lip in thought. Time was ticking away and Hermione’s face was caving in embarrassment. Perhaps she had been too eager or too willing to talk to Draco. He stared on until she let out a long sigh.  

“Why do you look at me like that?” Hermione whined playfully, cocking her head to the side in resignation. 

Draco didn’t dare to rip his eyes from her, even if he had been caught red handed. He wanted to remember every detail of her face. The slight wrinkle of the corner of her eyes when she smiled or glared. The pull of the corner of her mouth, revealing a faint dimple. The curl of her lashes. 

Her pools of dark brown that flashed bronze when the torches flicker caught the reflection of her eyes. 

The way her lips moved in that certain way when she said his name. 

“I look exactly how?” He asked gulping, shaking his head as if he had no idea what she was talking about.  

“Like,” She rolled her eyes up in thought, “Like you’re trying to figure me out. So inquisitive.” 

“Perhaps I am,” He admitted and Hermione simply took it as him jesting.  

“Come on,” She smirked, grabbing a fistful of his sleeve and gestured him to start patrolling, “Flitch usually patrols this corridor. Let’s go somewhere else.” 

“Lead the way Granger,” Draco smirked, “You’re the one with the map.”  

She flashed him a playful glare before glancing at the map and taking them on a beautiful early fall stroll around the castle.  

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

Draco woke up feeling quite refreshed, his heart swollen and beating in his chest in bliss. Today just before lunch was their Quidditch match with Hufflepuff. He knew he had over slept but he didn’t know by how much.  

The match was at 11:00 am.  

Draco woke up a little before 10:30. 

Needless to say, he jumped out of his bed and rushed out of his private dorm. He skipped out on breakfast, pulling his rich green quidditch jumper over his head. His broom was tight in his grip as he marched over to the Slytherin changing rooms where his team was already assembled.  

They all turned to him, not exactly panicked from his timely appearance but worried because of his absence at breakfast.  

“You’re here!” Montague raised his voice over his team, “Care to explain?” 

Crabbe and Goyle both visibly relaxed as if they were being interrogated on his whereabouts. Maybe it was because they were in the same year and friends that Montague thought it best to jump on them first. 

“I’m on time, am I not?” Draco grumbled but still serenely happy, flashing a look at his two friends who looked mildly relieved. It wasn’t exactly his fault that his patrol went way beyond the set hours of their duties. He just hadn’t hung out with Hermione in a while.  

“See?” Crabbe whined, “Told you he was fine.” 

“S’got Prefect duties, donchu?” Goyle pointed at Draco who, in turn, nodded.  

“I had to catch up on homework after patrol,” He quickly lied, “Had a late night.” 

At least he wasn’t lying about his late night. Draco and Hermione didn’t often get moments alone like those. Draco had to make the most of the opportunity.  

“You not only missed breakfast but warm up.” Montague pointed out.  

“Couldn’t sleep,” Draco continued. It wasn’t that he couldn’t sleep because he had trouble falling asleep. It was more because even when he did find himself in bed, he only wanted to lay awake and delight in the feeling of fullness in his heart. 

There was a moment or two when Hermione accidentally bumped her hand against Draco’s. The first was when they had crossed through the clock tower court yard. The other was when they had strolled down the very corridor leading to the Great Hall, when he first saw her in that beautiful periwinkle dress for the Yule Ball.  

The touch had been so slight and quick, Draco could have chalked it up to his own imagination but for once, his reality was so much sweeter than anything he could conjure in his mind. He turned to Hermione the moment he felt that jolt of fire crackling under his skin and she immediately apologize for walking too close to him. Draco resisted the urge to just grab her hand and hold her forever.  

There was even a moment right before they called it a night, right outside of Slytherin in the Dungeons, when she pointed out his hair again 

“It’s dry now.” She yawned, pushing her weight up on to her toes to reach the strands of blonde that strayed onto his forehead to tuck them back into place, “Your hair.” 

Draco nodded, combing his fingers into his hair to ruffle it back into his messy shag.  

“I never notice how... thick it is,” Hermione slowly added, glancing at the two-piece strand that swept on his forehead once more. 

Draco gave a halfhearted shrug, “It’s the Black gene, I suppose. Skipped the wild unkempt bit of it.” 

Hermione’s mouth parted, and stared at him in wonder.  

“Do you remember the Walkman?” She asked.  

Draco nodded.  

“I thought maybe I should pack it,” She slowly began, “I wasn’t sure if muggle things would actually work here since most of the time they don’t but I learned a locomotor spell that turns the cassette. It works for music.” 

Draco blinked, “Wicked.” 

They fell into a silence that was only telling that their night was soon to be over. 

Hermione looked like she was searching for something else to bring up, anything. Draco would have too, except he knew that their time would have to do for now. Any more and he would be more than greedy.  

He’d simply steal her away if she wanted. 

Hermione had both her hands on the map. She had led him to the dungeons to make sure he didn’t run into any professor that happened to be still out, curious as to why a Prefect was still out past midnight, one hour after their Prefect duties were to conclude.  

Interestingly enough, Hermione didn’t make a move to leave and even if Draco was tired, he didn’t want her to go. Maybe he was a teensy bit more greedy than he could admit. 

