The Truth | The Sister book 2 | HP Fanfic |

-Chapter 14-

The students filed out of the castle and into the Quidditch stands, a swarm of different colours. Hermione and I held onto each other in the hopes we wouldn't get separated, and when we finally reach the entrance, I realise there's something I haven't done. I pull Hermione one side, 

"I should go and see him..."

"Harry?"

"No, er-"

"Draco?"

I nod, and she sighs impatiently. "Be quick," she smirks, "Or all the good seats will be taken." 

I roll my eyes at her and turn, running towards where I know the Slytherin team will be waiting. The cold morning breeze blows my hair off my face, and I can hear the crisp crunch of frost below my feet. I grin to myself. I love winter. As I turn a corner I start to feel a bit concerned. I used to play around the Quidditch pitch when there was no one around, and I swear I know where Slytherin will be waiting. I slow, lungs heaving. I lean forward, hands on my knees, before looking out over the country side away from the pitch. I can see the edge of the Forbidden Forest through the mist. Beautiful. Despite a lack of leaves. 

"Oi, is that you?" I jump and turn surprised to see Draco watching me. He's smiling. Excited.

"If by 'you' you mean Clara, then yes, it is," I say smiling. I stride over to him. 

"Worn out already? You look like you've just run a marathon!"

"Do I?" He smiles and shakes his head, looking down at his feet. "Anyway, I've just come over to wish you good luck,"

"Why thank you," He grins, looking up at me. I blow a puff of misty air onto his face and he laughs. 

"I'll see you after?"

"Yes, course," He replies. "You could come in and join the team, the audience always needs some comedy relief," I scoff and roll my eyes. 

Blushing slightly, I step up onto my toes and give him a light kiss on the cheek. "Good luck Draco," I murmured, grinning. I catch a brief look at the grin on his face before turning and running back to Hermione.

xxx

Hermione found us two seats reasonably close to the exit. We have a good view of the pitch and we watch as the two teams walk out onto the field. Within a few minutes, the whistle is blown and quaffle released. There is a sudden flurry of movement as the players jump into action, swooping around as green and red blurs in the sky. The game goes on for a couple minutes, and no one scores. Then I hear something. I nudge Hermione, and she nods. 

'Weasley cannot save a thing,

He cannot block a single ring,

That's why Slytherins all sing:

Weasley is our King.

'Weasley was born in a bin,

He always lets the quaffle in,

Weasley will make sure we win

Weasley is our King.'

Hermione and I glance at each other, and my stomach turns. There are very few Slytherins who would do this. Sadly, however, I know the guilty culprit. Who else would write a song about Ron? Who else would put in the effort? The singing starts to grow louder as the Slytherin keeper stops Gryffindor from scoring. I look up, my eyes scanning for Harry and Draco, my eyes finally find Draco and I see him smiling. Git. To think ten minutes ago I kissed him on the cheek. 

'Weasley is our King,

Weasley is our King,

He always lets the Quaffle in