Falling for the Enemy||Draco Malfoy Love Story Fanfiction

Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Interesting Discoveries

The Quidditch match against Hufflepuff was coming up, and the Gryffindors were particularly eager to beat up Zacharias Smith for his commentary during the match against Gryffindor. Due to Ron in the hospital wing, Cormac McLaggen was Keeper, which deeply infuriated me. He was an insufferable individual.

"I can't believe McLaggen's playing," I grumbled to Harry as we made our way down to the pitch.

"Yeah, but what other choice have we got?" Harry sighed. I gaped as I saw Draco stalking towards us, accompanied by two sulky and resentful-looking girls. What in the name of Merlin was he doing?

He stopped short at the sight of us, then gave a short, humourless laugh before he continued walking.

"Where are you going?" Harry demanded rather bluntly.

"Yeah, I'm really going to tell you, because it's your business, Potter," Draco sneered, "You better hurry up, they're waiting for the 'Chosen Captain', or the 'Boy Who Scored', or whatever it is they call you nowadays." I frowned.

"There's no need for that, Draco. Shouldn't you be at the match? And what are you doing with a couple of your...girlfriends?" I reprimanded. Draco raised an eyebrow, and I swore he went pink.

"It's Gryffindor versus Hufflpuff, a lame match. And it's really none of your business, Merielle." Him and the two girls walked away, leaving me confused and suspicious.

That was something else for me to report, whether I wanted to or not.

The game went absolutely terrible. And the Gryffindors personally blamed it on McLaggen. That stuck-up, conceited prick who thought he was above everyone else. And who sent a Bludger to Harry's head. Without a Seeker, we were done for. In the end, we lost 60-320. My blood was pumping angrily as I touched down. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to launch myself at McLaggen and, by the looks of the Gryffindors', they were clearly thinking the same thing. I swore under my breath, fuming.

As I was storming back to the common room, Draco appeared.

"You look like you're on the verge of exploding," he observed, "Lost the match?"

"Don't talk to me," I snapped.

"You don't take losing very well, do you?" He pressed.

"Just shut up," I snarled, "I'm really not in the mood."

"I hear Potter got hit with a Bludger."

"We personally blame the match on McLaggen, that arrogant, self-centered, pretentious prat! What a haughty, intolerable, condescending pig!"

"I don't think pigs will take too well to you comparing them to McLaggen," snorted Draco.

"Leave me alone," I hissed, "I don't want to hex you into next week." Normally, I would've noticed that Draco looked weary and pale, and trembling slightly, but my anger-induced rage prevented me from thinking clearly.

"Now I have to go and strain myself to not kill McLaggen," I spat, not bothering to wait for his reply. It was unfair I was taking it out on Draco, but I was filled with black rage.

There was a moody, thunderous atmosphere in the Gryffindor common room. Perhaps the wisest decision McLaggen ever made was choosing to stay in his dormitory.

A couple of day's later, I had just finished Defense Against the Dark Arts with Snape.

"Merielle!" A voice all-too horribly familiar called. I carried on walking.