This used to be chapter 2 of my "Snippets" story. Now, it's a fun little one-shot. Hope you enjoy it!

Rowling is our queen!

It was a gray, rainy, overcast day. The clouds above swirled white and gray, spitting rain, occasionally breaking to allow sunlight through. Wind whipped past Draco's hair as he leaned forward, his cold fingers gripping the wood of his broomstick so tightly he thought it might crack. He scanned the sky, hoping to see a flash of gold against the gray and white.

He needed to catch the snitch. For his last few games as the seeker for the Appleby Arrows, a prestigious team, he'd failed to catch the snitch. He'd been playing like rubbish for weeks and weeks. His team had still won, because they were excellent all around, but in his own way, he'd lost. See, Draco Malfoy had a plan. A plan that involved a large crowd, a golden snitch, and his beautiful, volatile, know-it-all girlfriend. He had a plan, and this was the last match of the season, and if he didn't catch the bloody snitch, that plan would amount to nothing.

For the last year he'd been with the same witch. He was in love with her, there was no doubt, but they'd kept it a secret. He was still working on increasing the public's opinion of him after all the bad press that had gone along with his family being on the wrong side of a war. Being chosen as seeker for one of the best quidditch teams in England had helped tremendously, but his girlfriend - who, mind you, was the brightest witch of their age - had insisted that he needed to win back the public on his own, without her in the picture. Hermione Granger was the wizarding world's sweetheart, and her biggest worry was that if they went public before he'd been popularly accepted, people would speculate that he was with her only to capitalize on her fame.

The only people who knew about them were her closest friends - Potter, Weasley, and the Weaslette - and a few of his - Blaise and Theo. And they'd all been sworn to secrecy. Hermione was adamant about this. For years, he'd watched her rise up in righteous fury over her dimwitted friends - who, as much as he hated to admit it, were slowly becoming his dimwitted friends - and it had been incredible to see that same righteous fury directed at others on his behalf, rather than toward him, since they started dating. The public knew they were friends - in the papers, it was spun as the Golden Trio taking poor, destitute ex-Slytherins under their wings - but that was all.

And they were friends, he thought as he fought through another bout of rain, searching the sky for a flash of gold. They'd been friends - or at least not enemies - for a few years. But for the last year, they'd been so much more, and he was tired of waiting and having to fake it in public. He wanted the world to know about them, and to hell with the consequences. They could handle whatever the press threw at them, whatever the world threw at them, of that he was certain. Which was why he needed to catch this bloody snitch.

The original plan had been for Draco to get the general public to, if not love him, then tolerate him. The Appleby Arrows were a beloved team with good, upstanding players. Gaining good publicity had been easier than he'd thought once the was chosen as seeker. Plus, the camera loved him in the Arrows' uniform - the pale blue robes were very flattering, and the silver arrow on the front made his silvery eyes really pop. At least, that's what Hermione said. She'd saved every newspaper clipping in a scrapbook and kept it on the coffee table in her small flat. Once they were public, he was going to ask her to live with him, and they could keep it on the coffee table in their home.

That's all he wanted, really. To be able to be with her, and really be with her, without all the worry and secrets.

Honestly, at this point, Draco didn't care a whole lot about what the rest of the world thought about him. He just knew that if he wanted his relationship with Hermione to have any chance of success, the world had to accept him, and after that, had to accept them. Otherwise, they'd be torn apart.

He checked in on the other seeker - easy to spot in black and yellow stripes - and saw that he, too, was still circling and searching. Below, beaters and chasers battled for points. He checked out the scoreboard - the Arrows were way ahead, but not far enough ahead to earn the Arrows a win if the other keeper were to find the snitch first. Another layer of pressure.

On a whim, Draco dove, hoping the other seeker - a bloke by the name of Hopkins - would see him and think he'd spotted the snitch and follow. Sure enough, as Draco flew low in a circle directly over the stands, eyes wide as he searched - not for the snitch, but for curly brown hair - Hopkins followed. Draco smirked and Arrows' fans clapped as he soared closer and closer to the tops of their heads.

He made it around to the Arrows' side of the pitch, and there she was. Her cinnamon-colored eyes were wide and he couldn't resist the urge to roll right above her head, laughing as she covered her mouth, then glared up at him from the stands. He gave her a wink as he zoomed by, Hopkins right on his tail. He smiled and looked up, his heart jumping into his throat.

Across the pitch, in a ray of golden sunlight, something glinted. It was still raining, but streams of sunlight had broken through in what Hermione liked to call sun showers. Heart beating wildly and hop running wild in his chest, he dove through the patches of sunlight and rain toward what he knew would be the key to his future.

The day he'd finally plucked up the courage and asked Hermione Granger on a date, it had been raining. He'd seen her, sitting under an awning at a little cafe, unsurprisingly reading a book and sipping something from a mug. Over the last few years they'd been friendly, if not friends, and a week before, he'd seen in the paper that she and her long-time boyfriend, Oliver Rivers had finally called it quits.

