Disclaimer to JK Rowling

Chapter Seventeen: Strike No Arm Out Further

Once more - Will the wronger, at this last of all,
Dare to say, "I did wrong," rising in his fall?
No? - Let go then! Both the fighters to their places!
While I count three, step you back as many paces!

Robert Browning from Before

Hermione recoiled backwards as her mouth fell open. Her fist unfurled, as pain slowly spread across her knuckles and betrayed her actions.

I have just punched Draco Malfoy, a voice in the back of her head said with complete horror – she hadn't realised that her fist had raised in the air, and certainly hadn't anticipated that she would use said fist to punch Malfoy. She could still feel it, skin on skin, bone on bone, and the direct impact of her closed fist hitting his jaw.

She blinked.

Malfoy was sprawled on the floor, clutching his jaw.

Silence blanketed the Dungeon corridor.

She blinked again.

Blood rushed to his face as blood rushed to her knuckles. Punching another human being had been more painful than she had expected, she wondered how Lauren – her childhood bully – had done it over and over again without feeling pain. An invisible knife twisted in her gut. Lauren. She had just punched Malfoy, was she now a group of people that was now no better than Lauren? Bile rose in her throat.

He deserved it, the voice in her head was now becoming snide, he was practically asking for it.

Still, Hermione watched as Malfoy staggered up, clutching his jaw, it doesn't make you any better.

Hermione ran through the series of events in which it culminated in her punching Draco Malfoy in the jaw, and realised that the current state of affairs hadn't entirely been her fault.

It hadn't been her fault that Professor Snape had made an unpleasant remark about Malfoy's homework, and threatened to put in him remedial potions for the less-than-stellar work he had turned in. It hadn't been her fault that Ron had arrogantly commented about Malfoy relying on Hermione for marks. It had most certainly not been her fault when Blaise Zabini – under the guise of retrieving Potions ingredients – had instead sauntered up to Lacie, and offered his name to her growing list of petitioners against the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures, and informed her of his connections within the Ministry.

Of course, it had caused a minor disruption, and Slytherin had a single, rare House point removed for deviating from the meticulous lesson plan that their Head of House had prepared for the class.

After all the potions had been bottled, and all homework assigned, the class filed out in silence. Hermione had almost escaped the Dungeons Corridor when Malfoy, unable to hold it in any longer, had turned to Zabini and snapped, "What the fuck do you think you are doing?"

The angry expletive that had fallen from his usually prim lips stalled the departing class. Everyone had whirled around to see Malfoy almost panting with fury, posturing at Zabini, who was preening with his own complacency. Nott - the yardstick of propriety - stood beside Malfoy, with his hand in his pocket, and ready to restrain Malfoy from going too far.

"I am being an upstanding member of the student community," Zabini had replied loftily, "I think it would be a waste of our educational resources to run to the Wizengamot for every occasional classroom mishap."

"Since when did you follow the political aspirations of your stepfather?" Malfoy asked acerbically and Zabini snorted in front of the crowd that was forming.

"Since when did you follow the political aspirations of your father?" Zabini then asked gently, before a smirk dominated his face. "Oh wait, Lucius Malfoy would not lose."

There was a sharp inhale at the remark, and from the corner of her eye, Hermione thought she saw Lavender Brown cup her mouth with her hand in shock.

Malfoy had once mentioned briefly that the Achilles' heel of many a Slytherin were their family, or lack thereof. It was Wizarding society gossip, and Malfoy - much like his twin - had deemed it unimportant to indulge her with the details. The fact that their opening insult was directed at each other's parents didn't surprise her, and it seemed to scandalise those around her.

"Blaise," Nott said with a warning tone before darting his gaze towards Malfoy, "Draco. This is the corridor, anything that needs to be said should be done in private."

"Draco is the one that made it into a public spectacle," Zabini sniffed but he allowed himself to be led away by Davies, who was rolling her eyes at Malfoy. Most of the Slytherin third-years followed Zabini and Davies, casting Malfoy an odd look as they went. Nott tried to get Malfoy to move, but Malfoy was staring at Lacie, who had a blank expression upon her face.

He strolled up to her, his earlier mood was seemingly forgotten.

"A petition, Lace? Father will have a conniption."

"After the Leach farce, I doubt anyone will think that a Malfoy would organise something so… rudimentary."

"Yes, our family did tend to favour blackmail and bribery over partaking in a grassroots movement."

