Padfoot and his Pup

27. | Fisticuffs - Part I

"Defeat is not an option! Failure has no place amongst us, lads! We shall not be—"

"Oliver, darling, I love you. But if you don't stop, I'm going to hit you over the head with this bat."

Oliver Wood abruptly shut up and cast his teammate a betrayed look.

Angelina Johnson pierced him with a disapproving glare. "Secondly, the three of us have been over this," she emphasised, gesturing to Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet. "You can't refer to the entire team as lads. It's disrespectful and quite frankly archaic."

Katie yawned and nodded in agreement. "Angie's right. Besides, it's seven am and as riveting and stirring as your little speeches are, let's just skip to practice, please? How about you save that one for the actual match?"

Oliver had the decency to blush. He rubbed the back of his neck and grumbled. "Okay! But I'll need an extra half hour that day."

"It's a deal."

"Alright, people. Let's move it."

Harry decided it was quite amusing to see the normally sharp Gryffindor captain caught off guard. He was glad at least one of them had been brave enough to inform Oliver what they all really thought about his enthusiastic speeches.

Wood had booked the quidditch pitch for practice every alternate morning. Sometimes, Ron and Hermione would come along as well to cheer the team on.

It was going to be a brilliant season. Gryffindor was going to be unstoppable—

"What the fuck is this supposed to be?"

Seven figures stood huddled in the centre of the pitch, dressed in robes of green and silver and clearly in the middle of what was a pre-practice discussion.

The tallest of the lot turned around and sneered at them. "Language, Wood. That's no way to address a fellow captain."

If murder was legal, Harry would bet his Nimbus that Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint would have killed each other half a dozen times already.

But it was someone else who caught his eye.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?"

"Allow me to introduce our new seeker."

Malfoy smirked at Harry, the smugness practically emanating from his very person. "Scared, Potter?"

"You wi—"

"Is that the new Nimbus 2001?" Ron wasn't quite successful in masking his awe.

Clutched in Draco's hand was the Nimbus 2001, an upgrade to Harry's Nimbus 2000. But that wasn't all. Every single player on the Slytherin team had one.

"A kind and thoughtful gift from Draco's father," Flint explained, condescension dripping from his words.

"You see Weasley, my father is a generous man and so he made certain the team got what it rightfully deserved. Because unlike some, my father can afford the best."

The taunt wasn't lost on Ron or the twins, and given the way the youngest Weasley's face flushed, Draco's words had made their mark.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in because earned it, because they rightfully deserved it." Hermione glared at Draco, the truth ringing in her words.

The twins snorted and even someone at the back of the Slytherin team sniggered.

Draco's smugness dissolved, an increasingly ugly sneer replacing it. Anger, embarrassment and humiliation coloured his face.