Draco Malfoy was ambitious, but he was also a realist, so he waited for a whole month after the break up before he made a move. If Ronald Weasley wised up after years of ignorance and decided he wanted Hermione Granger, Draco had no doubt they would be married within a year. But, fortunately for him, she'd dated Rivers for nearly three years, and during that time, Weasley had gotten engaged to someone else. So, Draco had waited four excruciating weeks after she dumped Rivers before he let himself make a move.

He ducked into the cafe from the rain, knowing his hair and shoulders were damp, knowing he didn't look his best, but this was his chance. Only sparing a moment to push his wet bangs back, he went out to the patio where she was, hands nearly trembling.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked, walking up to her as confidently as he could, even though he suddenly felt as if he might vomit.

She looked up at him, startled, and lowered her book to the table. "Malfoy," she said, placing a bookmark in the pages. "Um, no. Have a seat." She motioned toward the seat, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

"Thank you," he said with a smile, hoping it was suave and charming, but feeling awkward and sweaty and damp. "What are you having?" he asked, motioning toward her mug.

"Just coffee," she said, eyes narrowed further. Were her cheeks pink? Or was he imagining that? He'd dreamed about this so many times, and in none of those were his hands sweaty and his hair damp.

"Perfect." He raised his hand and a waiter came over. "A coffee for me, and another for Ms. Granger. And be sure to bring cream, please."

The waiter nodded and left, and Hermione still stared at him. He could feel her eyes burning into him.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" she asked, eyes narrowed, but her voice lacked any anger. It was more of a habit to distrust him, he realized. That gave him hope.

"I'm buying you a coffee, Granger," he said, straightening his shirt sleeves.

"Why?" she asked, turning toward him slightly, her lips quirking up in an almost smile.

"Can't a bloke just buy a coffee for a bird?" He cleared his throat, his cheeks going slightly pink.

"Yes," she said, a smirk stretching across her lips, "but Draco Malfoy can't just buy a coffee for Hermione Granger out of the blue without at least a few questions." She leaned toward him. "And since when do you use such colloquial language like bloke and bird?" She was smiling at him now. Almost laughing. And rather than feel upset by that, he found himself smiling back.

She was smiling at him.

"Honestly?" he asked, eyebrows lifted, and the waiter sat their coffees and cream down before turning and walking away again.

"Honestly," she said, pouring cream into the rich, black liquid and stirring it with a spoon.

"I read in a Muggle magazine that one way to endear yourself to a woman you fancied was to avoid using elevated language." He picked up the sugar canister and dumped a healthy amount into his coffee before taking the cream from where she'd left it on the table and adding some of that as well.

"A woman you fancied?" she asked, voice tight. This time, he knew he wasn't imagining the slight blush that crept up her neck. He met her eyes, his own cheeks rosy, and was surprised to see that she was smiling.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" He cleared his throat and sipped his coffee. Far too much sugar, but he would drink it just to have something to do with his hands.

Hermione sat back in her chair and surveyed him as she sipped her coffee, cheeks still rosy, eyes now shrewd. "Is this supposed to be a date?" she asked, her coffee held in her hands just in front of her lips.

Draco sat up straighter, pulling at his sleeves again - a nervous habit he'd picked up after the war when showing his mark would have made things so much worse than they already were. "Possibly." He sipped his sugary coffee again, before sitting it on the tablecloth, afraid he might spill it as his hands trembled.

"No." She sipped her coffee and put her own mug on the table. "This is not a date, Malfoy," she said, smirking broadly.

"Well, why not?" he asked, flustered and frustrated. He felt his forehead crease and his cheeks blossom from pink to red. He tried to smooth out his expression and failed miserably.

"Because you didn't ask me. Obviously." Hermione leaned forward to pick up her coffee again, her eyes sparkling. The rain outside was light, and just behind her the clouds seemed to open up, and sunlight streamed through the rain in a lovely, dappled way. The light changed and Hermione turned to look. "A sun shower," she said wistfully. "Isn't it lovely?" She turned back to him, eyebrows raised, expression open.

He looked from her, to the sun shower, and back. "Gorgeous," he said, his brow furrowed. "But, wait. You're saying this isn't a date, only because I didn't ask you?"

She smiled shyly and sipped her coffee. "Of course." She shrugged. The patches of sunlight from the sun shower moved in a dappled pattern behind her and a cool breeze blew past ruffling his damp hair.

"Alright." He took a deep breath and leaned forward. "Well, Granger?"

She smiled with a mischevious glint in her eyes and sat her coffee down beside her book, leaning forward toward him as well, her elbows on the table. "Yes, Malfoy?"

He clasped his hands to cease their shaking. "Would you like to go on a date with me?" His words hung in the air between them and it felt like his heart might explode as he waited.

Her face broke into a brilliant smile, just as the sun had broken through the clouds. She picked up her coffee again and nestled it in both hands, sitting back and looking at him over the rim of her oversized mug. "I'd love to."

This sun shower, during such a pivotal moment both then and now, had to be a sign. He would catch the snitch, he would fly to Hermione and pluck her from the stands, and while the wizarding world watched, he would kiss her and the world would finally know. It would be, quite literally, magical.