Hermione watched as Lacie's mouth curved upwards into a smirk. "That depends who you ask."

It was odd.

On one hand, Hermione understood that there was a certain unshakeable bond between Lacie and her twin, and they should get along. It was natural for them to get along. On the other, it wasn't so long ago that Malfoy had mocked her opinions as fantasies, and marked her down as a wannabe revolutionary. The barbed comments still stung every time she heard his voice, as if it was a reminder of her inferior blood all over again. So for Lacie, to converse with Malfoy with an amused lilt to her voice, felt like a betrayal.

"Good luck on your… endeavours. Although, I am hard pressed to see it succeed."

"And why not?" Hermione asked, unable to contain herself any longer. Malfoy's brow raised ever-so-slightly, and his gaze moved towards her even if his head didn't move to face her. Of course he couldn't face her, Hermione thought bitterly as Malfoy opened his mouth.

"Because, Granger, if you had not noticed, this is a Wizarding school and not a Muggle one. Wizards do not identify with Muggle tactics, and if cornered, one might even whisper 'sanctimonia vincet semper.'"

Purity always conquers, Hermione noted, that damned Malfoy motto that he had loved to shove down her throat at every given opportunity.

"Perhaps a little progression would be beneficial for the Wizarding community," Hermione snapped. "At least half my family aren't married to each other."

If the largest weakness of an arrogant pureblooded Slytherin was his family, that was where Hermione would attack first.

The alarmed look that bloomed over Lacie's face only boiled the simmering rage in Hermione's stomach. Malfoy turned to face her with such cool composure that Hermione's foot slid back to take a step back.

Resolution forced her to stay put.

She was not going to let Malfoy intimidate her into retreating.

"Really? If Muggles were so… progressive," Malfoy ran his tongue behind his teeth before he had said 'progressive' and paused again, and his upper lip curled upwards as he held his tongue between his teeth. "Then tell me, Granger, why your Muggle dentist parents cannot fix those teeth of yours?"

There was a titter of laughter behind her as Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth. She could feel the blood rushing up her cheeks at the comment.

No.

Her hand slid from her mouth, and she gritted her too-large teeth and glared at him.

She simply would not allow him to break her, even when he locked glares with her.

How foolish, she could hear him chastise in the back of her mind, you should have been aware that I am the prince of tit-for-tat.

"Draco," Hermione heard Lacie growl as a warning.

"What?" he laughed dropping his gaze to the floor, "is that not true? I think some of your Housemates also agree."

"Shut up," Hermione managed to drag out, the words scraping at the back of her throat.

"Or was progression a Muggle appliance that would explain your hair, because I would get my money back."

"Draco, I really think -…" Lacie tried to interrupted but Hermione stepped towards Malfoy, and through gritted teeth she said, "Shut your foul mouth."

She thought she heard Lacie sigh dramatically behind her.

"Make me, or are you too much of a Muggle to do it?"

She could physically feel her temper rise with every time he said the word 'Muggle'. It was as if he was above them and only reason Muggles existed was to incur his disdain. It was the way he said it, as if it was as dirty as her so-called dirty blood and was another punch to the gut. The content look he cast Nott was another punch.

At least Nott had the decency to look put out at his behaviour, whilst all the same, doing nothing to stop Malfoy from going too far.

Well, Hermione was not one for backing down, and snapped, "I don't need to be a witch to shut you up."

"Like I am so sc-…"

He didn't even notice as her clenched fist raised in the air to smack him in the mouth.

She didn't even notice as her clenched fist raised in the air to smack him in the mouth.

It wasn't until that red curtain of rage drew itself back before she realised, with every nerve in her body freezing, what she had done. Hermione wasn't sure she breathed until she saw Malfoy gather his wits and stand up.

Malfoy tugged his jaw as he stood up, and looked somewhere behind her with a haughty look upon his face. Something akin to a smirk flashed across his smug face just as Hermione heard someone say, "Brawling in the corridor? Detention, Miss Granger, and fifty points from Gryffindor."

Hermione felt the blood rush out of her face and sore fist as she turned to see Professor Snape survey her with narrowed eyes as he looked ready to dole out his punishment. She gulped at the looming Professor, who didn't look impressed with the scene that befell him.

"Are you having a laugh? If anyone deserves detention its Malfoy for being a git," Ron spat at the Potions Master.

