The Gryffindor Gala | #DRAMIONE ✓

004

HERMIONE

"Three turns should do it."

Dracos porcelain skin was glowing white, but glancing down at his glove covered hand, the thought of getting a summer glow made him cringe. His family never suited the golden glow that most families welcomed. Their genes played in such cruel ways and evidently provided them with similar cruel tendencies.

The quidditch pitch echoed with voices of players and wind whistling as brooms sped through the air. It wasn't a place that Draco visited often but returning to the team felt odd yet made sense.

The boy wanted to be who he wanted to be, so why not participate in a school sport?

Walking into the pitch, Urquhart returned to the ground and frowned at Draco.

"You're late, Malfoy" he sneered. "You know what is required when you're on this team."

"I'm here, aren't I? And besides, who supplied these new edition brooms to the team?" Draco smirked nastily.

Urquhart said nothing but glared, lifting his feet off the ground and hovering in the sky.

"Hurry up and get up here. You've got lots to catch up on."

Draco missed the feeling of sitting on a broom, defying the laws of gravity that muggles tried to overcome with every breath. But suspended over the ground, shards of air threading through his hair as his speed began to increase, Draco felt peaceful.

The team drills weren't as daring and rigid as before. In his younger years, the work put in was much harsher, but it is clear how the team feeds off fear to scare off the players on other teams.

It made Draco cringe within at the thought of having to return to such offensive behaviour but knew that it was either play the part or be kicked off the team a second time in his schooling career. And so, channelling the inner attitude that he'd seen his father possess many times before, he endured the training.

Each player began to drop out of the sky as exhaustion overtook their bodies, along with the grumbles of their stomachs. Two particular players were making their way towards Draco, removing their head gear to eye him carefully.

"Wasn't sure whether you would turn up or not" Goyle stated, missing the greeting altogether. "Where were you?"

"What's it to you?" Draco hissed back, glaring in the direction of the thick-skulled boy.

"We're your friends too, Draco" Crabbe grumbled, an attitude that caught Draco off guard. "and besides, we know your little obsession with Granger."

"I like her" Draco replied and looked off towards the spectator seats, hoping to see Hermione sitting and watching. Unfortunately, space was clear. "I thought I made that pretty clear after the Ball."

"That was one night. We'd thought you would be over it by now."

Furious, Draco snarled the pair whose eyebrows rose out of fear. "Who gave you imbeciles the right to put your nose in my business? What I do with my life and who I love is up to me, not anyone else."

Goyle and Crabbe froze and shared a glance, catching the final words that Draco spoke. It took a moment for Draco to catch on the blood in his veins turned icy and cold, and conflicting thoughts howled in his head.

"We know it's not up to us" Crabbe began, his gruff voice sounding much softer than expected. "We know that, but have you thought of anyone else who may... Object to such feelings?"

Of course.

Draco's father was the only person on his mind at that moment. He knew his mother would stand neutral, wanting to ensure Draco was getting the best life he could obtain in such strange circumstances. But his father was a menace, willing to go any lengths for power and to keep magical blood pure.