Falling for You - Drarry

Chapter 1

I stared nervously at the Quidditch pitch, watching my team race around the area, slicing through the chilled fall air. The score was Slytherin, 70, Gryffindor, 60. Of course, the cold had to be affecting my nerves, because I wasn't usually this apprehensive at Quidditch games. If only I were on the field... I watched as the Gryffindor keeper successfully defended yet another impressive shot at their goal, causing an uproar of cheers from the Gryffindor section. The Slytherins groaned collectively in disappointment. I peered around, looking for the Slytherin seeker, wondering if he'd spotted the Snitch yet. He soared above the clouds, watching the game. My eyes wandered a few yards to his left, landing on the famous Gryffindor seeker.

Harry Potter.

He was a few feet higher than our seeker, no doubt to feel superior, and was gazing over the pitch with sharp eyes. His hands rested on his chin, elbows propped up on his broomstick, leaning forward intently. His green eyes roamed the pitch, following something travelling down. In an instant, Potter shot off, leaning down, his dark hair whipping back from his face. Our seeker was quick to follow. I watched as Potter got closer and closer, battling the fierce wind that threatened to throw him off his broom as he travelled with gravity.

I wished it did.

Potter shot toward my section like a bludger, hurtling towards us. As he neared us, he extended his right arm, squinting against the sunlight. As he approached me with alarming speed, I wondered if he even knew we were there. Probably not. That insufferable git only focused on himself.

Alarmingly, Potter still hadn't slowed down and was hurtling towards us with tremendous and concerning speed. As the people around me gasped and shifted nervously, I narrowed my eyes. Then, when he couldn't have been three feet away from me, arm still extended, he met my eyes and had the audacity to smirk. The stupid git smirked at me. My heart pounded angrily and my mind swam for a second. I felt a hand brush my hair and flinched away as a gust of wind blew past me, carrying Potter with it.

And then, he shot upward, holding the Snitch in his hand.

The Gryffindors went wild.

Gryffindors.

He hovered not ten feet above us, grinning like an idiot and waving the Snitch around. I could hear his heavy breathing and see the strands of his windblown hair as he hovered there, overtaken with glory.

Could his head get any bigger? Merlin, he was irritating!

So much for a head start in the Quidditch season.

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Dinner was somehow worse.

The Gryffindor table had this air of glory and loftiness about them the entire evening, and they could not stop fawning over their favorite golden boy.

To his credit, he had the bashfulness to look a little overwhelmed as his fans mooned over him. You could practically feel the adoration oozing off of them in waves. It was nauseating. I hardly had an appetite the rest of the dinner, and the energy of the Slytherin table was low, of course, after the first defeat of the season. I watched the back of Potter's head loathingly, wishing he could disappear.

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I lay in bed that night, gazing up at the ceilings. I brushed my hair out of my eyes, rubbing them tiredly. Sleeping was a nice fantasy. I got up quietly, careful to not wake my roommates. Throwing on a pair of slippers, I slipped out into the common room and quietly crept out the door, figuring I'd take a quick walk to clear my head and be right back.