human again / hp.

Chapter 27

The morning air carried a crispness that hinted at the approaching autumn, mingling with the faint scent of damp grass that lingered after an early mist. The Quidditch pitch stretched out before us, bathed in golden sunlight, the perfect stage for the drama to come. I stood beside Draco, whose usual arrogance was dialed up to eleven, his gleaming Nimbus 2001 propped casually against his shoulder. Around us, the Slytherin Quidditch team mirrored his smug demeanor, their matching brooms arranged like trophies on display.

Draco tilted his head back, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Perfect day for practice, don't you think?" he drawled, his voice carrying the feigned innocence of someone who knew he was about to ruin someone's morning.

I followed his gaze to the far end of the pitch, where a group of scarlet-robed figures were striding toward us with purposeful determination. Even from a distance, it was impossible to miss the untamable black hair of Harry Potter, flanked by the unmistakable presence of Oliver Wood. The rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team trailed behind, their brooms gripped tightly in their hands.

My stomach twisted with a strange mix of emotions as I watched them approach. For a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine what it would feel like to own one of those scarlet robes, to feel the wind in my hair as the crowd roared my name. But that dream was as out of reach as the stars, a distant flicker I could never hope to grasp.

Draco nudged me with his elbow, pulling me from my thoughts. "You're awfully quiet," he remarked, his sharp eyes flicking toward me.

I forced a smirk, folding my arms. "Just enjoying the show."

The Gryffindors finally arrived, their expressions a mix of irritation and disbelief. Oliver Wood came to an abrupt halt, his jaw set with frustration as he locked eyes with Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain. Wood's tone was sharp as a bludger. "What are you doing here? This is our practice time."

Flint didn't even blink. Instead, he unfurled a parchment with deliberate flair. "Special permission from Professor Snape," he said, his voice practically dripping with mockery. "We need to train our new Seeker." He turned slightly, gesturing toward Draco, whose grin widened like a cat who had cornered a mouse.

Fred Weasley let out a loud scoff. "New Seeker? You've got to be joking."

"No joke," George added, his voice laced with sarcasm. "This is a tragedy."

Draco stepped forward, his shoulders squared, and held his Nimbus 2001 up for all to see. The broom gleamed in the sunlight, its polished wood and pristine bristles a testament to its superiority. "Jealous, are we?" he sneered. "Can't blame you. Not everyone gets to fly a Nimbus 2001."

Fred's snort echoed across the pitch. "No, not everyone's daddy buys the whole team brooms."

The tension between the two teams crackled like a live wire, and I could feel my own smirk tugging at my lips. The Gryffindors might have had courage, but we Slytherins had something they didn't—resources.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you lot," I said, my voice carrying easily across the pitch. "But then again, I suppose Weasleys are used to second-hand everything."

Harry's gaze snapped to mine, his emerald eyes flashing with anger. For a split second, I held his gaze, a flicker of something unreadable passing between us before he looked away. Good. Let him stew.

Hermione, who had been standing silently until now, finally spoke up, her voice steady but firm. "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent."

"Shut it, Granger," Draco interrupted, his sneer cutting across her words. "No one asked for your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood."

The words hit like a hex, and the pitch fell deathly silent. Hermione's face went pale, her wide brown eyes brimming with hurt and shock. The Gryffindor team collectively bristled, their anger palpable.

"You take that back!" Ron Weasley shouted, stepping forward with his wand already drawn. His face was as red as his hair, and his hand trembled as he aimed it at Draco. "Say it again, Malfoy, I dare you!"

Draco didn't even flinch. If anything, his smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "What are you going to do, Weasley? Curse me with your broken wand?"

Ron's arm jerked forward as he bellowed, "Eat slugs!"

The spell backfired spectacularly. Instead of hitting Draco, the wand sparked and recoiled, sending the curse hurtling straight back at Ron. He doubled over with a strangled gag, and moments later, the first slimy slug spilled from his mouth, writhing as it hit the grass.

The Slytherin team erupted into raucous laughter, their jeers echoing across the pitch. Even I couldn't entirely suppress a chuckle, though a small part of me felt a twinge of unease. Draco, however, was practically doubled over, clutching his sides as he laughed. "Oh, this is priceless!" he managed between breaths.

The Gryffindors scrambled to help Ron, Hermione kneeling beside him with a look of horrified concern. Harry glared at us with such intensity it was almost tangible, his fists clenched at his sides. I met his gaze again, and for the briefest moment, guilt flickered in my chest. But I shoved it down quickly, masking it with a smirk as I turned away.

"Come on," I said to Draco, turning away before the Gryffindors could say anything else. "We've wasted enough time here."

As we walked off the pitch, I kept my head high and my expression neutral. But deep down, I couldn't shake the memory of Hermione's stricken face—or the way Harry's eyes had burned with anger.