Ex-Friends || A Drarry Story

Two : Five

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end and the lake rose, the flowerbeds turning into muddy streams, puddles bigger than Draco had ever seen were absolutely everywhere. He had to jump to avoid them, but he didn't mind that. It was quite relaxing, hopping gingerly over a puddle or two.

"You look ridiculous, Draco," Blaise laughed when the blonde grinned absentmindedly after avoiding a rather large and deep puddle. "You're very poised."

"Shut up, Blaise," sneered Draco, though his tone was lined with amusement. "And don't be a bore. We've a Quidditch game coming up soon."

The dark boy grinned. For the past month, they had been training hard for their first game on the Slytherin team, which just so happened to be against Gryffindor. Draco had convinced his father to come and sit in on it, which was no easy feat. Even though all of the rain, Marcus Flint made sure Draco searched tirelessly for the tiny golden ball.

Even though the rain was blinding, Draco refused to wear the stupid-looking goggles that all of the Quidditch players were offered. He looked like an idiot, wearing them.

But, at practice one stormy afternoon, Draco was knocked off his broom by a Bludger he hadn't seen. Luckily, he was just a few feet off the ground, but he fell hard into the mud, grunting as mud splashed all over him, drenching himself.

"Malfoy!" Flint bellowed, landing and making his way towards the blonde. Faintly, Draco saw that Blaise and the rest of the team had landed to watch the new spectacle. "What the hell do you call that?!"

Draco scowled, wiping a bit of mud off his face. "I don't know, Flint, what do you call your coaching? Revolutionary?"

Flint turned a violent shade of purple, growling, "I outta knock your block off for giving me lip, Malfoy."

Draco stood firm, gripping his broomstick tightly with one hand. "Go ahead and do it, Flint. You've neither the gall nor the brains to even---" He was cut off by Flint slapping him hard, earning a gasp from Blaise.

"Don't you dare talk back to me, Malfoy," Flint hissed, shoving Draco back to the ground and walking away, motioning for the rest of the team to follow him to the changing rooms. "Come on, you lot. Get changed out of those robes before they harden."

Draco, however, remained on the cold, soppy ground, not caring if the mud was all over him. He was glad that the rain hid his tears as Blaise came forward, resting a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Come on, Draco," he said softly. "Let's go back to the castle. Pansy said that she and Theo would bully the house-elves into making us some hot chocolate."

Draco shrugged, his hand trembling as he wiped some mud off of his face, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Okay," he murmured, grabbing Blaise's outstretched hand and allowing him to pull and aid Draco in his standing. He held his broom as he walked, not caring if he stepped in the ever-expanding puddles of mud and water.

"Want to play chess later?" Blaise asked over the sound of rain.

"I think I'm just going to shower and go to sleep."

"It's only three."

Draco glared at the ground as he walked, saying hotly, "What, you want me to walk around like I didn't just get humiliated by Flint in front of the entire damn Quidditch team?"

Jerking his hand back, Blaise was silent for a moment before replying softly, "Theo told me something."

"Well, I just love hearing about his odd little visions," Draco sneered nastily, ignoring Blaise's frown. "Go on, tell me all about his sick, twisted game he's playing."