The snitch. It was flying through patches of sunlight. Hopkins was just a few boom-lengths behind him. Draco leaned forward, flying through both light and dark as the light rain cooled the sweat on his body. There it was, finger lengths ahead. He reached, arms and neck straining, and then - as if in a dream - his fingers closed around the cold, wet metal. The wings went still and retracted in his palm and after a moment, the crowd erupted.

His heart soared. He pumped his fist in the air and swerved, ready to head back toward Hermione. The announcer was yelling, the crowd was cheering, and his witch was waiting for him. He darted through the air toward his girl, hands shaking in anticipation. He could see her, just up ahead, smile bright.

And then, without warning, the air was knocked from his lungs as a bludger collided with his stomach. He tumbled through the air, hand over foot, to land in a painful heap on the quidditch pitch below.

He'd been close to the ground, zooming toward her just feet above the pitch, so the fall itself didn't hurt him, but he was pretty sure the bludger had broken a few ribs. The snitch was still in his hand though, and from the ground, he put his fist in the air again to let the crowd know he was ok. They cheered again, but the moment was tainted with the knowledge that he couldn't have his moment with Hermione. He'd won the game, but his grand gesture was wrecked.

He pushed himself up to sitting, wincing at pain lancing through his abdomen, and was immediately flattened on the ground against as a body, topped with wild, curly hair, wrapped itself around him.

"Are you hurt?" Hermione asked against his neck before she pushed herself up to sitting, straddling his waist, holding his face in her hands. "Draco, are you hurt? Are you OK?"

He stared at her for a long moment, wincing as she pressed against his torso. The stadium had gone quiet around them, but she seemed oblivious as she stared wildly at his face, her cinnamon-colored eyes big and wild.

"Draco!" she screeched, turning his head this way and that. "Are you alright?"

He smiled and pushed himself up so that he was sitting upright. His torse was pressed to hers and he wrapped his free arm around her waist. He lifted his other hand and opened his fingers, showing her the now immobile snitch.

"I caught it," he said with a smirk, and she smacked his chest, making him grimace as pain radiated out from the impact. "Oi! Ribs, Hermione. Ribs."

"Sorry!" she said, grimacing and letting her hands float over the injured area as if she wanted to touch them and soothe the pain away. "Sorry."

"S'alright," he said, smiling up at her. "You know," he said, pushing past the pain to smile at her, fully aware of the hundreds of silent eyes watching them as if they were a show on the telly. "Everyone can see us right now," he whispered. She looked around and her cheeks bloomed crimson, but then she turned back to him and he watched a smirk lit up her face.

"Then let's give them something to look at," she whispered back. Before he could process her words, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He smiled as he wrapped his arms around her, keeping the snitch firmly in one hand, and returned her kiss with fervor, even though it really, really hurt.

There was a beat of silence, and then the crowd erupted into a cheer, even louder than when he'd caught the snitch. Hermione smiled against his lips and deepened the kiss as her arms slipped around his neck. Only when she squeezed him, and he jumped at the pain in his ribs, did she stop and look down at him sheepishly.

"Sorry again," she said. The sun shower was fading, the clouds lifting to be replaced with only warm, bright sunlight.

"It was worth it for a bloke like me to be kissed like that by a bird like you." He waggled his eyebrows and she laughed.

"Come on," she said, helping him up and draping his arm over her shoulders. "The Prophet's going to have so many questions," she said with a smirk. "They may even have a few about the game, if you're lucky."

"You're ridiculous," he said. She reached up and laced their fingers together where his arm rested across her shoulders. It was such a normal motion, such an average thing to do, but they were doing it in public, with thousands of people watching, and it filled Draco with more adrenaline than any quidditch match could.

They walked across the quidditch pitch as other players zoomed above them, shouting out their congratulations as photographers snapped photos from the sidelines.

"We're public now," he said, wincing as his ribs were jostled. "Are you ready for what that means?"

She squeezed his fingers and smirked up at him, hair damp and hanging around her face and her cinnamon eyes sparkling. "I"m the one who attacked you on the pitch without asking," she said, her cheeks pink.

"If you hadn't, I would have," he said, tugging her closer, despite the pain in his ribs. "Bloody bludger botched my plan to literally sweet you off your feet."

"You would have had a grand plan secretly in the works," she said, rolling her eyes.

"It was supposed to be romantic," he said, slowly their steps as they approached the waiting press.

"But you didn't even ask first," she said. For a moment, he worried she was upset, but a quick look at her playful smirk, at the sparkle in her eyes, told him otherwise.

"Well, then, Granger?" he asked as he pulled them to a stop.

She blinked up at him with her big, open eyes. "Yes, Malfoy?" She couldn't stop the grin that overtook her face.

"Would you like to come with me while I go tell the press how much I love you?"

Her grin grew and she slowly pushed up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his. "If I can also tell them how much I love you, then I'd love to."

He leaned down, in spite of the burning in his ribs, and kissed her again. And when she pulled back, eyes sparkling in the sun, he thought that this match was most assuredly the best he'd played in his life.