Professor Snape turned his attention to Ron, "If I wanted your opinion, Mr. Weasley, I would have asked for it. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Ron clamped his mouth shut with a mutinous look upon his face, unwilling to risk further deductions. If someone was counting, which every Gryffindor in the corridor most certainly were, the past five minutes had cost them sixty points. They had lost two points for every second in the corridor. Hermione tried not to clench her fist at how unjust the situation had become, a further reminder of Malfoy's jibes about purity.

Turning back to Hermione, he said with a sneer, "I am not an unforgiving Professor and I will arrange your detention to be completed after your exams."

A vein in Hermione's neck throbbed as she nodded curtly. The Professor's dark eyes slid from Hermione onto his next targets. Moving on he said, "Miss Malfoy and Mr. Nott, I am disappointed that you did nothing to prevent this from happening, I ought to give you both a detention as well. Be grateful that I do not write to either of your parents."

Lacie bowed, and trained her eyes to the floor, "I am sorry, Professor, it will not happen again."

"I also apologise for my failures," Nott intoned.

Professor Snape made a small noise of assent in lieu of an answer and strode in between Hermione and Malfoy, and grabbed the boy's jaw and surveyed it between his thumb and index finger. "Mr. Malfoy, wait for me in my office and no, Mr. Nott, you may not wait." Turning towards the crowd of people that were still gathered in the corridor, he growled, "And what are the rest of you waiting for?"

The crowd that had started to form in the Dungeon corridor scarpered, unwilling to risk further injury to the hourglasses that had become noticeably lighter. Hermione paled at the thought of her fellow Gryffindors turning on her for her slight. They had already shunned her over the Firebolt incident, and this was so much worse.

Sixty points, Hermione mourned in her head, we'll never catch up before the end of the year.

When the Gryffindor third-years had filed out of the corridor and into the Entrance Hall, Ron grabbed Lacie by the arm and stopped her, hissing, "What the bloody hell was that?"

"What was what, Ron?"

"I am sorry, Professor, it will not happen again," Ron mimicked in a nasally, high-pitched voice that was wholly unlike Lacie. "Your brother was being a prick to your best friend, but you're acting as if Hermione was in the wrong."

"And you entertained him," Harry added coolly. "You acted as if this whole petition was another grand political move to get back at your father."

"Draco has always been awful to Hermione," Lacie said evenly. "Should she punch him every time that he is out of line?"

The temper that had abated in the corridor rose again and Hermione snarled, "So you think it's my fault? That I shouldn't have been so… so…"

"Hot-headed," Lacie supplied unhelpfully. "I think the word you are looking for it hot-headed."

Hermione glowered at her friend in response.

"Yes, I do think you are in the wrong, Hermione. You forget that purebloods were raised with the belief that Muggles are nimble-brained savages, and whilst you have spent the better part of three years proving yourself - …"

"I should not have to prove myself to you inbred bigots -…"

"…to us 'inbred bigots', so you say, but using your fists to end a quarrel only affirms that belief. I would have rather you challenged Draco to a duel and hexed his pride out of him."

Hermione opened her mouth, trying to retaliate to her reasoned response but couldn't. Ron opened his mouth to say something but closed it. He dropped Lacie's arm with a sheepish look on his face. Lacie then turned to Harry with a sad look upon her face and carried on.

"Perhaps I am trying to get back at my father, but I happen to approach things with a bit more delicacy than you do," Lacie said.

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning, Harry, you might be able to speak Parseltongue but I am fluent in snake..." she answered, and then a sly smile crossed her face, "and I can tell you that certain people are riled. That trick with the posters on the Common Room door worked."

"I'm not sure that was even worth the migraine," Ron muttered under his breath. "So what if we have support from Slytherins? There are three other houses at Hogwarts."

"That is why I am in charge of the political games, and you are merely grunt work," Lacie retorted.

"Grunt work," Ron repeated in a hollow voice before turning to Hermione, "did you hear her?"

Hermione snorted, and reached towards Harry, who still had a stoic expression on his face as he stared at a wall behind Lacie. She tugged on the sleeve of his robe, and it jolted him out of his reverie.

Harry turned to look at her, unaware of where the conversation was at and said, as he pulled her into a half-hug, "Sometimes I think we all need a reminder to never get on your bad side."

"You still should not have punched Draco," Lacie reminded haughtily.

"I know," Hermione said, and she tried to look ashamed but when her mind's eye flashed back to the semi-horrified look on Malfoy's face, she couldn't bring herself to look apologetic anymore. The corner of her lip quirked upwards in amusement.

