Blue [DRARRY]

Chapter 3

Draco's next plan was truly heartbreaking. He almost didn't want to do it. But he knew he had to.

He was going to leave the Slytherin Quidditch team.

He'd really chosen the worst time to do it though. They had one more practise session, before a game eith Gryffindor. Draco's plan was simple. He was going to train badly. The captain would get annoyed, and if he trained badly enough, maybe cut him from the team completely, since they couldn't afford to lose this nexy game. The chances of this plan working was next to none of course, but that was fine because Draco actually really wanted to play, and therefore he preferred his back up plan anyway. He would still try to get kicked but if that proved unsuccessful, be would play the game to the best of his ability, though winning was unlikely because of Potter. Then he would quit. If he was questioned, he'd say that he bought himself in the team anyway, so it really shouldn't matter. But hopefully, if he played well, people would remember that he did also have talent.

When their team's final practise session finally rolled round, Draco was more sure about his plan than ever. He feigned zoning out. He purposefully missed the snitch when it was right in front of his nose. He even pretended to lose his balance on his broom a few times. He could see his team growing increasingly more pissed off with him, and he had to try really hard not to laugh. Once training finished, Draco pretended to try and slip off with the rest of the team, and pretended to be disappointed when Flint caught him.

"What the bloody Hell was wrong with you up there today?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Do not play dumb with me Draco Malfoy. I swear, if you're that bad when we play the Gryffindors, for any reason other than you've been majorly hexed, you're gonna have Hellto pay. Understood?"

"Of course!" Draco replied cheerily, before walking away towards the changing rooms.

He even added a whistle to piss Flint off more. And it was safe to say it worked.

But when the game rolled round, Flint kept his insults to himself. Because Draco was radiating with burning determination, that seemed to rival the whole of Slytherin's team put together. They left him to his own devices, which before the game was simply sitting in a corner, doing last minute checks of his broom, and pushing bright hair out of his face.

Before long, they were called out onto the pitch, met by the usual unfair boos by 3/4 of the school. But Draco kept his expression calm and collected, determination still raging, but inner conflict invisible. He took to the air with his eyes anywhere but the surrounding crowds. Of course, their eyes were on him, even if Draco wishes they wouldn't be. He guessed he was easy to spot however. Maybe blue ahir was not the best choice.

No.

He was used to Quidditch stares, especially when it was Slytherin versus Gryffindor. It would be simply to pretend that's all they were, rather than question the choice he had been totally stuck to until this moment. If the school wanted to stare, then let them stare. Maybe that would work in his favour in the long run if he managed to play as well as he was hoping to.

As it happened, he did better.

Without the distraction of the crowds enticing him, Draco's attention remained completely on the game. To the point where he wasn't even paying attention to the score, which allowed for a pleasant surprise when he realised that Slytherin were in the lead. Of course, this was usually the point where Potter would catch the snitch and win the match anyway. Thay is, until, for the first time he could remember, Draco spotted the glint of gold before Potter, rather than becoming aware of it's appearance by the dash of scarlet. He checked where the Gryffindor was, almost unable to believe his luck when he saw he was too far away to really be paying attention, before shooting off.

It was a miracle. A miracle Draco thought would never happen. Ever. He almost didn't believe it when he felt his fingers clasp around the golden ball, and it took a moment before he could gather himself and before he could hold the snitch up, with a huge shout of, "yes!"

A moment of complete, stunned silence, and then uproar.

The Slytherins alone managed to cheer over the polite cheering from the other houses. Draco was crowded by his teammates, who tugged at his robes, ruffled his hair, knocking him this way and that in their overwhelming excitement.

In the ruckus, Draco managed to catch sight of Potter, who was hovering a little way away from the rest of his team, but clapping politely too. Draco couldn't help it, and shot him a huge grin, holding the snitch towards him in a way that not even oblivious Potter could mistake for being boastful. The Gryffindor gave a soft smile in return - one that looked truly genuine - and nodded to him. Draco grinned wider.

That night, despite trading celebrations for his bed, after telling Flint, in no uncertain terms, that that was his last game, Draco couldn't stop the grinning, his hands locked over his stomach, listening to his own heart, and soft breaths. He had not a care in the world in this brief moment.

He fell asleep to the far away sound of his housemates' celebrations, and thoughts of appreciation for nothing more than his flying abilities.