Destiny and the Dragon (A Draco Malfoy Love Story)

Chapter Three

After the events of October, I was pleasantly surprised to see I'd apparently scared those two snakes enough that, although I caught them staring and whispering to one another frequently, they seemed to keep what they'd seen to themselves. There were also no more incidents like the door-jinxing, so everything quickly became normal again.

"Tracey do you realize what today is?" I swooned as we approached the breakfast table the second Saturday of November.

"Uh... no?"

"It's the first quidditch match of the year!" I squeaked.

"Look... the Mudblood's all excited for quidditch, and yet she can't sit on a broom without disaster," sneered Malfoy from across the table, and Parkinson giggled. I ignored them.

"I don't even get why you're so excited," Blaise said in his usual monotone, refusing to look up from his paper like an old man surrounded by petulant grandchildren. "You've been to practically every practice of every house since they started. Can't be anything new to look at today." I laughed, and Malfoy raised his blonde eyebrows.

"Probably just goes to gawk at Perfect Potter," he spat, glaring over at the Gryffindor table. "How that attention-seeking git got on his house team is beside me. I wrote my father, but he says McGonagall's being firm about her favoritism."

"You could beat him anyday, Draco," came Pansy Parkinson's sickly sweet voice, and I gagged, eyeing Tracey who laughed.

We filed into the Slytherin stands and I stared at the pitch with amazement. It looked totally different from practice.

"Merlin, Mudblood's taking notes!" laughed Daphne Greengrass, eyeing my muggle pen and pad of paper. Pansy snickered next to her.

"No, I'm not," I said. "I already know who's going to win; I wanted to see if any of you would place bets." Daphne blinked, and everybody else stared at me like I had sprouted an extra head.

"Very funny, Phoebe," said Tracey, giving a loud and fake laugh. I was probably embarrassing her. "Come on, Phoebs!" she said softly. "Write it down! I'm betting a galleon you're wrong." I laughed.

"Then I'd better be right, because I don't have a galleon." I printed 'Gryffindor wins.' in careful script, and I felt a neck craning over me to see. Blaise was peering down at my paper, and away from his for the first time today.

"Are you sure you want to bet on Gryffindor today? Potter's their seeker, you know," he said in his dull voice, as if that meant an automatic defeat.

"I'm sure," I said firmly. "I've got a really good feeling about it." He eyed me with suspicion, but then obviously decided he had better things to do and looked back at whatever article he was on.

"A galleon on Slytherin," he then said quietly, and I giggled, recording his bet below Tracey's.

"Five galleons Potter loses," Malfoy scoffed from behind me, and I turned around, sizing him up.

"Are you sure?" I asked flatly. I wouldn't bet against me if I were him, usually when I got a feeling it turned out to be right. He sneered. "Alright, your funeral," I resigned, writing it down. The match began swimmingly. Slytherin was winning, even Potter's broom itself wanted him to lose, and I could feel Blaise and Malfoy's satisfied auras engulfing me--until Potter dove.

"He sees the snitch!" Tracey whispered beside me, and I admired my trimmed nails.

"Potter's got the snitch!" I heard the announcer claim. "Gryffindor WINS!" I grinned and turned around to Malfoy.

"Pay up," I told him with an even bigger smile.

"Shut up, Mudblood," he hissed, handing me five gold coins. "Even you're bound to guess right on occasion, stupid and dirty as you are." I shrugged.