Lacie rolled her eyes, and turned on her heels to walk away.

Ron shrugged his shoulders and went to follow her, bemoaning Lacie's earlier quip about 'grunt work'.

"Perhaps we could go back and stop you from punching Malfoy," Harry suggested as Hermione pulled herself free from Harry's grip.

"That's also against the rules," she replied in a singsong voice.

"You weren't thinking of the rules when you lost Gryffindor fifty points," Harry joked, and Hermione huffed at him. He continued, "One turn? Half a turn?"

"Or you could just win them back for us in the Quidditch Final," Hermione replied with a grin.

At that, Harry groaned and covered his ears as Hermione continued to tease him about his Quidditch prowess.

x-x-x-x-x

"Draco."

Draco froze at the sound of his name, before urging Eltanin to sit on an empty perch. He smiled at his unusual rook and waved a piece of bacon in front of him. The rook was quick as it snatched the slice out of Draco's fingers and chewed merrily on his treat. Draco turned around to look at his companion.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Oh, I just followed the overpowering scent of a bruised ego and desperation, and I found myself here."

Draco's hands clenched into fists as he turned back to face Eltanin. If he had wanted to be mocked, he would have lingered in the Slytherin Common Room after a wretched first-year had blabbed that he had been punched in the jaw by that insufferable Mudblood. Daphne had snorted into her hot chocolate, Greg and Vince had looked on in utter disbelief, but Blaise – to borrow a phrase from that odious book of idioms – looked like the cat that got the cream.

Only one Slytherin had chosen to follow him.

And of all the Slytherins...

Pansy snorted gently, and walked towards him. "I have known you for most of my life, Draco. I probably know you better than Theo."

Draco refused to turn to face her, his pride taking over his actions, but she continued. "I know that when you think you have no one else in the world, you like to come here to remind yourself that at least Eltanin will always remain loyal."

It was Draco's turn to snort, and he raised his hand to stroke his rook with a single finger. Pansy raised hers to tilt his face towards her. She was not the tallest of the Slytherin girls, but the way that Pansy Parkinson held herself was enough to place her shoulder-to-shoulder to Draco, so, actions such as this was not onerous for one of her height. She winced as she saw the bruise that had blossomed on his pale jaw.

"That looks like it hurts. You should have gone to Madam Pomfrey for a salve."

"I am done with salves."

"So you would rather let the whole school see you like this?" Pansy asked incredulously. "How out of touch are you?"

Draco found himself tired of trying to justifying his reasons, and turned to ask to ask Pansy a question.

"How long has it been since we last spoke? A year?"

"I was embarrassed."

Draco pulled away from Pansy's hands with something akin to horror. Admitting any shortfall within her personality was rare, seeing as Pansy had always remained proud of herself. It was disconcerting for Draco, and the girl smiled weakly at him.

"I behaved above my station because I thought that my fate was sealed," Pansy said imperiously. "Then when the engagement was called off I felt ashamed because of how I had acted, and even more ashamed because I was glad."

"Glad?" Draco questioned with a smirk.

"Glad," Pansy repeated. "Do you remember when we were little? Lacie and I used to pretend that we would be the best sisters-in-law, and our parents had it all planned for us? Lacie was to marry Theo, and I was to marry you, and we were so happy with that."

"I remember."

Pansy sighed and walked past Draco, and towards the edge of the Owlery. He could see the sunset reflected in her eyes as she stared at the Hogwarts Grounds.

"I do not know when it started to change. I suppose it was when Lacie was sorted into Gryffindor, but we all changed. Her more than anyone, and I tried to cling on to that childish hope of what was but…"

"At last you are free and it made you glad," Draco breathed, more bitterly than he had intended.

She cast him a sad look, "For the first time in my life, it feels as if I have a choice in the matter. No expectations, or unfulfilled promises, just unhindered potential." She sighed, "Do you think if I had been by your side this year that you would not have run to her for company?"

The identity of the 'her' lingered in the air, and warranted no explanation. Draco snorted, he had wondered how long it would take for Pansy to ask him about Hermione. He had seen it in her eyes every time that her name was mentioned, and now the girl was biting the bullet and asking him outright.

"It was not like that, Pans," Draco said, running a hand through his hair, "When we were in France, Lacie was always off with her lessons, so I spent a lot of time with… her, and I-I…" Draco swallowed, "I guess I forgot why I was so against her."

