Slow Grenade

Chapter Thirteen

The next morning, Hermione was in a foul mood. She had initially become frustrated during Defence Against the Dark Arts the previous day when no one seemed to be giving Professor Lockhart a fair chance (he had just wanted to give us some hands-on experience!), then Draco had all but ignored her in the library that evening without telling her why, and now Ron was insisting she accompany him to watch Harry's Quidditch practice.

The sun had barely risen yet here she was, freezing to death in the stands, and Harry hadn't even begun playing! Eventually, even Ron was shifting frustratedly in his seat.

"Do you think we missed them?" he asked Hermione.

She was about to respond when they noticed the team leaving their changing rooms, still in gear.

"Aren't you finished yet?" Ron called incredulously.

"Haven't even started," said Harry. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."

Hermione sighed irritably and muttered to Ron as the Gryffindors mounted their brooms, "At least there's something to watch now."

Ron nodded; his eyes already glued to the game.

It wasn't long before Hermione caught a glimpse of green out the corner of her eye. She leaned over the stands to see the Slytherin team walking onto the pitch. As the red clad players began to dismount their brooms, Hermione nudged Ron and indicated they ought to head down to see what was going on.

"You've got a new Seeker?" Hermione overhead Wood say distractedly. "Who?"

From behind the six large figures she saw a small white-haired boy she was very well acquainted with. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Draco with dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint, the team captain. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Hermione had no idea what a 'Nimbus' was or whether 'Two Thousand and One' was a good model, but she could immediately sense the jealously and indignation radiating from her House. Ron was even gaping, open-mouthed, at the sight before him.

"Good, aren't they?" said Draco smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives, I expect a museum would bid for them."

The Slytherins howled with laughter and something in Hermione snapped.

There were numerous reasons why this might have happened; the small things that build up over time often have a wry way of escaping at the worst moments. But she knew that, ultimately, this was no excuse for what she said next. "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent."

She immediately regretted her words. Draco's smug look flickered and she noticed pain flash through his eyes. Hermione tried to convey her remorse with her own expression, but it wasn't enough.

Draco's face became suddenly blank and he looked at her coldly. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

Hermione couldn't move, she felt frozen to the spot. Shock was written over both her and Draco's faces. Whilst they stood staring at one another, there was an instant uproar around them.

Flint had to dive in front of Draco to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Alicia shrieked, "How dare you!" and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Draco's face.