He might have blamed his exhausted mind but he was brave enough to invite her in.  

“Wanna come in? Tour my House.” He suggested, “We’ve got private rooms.” 

There was a long pause and when most people would have shied away from awkward silences, Draco reveled in it. He watched her face submit to her curiosity. She was going through all the ways she shouldn’t and why it was an easy no, but her lengthy pause meant that despite all reason, she wanted to. 

Her reservation meant she was thinking about it and it had stunned her. 

She didn’t have to say it. Her eyes betrayed her every thought. The way her brown eyes intently watched him and then flicker down the way Draco’s would too when the irresistible urge to kiss her overcame him.  

Draco could see the fight in her eyes and that was enough fuel to keep this roaring fever to last another lifetime. He decided not to tempt himself any longer with her response. It was an agonizing silence as their bodies leaned in, millimeter by millimeter, of a pull that wasn’t quite strong but it was there.  

And it was enough. It had to be enough for now.  

“Perhaps another time then?” Draco offered answering for Hermione who looked like she had missed an opportunity. She deflated.  

“Yeah,” She gulped, “Yeah, I should go...” 

He bid her a goodnight, his heart pumping in happiness, when her blank face watched him disappeared into the Slytherin house. 

Montague rallied this team around him, hearing the roaring cheers of all the students in the stands echoing into their changing rooms. It sounded like most of the school had made it out and they had judging by the deafening volume of muffled cheers that enveloped them. An exciting strike of nerves hit each and every one of them, sensing the anticipation that was outside. 

There was a certain fear palpable at Hogwarts that even Quidditch might be taken away by Umbridge who had a taste of wasting time in front of books instead of practical applications of magic. Who knows what she would make of Quidditch if she deemed it too fun or too distracting for her version of academics.  

Umbridge might even force Quidditch teams to battle it out over a Quidditch guide book quiz as a riveting game. 

There was a sense of solidarity that all students better make the most of a match right now in the case that the entire season was soon to be revoked.  

With Umbridge sticking her nose into every corner of student life, it was highly possible.  

Montague led them out to the pitch. They followed behind him, in rows of two. The Slytherin chants at an all time high were now at a deafening level when the students caught sight of the team heading towards the center of the pitch, all clutching their sleek Nimbus 2001.  

Draco glanced upwards, noticing the sea of green and yellow around them, all excited students ready to see the first match of the year.  

Surprisingly, there was an awful amount of red and blue in the crowd as well. It was busy and nearly double the amount of eyes on him that Draco was expecting.  

His eyes couldn’t be fooling him. Every single student had to be there. The stands looked packed to the brim.  

Rumor had it, as Draco gathered in the Slytherin changing room, that Ravenclaw team was close on securing their approval from Umbridge. While on the other hand, Gryffindor had a bit of an uphill battle due to Harry consistently landing himself in Umbridge’s detention.  

Not the best impression, especially when Harry had a knack of speaking up carelessly against her during class. Draco would admire his bravery if it wasn’t for the fact that Harry lacked tact. If only he could calculate how to approach the pink toad, perhaps Gryffindor wouldn’t be in such a situation of nearly begging Umbridge for approval. 

But then again, when the Ministry actively made Potter an adversary in the press, something Draco suspected Umbridge was part of, she wasn’t going to take to him so kindly no matter if he was a model student.  

When they had reached the center, Montague called them in for another huddle. 

“Listen up,” Montague quietly said, his voice fully commanding the attention of each player despite the new heights of roars from the stands, “I’ve been watching Hufflepuff’s practices. They have a pair of mean beaters.” 

Montague flashed a look at both Crabbe and Goyle.  

“I think it’s best that you don’t challenge them but do not give them the chance to hit the bludger.” He ordered Crabbe and Goyle before turning to his team of Chasers; Bletchley and Warrington, “You lot. We’ve got it easy. Hufflepuff’s chasers are a bit slow on their old brooms but they have tricks up their sleeves and they’re counting on their beaters to bash us out of the game.” 

Warrington, the sandy blonde Sixth Year, flipped his hair off his forehead and smirked, “Well looks like we’re pretty much set to win.” 

“No,” Draco shook his head, butting in, “Don’t forget that Fleet is a wicked Keeper.” 

Montague nodded in agreement, “Keep the quaffle in our hands and we save Pucey from having to worry too much. We get Fleet to work up a sweat trying to block our attacks early. He’ll tire out soon enough if we’re consistent and on his ass. Got it?” 

The chasers saluted him just as Madam Hooch gathered them around at the sound of her whistle. She explained the simple rules of Quidditch to all them, a provisionary tradition, while they all mounted their brooms getting ready at their positions. The Slytherin team all wished each other well, patting each others’ back before heading to their position at the center of the pitch.  

 “And it goes without said Malfoy,” Montague announced over his shoulder as Madam Hooch hunched down to the case about to release the balls. Draco raised a questioning brow at Montagues lazy brow raise. 

“Get that fucking snitch.” He grinned and not a moment later fourteen flyers kicked off the ground to begin Quidditch season with an exuberant nail biting match.