"Surely when you returned -…"

"I wanted to believe that it did not matter," Draco interrupted. He let out a harsh laugh, "I wanted the fantasy to last a bit longer. I suppose I was just being thoughtless."

Pansy cupped his face and pulled it towards her. Her eyes trained onto him, as she furrowed her brows in determination. Her face relaxed as she smiled. "You, my dear, have simply always wanted things you should not have. Do you remember when Theo broke his arm and got a hamper of sweets, so you were determined to break yours?"

Draco laughed, this time it was lighter, "Of course. Father left me in the tree for hours and would not let me down."

Pansy's hands dropped, as did her light expression. "You cannot have Granger, though. Even if you spend hours rationalising it, that is one of the things you are not permitted to have."

"I know, Pans."

"You do know this is precisely why Blaise went for her. His interest in Granger is no mere coincidence following the revival of your family name. Certain things are expected of you, things that will never be expected of Blaise," Pansy said.

"But why?" Draco asked, petulance colouring his tone, "After the prank last year, I thought Blaise might have eased up on our rivalry but he seems as dogged as ever."

Pansy rolled her eyes at him, "Blaise has, and I suppose always will, be jealous of you."

Draco snorted at her assumption. "Blaise has money, looks, status – Merlin, he had everything he could ever want for – what does he have to be jealous for?"

"You have the one thing Blaise does not, a mother who cares. A mother's love is a powerful thing, you know. Blaise's mother would rather waste her affections on men than on her son, leaving only her reputation. On the other hand, your mother simply returned to your father but apologises by inundating you with gifts. Those parcels are enough to make anyone jealous, let alone Blaise," Pansy explained. "I will admit, even I have been jealous of how caring your mother is."

"Even so," Draco started, but Pansy held up her hand.

"I am not here to listen to your confession and offer you advice. I am here to tell you that playtime is over, Draco. Now get yourself to Madam Pomfrey for a salve before I drag you there myself."

x-x-x-x-x

The match was getting dirtier and dirtier as the match wore on. Draco's trick with the Firebolt may have earnt him respect from his fellow Slytherins but it seemed to only spur on the Gryffindor players. If his sister was anything to go by, Gryffindors revelled in confrontation. If Hermione was any indicator, they were motivated by conflict. Draco was swirling above the rest of the players, reluctant to go back into the lion's den until he had a proper plan of attack.

He could not carry on like this.

The Gryffindors were gaining on Slytherin, and if Draco did not catch the Snitch soon, they would lose the Quidditch Cup.

Draco had not pretended to be injured for an extra month, rubbing a pain-inducing salve over his arm to prolong the effects of his injury to lose to Gryffindor. Draco had not forced himself through a strictly regimented training routine and kept up his grades across his arduous subjects and sacrificed at least two hours of sleep a night to fail, especially as his parents were in the crowd and watching him.

Draco was simply not going to lose to Potter, not if he could help it.

He would have to resort to the only trick he knew of.

Draco closed his eyes, and tried to listen. He tried filtering out the angry boos, the incessant chanting and the whooshing of the players beneath him. He must have looked peculiar, in the air with his eyes closed and oblivious to the chaos beneath him, but it was efficient. He tried to focus on the buzzing of the Snitch. He did not have the patience that Diggory had, where the Hufflepuff had trained to recognise the magic that powered the Snitch and simply followed it. He was not like Potter, who was seemingly imbibed with Felix Felicis and could fall off his broom and swallow a Golden Snitch. He was unlike Chang, who was a prime example of someone who copied another person's homework but altered it to avoid being told off. Draco only had his cunning and this forced ability to hear things better than the average person.

Draco waited until the last moment before he darted upwards to dodge the oncoming Bludger. He had heard the impact of a Beater's bat hitting the iron ball, and the tinny whistle as it charged through the air. He had kept his eyes shut as he moved, and when he was sure that the Bludger had passed, he opened a lazy eye to see a gobsmacked Weasley twin gaping at him.

If Weasley's younger brother had not sussed out his ability yet, Draco had finally given him his eureka moment.

Closing his eyes again, he tried to focus on the Snitch. It was hard, with everything that he had to filter away, but manageable. There was no other sound quite like the Snitch, Draco mused. Most people would hear a buzzing sound, but he could hear rhythmic humming that belied the buzzing. It was that sound he tried to listen for. Every other extraneous sound was given a compartment, allowing him to clear his mind and concentrate.

