Pitch

PitchSummary:

Draco Malfoy falls off his broom at the Quidditch pitch. A certain curly-haired bookworm comes to his rescue. Oneshot Dramione Rated M for a reason!

Notes:

I am so excited to share this one-shot Dramione. Wrote it on a whim. Rated M.

Pitch
Draco/Hermione
One-Shot
Rated M

Summary: Draco Malfoy falls off his broom at the Quidditch pitch. A certain curly-haired bookworm comes to his rescue. Oneshot Dramione Rated M for a reason!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I will not make a profit from this story.

Hope you like! ^_^

Thank you Waymay for editing this for me!

~A.

Work Text:

I do not know why I would go
In front of you and hide my soul
'Cause you're the only one who knows it,

And I will hide behind my pride
Don't know why I think I can lie
'Cause there's a screen on my chest

I'm standing in front of you

I'm trying to be so cool

Everything together trying to be so cool

We're broken

We're broken

We're broken

We're broken people, oh.

We're broken people, oh.

"Screen" by Twenty One Pilots

Draco Malfoy has never been in so much pain before. His shoulder burns with it, and as he tries to sit up, he notices the numbness in his left arm below the elbow. It takes everything in him not to cry out, instead clamping his jaw tightly as he hisses breath after ragged breath. The rain beats down against his face, slapping harshly thanks to a gust of icy wind. He turns his head to the side, seeing the broom a way off, snapped in half. Great. Just fucking great. His father will hear about this and be irate. After all, that was a new Nimbus model he just ruined. He's less worried about his arm and more along the lines of what his father will say should he find out about the broom. Perhaps he can mend it...

"Malfoy? Oh my goodness!" he hears a soft, feminine voice shout from the edge of the Quidditch field, but he's in too much pain to put the pieces together and figure out who it is. His body reacts instinctively, jerking at the sound of this girl's voice, and it sends another stab of pain into the rotor of his shoulder joint.

"FUCK!" He screams out, throwing his head back against the wet earth of the pitch. He can hear footsteps approaching, but his eyes are shut from the onslaught of pain. Someone steps next to his head. The rain stops. He allows his eyes to open once more to realize an umbrella has been dangled over his head, resting on the shoulders of a witch with mud-colored curls that scatter down her shoulders and frame her delicate face. She's dressed in a silly yellow raincoat with matching goulashes, a look of concern written across her brows. Even though the pain keeps his vision blurry, Draco would know this witch any day. It's the one he's internally pined over for the past six months. Before he can control himself, he instinctually snarls out, "My fucking luck. Hermione Granger."

She ignores his quip, kneeling down beside him. She's soaking her knees and skirt with mud but doesn't seem to mind. Her focus is on his swollen shoulder, and her lips purse together as she asks, "Can you move it? Your shoulder?"