'Tell Me Pretty Lies,' by moongirlel

Chapter 23: In The Locker Room

[Friends - Chase Atlantic]

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Tue. 12th October 1993 - 3:33pm...

Following on from the match, and despite his condition - Draco didn't lie.

What exactly didn't he lie about? Winning.

Slytherin hadn't won the match.

"Potter caught it, I only took it due to the bloody dementors on the school grounds." He had told his team, and the Professors. "The idiot fell off his broomstick mid-flight."

Professor Dumbledore was furious by this news, immediately sending away the dementors.

Other Slytherins within my year group grew visibly annoyed by Draco's honesty, swearing and yelling at him. Telling him, he should of taken the win regardless of the outcome.

Draco didn't feel satisfaction in lying.

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Once mostly everyone had made their way back into the comfortable warmth of the castle, some students lingered around the Quidditch pitch.

A handful of team players, and their friends to be precise. Including me, too.

I waved goodbye to Daphne, Blaise and Theodore; after informing them I was going to check up on Draco.

He hadn't left the male changing rooms, which were behind the Quidditch pitch, since the match finished.

His whole team had.

My boots dragged wet grass into the wooden cabin. Taking my winter gloves off, I blow hot air onto my palms.

I heard Draco grumbling quietly to himself, his back facing me as I entered the locker room.

"Draco?" I ask.

"What?" He looked back at me, over his shoulder. His gaze softening, once he made eye contact with me.

I stop in the centre of the room, folding my hands in front of my chest. I fiddle with my gloves, "That match was pretty tough."

"Tough?" He scoffed, shaking his head. He turned, slumping down onto the wooden bench. "We should of won - I should of won that. Bloody Potter, and the stupid fucking Snitch."

"Why didn't you just lie about the win? Seems pretty out of character for you, don't you think?" I ask, lightly swinging myself back and forth on my heels.

He groaned, rubbing his hand up and down his face. He shoved his broomstick off the bench, and gestured to the space next to him. "Sit down, or you'll give me a headache."

I roll my eyes, but nonetheless take a seat next to him.

"Because I would of rather seen the look of disappointment on Potter's face as I beat him." He clears his throat, "He was too preoccupied with those bloody dementors, he nearly gave both of us a heart attack."

"I highly doubt that was the only reason," I say, watching both of his eyebrows raise.

He clicked his tongue, chuckling darkly. "Don't push it, Jane."