A-ha.

Draco's eyes flew open and he flattened himself against his broom and sped towards the faint humming. Draco almost forgot to breathe as he raced, ignoring the yelps of his teammates as Potter dived amongst them. Potter was so distracted in his small victory that Draco had plenty of time to try and catch the Snitch.

He was gaining on it, but a high-pitched whistling behind him only signalled that Potter had noticed him and was also gaining on him. Draco did not dare to look behind him in case he lost momentum. He could see the Snitch in his periphery, but it was still too far away.

Draco knew that there was no way that his Nimbus could outfly Potter's-bloody-Firebolt once they were neck and neck. If Draco moved to block Potter, he would have to recalibrate and listen for the Snitch again. Those extra minutes could tip the balance in Gryffindor's favour. He could not allow Gryffindor extra time to increase their point margin. There was no cheat or scam or wily action that could stop Potter from closing the gap between them.

There has to be something I can do!

It was a difficult thing to concoct a plan whilst flying sixty miles per hour in the air.

There was no outwitting Potter like Chang. Draco hated to admit it, but Potter played with his instincts, just like everyone recruited onto the Gryffindor team did. It was those instincts that often won them games, it was what made the Gryffindor Chasers one of the best at Hogwarts. It was those instincts that Draco had to use against him.

If the snide accounts from Lacie were anything to go by, Potter was shockingly selfless. Perhaps, Draco could use his overwhelming sense of heroism against him.

Even if he could not hear Potter catching up to him, he could smell the desperation from the bothersome Gryffindor from miles away. Draco had to act now. He eyed the erratic movement of the Snitch in front of him as he lifted himself slowly off his broom. He moved his right leg upwards from the stirrup and onto his broom, placing it flush against it.

Draco had watched in first-year as Potter, a complete imbecilic novice, had balanced on a levitating broom and had studied that moment in great detail. It was that moment where Draco became determined to be able to balance on a moving broom. It had taken him several school holidays to achieve it, but he could somewhat do it.

Of course, he angrily reminded himself, never to the finesse of Potter.

The other downside to balancing on his broom was that he would compromise some of the distance he had against Potter. However, if his plan worked, then speed would be an irrelevant factor.

Breathing sharply through his mouth, Draco lifted his left foot from the stirrup and onto the broom. He filtered out extraneous noise, focusing solely on the Snitch. He could feel Potter at the tail of his broom. Draco was crouched on his broom, and if Potter played dirty, he could yank his Nimbus from under his feet.

Thank Merlin, then, that Potter never played particularly dirty.

The Seekers were nearing the stands, and Draco knew it was a matter of time before the Snitch could drop towards the ground. His plan depended on it. Potter's head was almost at Draco's ankles.

"Malfoy, what are you planning?" he heard the boy ask through gritted teeth.

Draco ignored him, focusing on his task.

The Snitch dropped down, and damning the consequences, Draco leapt off his broom to follow it.

"MALFOY!" he heard Potter yell behind him as Draco fell through the air. His limbs flailed as he fell uncontrollably, hurtling towards the ground.

Streamline your body! he heard Hermione screech in the back of his mind. He slammed his arms and legs together, as if he was diving into the pool in France again. His descent was smoother, like gliding through water as he fell. Draco did not think of slamming into the ground, concentrating his thoughts on the Snitch. It was still on its descent, but moving much faster than Draco, and zigzagging in the air.

He reached forward for the Snitch, his arms dangerously lingering where a Bludger would collide but he pulled them away at the last moment.

The Snitch was still too far away, from his reach and Draco had to reconcile the thought that it could move in a different direction, whilst Draco could not stop his fall.

Then, seemingly in a stroke of luck, the Snitch jolted upwards. Draco streamlined his body again, throwing his body to his left. He began pawing at the air, hoping that one hand would capture the Snitch. He could see the ground growing closer in his periphery but he had more important things to concentrate on.

Come on!

His fingers wrapped themselves around the metal ball, and he rolled mid-air onto his back with a large grin on his face. Potter was miles above him, his hands still outstretched as if to try and pull Draco to safety. Horror crossed his face when he realised that his actions had cost him the game. As Draco felt the ground near, he closed his eyes, hoping that someone would catch him before he hit the ground.

Even if he did hit the ground, he did not mind, because it was him – and not Potter, for once – who was the hero.

Because, maybe just for once, Slytherin wins.