As a Chaser, Ginny Weasley had been assigned to check Blaise any time they’d faced off across the Quidditch pitch.
The two had formed an antagonistic relationship over the last two years since she’d joined the Golden Lions, one that was nearly as rancorous as Draco’s own had been with Granger at the start of their school years.
Zabini’s dark eyes glittered with a dark, unfamiliar emotion, and a small smile graced his full lips.
“If I’m lucky enough to draw her name,” he replied, using similar language to Draco’s.
In that moment, Draco knew the gig was up; his best friend suspected that he intended on cheating to arrange things in his favour.
In the manner of Slytherins, though, his best friend was wordlessly conveying an offer to keep his mouth shut about the subterfuge in return for fixing the arrangement with Weasley for him as well.
Draco nodded in silent understanding and acceptance.
“I have a good feeling about this,” he casually announced.
Dropping the parchment into his lap, he stretched his arms together over his head, cracking his knuckles by interlacing his long, pale fingers.
“This’ll be a game to remember.”
Nott stood to grab a piece of parchment, his quill, and an ink bottle from his school bag, turning them over to Draco.
“Let them know we’re in agreement. I don’t want any crying foul later that there wasn’t an official accord.”
Taking the items, Draco conjured a wooden lap board for writing and got down to penning a reply.
Potty,
Terms accepted, dandelion.
Again, barring subs, our team is as follows: me, Zabini, Nott, Greengrass, Davis, and Parkinson.
Get ready to beg for mercy, – D.M.
P.S.
Don’t forget to pack your hankies for when the crying starts.
X~~~~~~~~~X
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland Seventh Year’s Defence Against The Dark Arts Classroom Thursday, June 11, 1998 (morning)
Harry glared across the aisle at Malfoy.
Obviously bored as the rest of them, as classes had officially ended for seventh-years – all exams had been taken the previous week, and this week was simply a wrap-up and individual review of results; next week was personal counselling about every student’s future options based on aptitude and N.E.W.T.
scores, which were to come in on Monday morning, and handed out by Heads of Houses the smug git had the audacity to throw a small, waded up piece of paper at the back of Hermione’s head.
From her seat two rows up, his best friend looked up at Professor Moody, noted the man was distracted by Terry Boot’s final interview, and bent over to pick up the wad of paper.
She opened it and read.
Whatever it said made her stiffen and he could practically feel her ire from across the row.
She picked up her quill and scribbled something on it, then hiding the paper in the sleeve of her robe, she raised her hand.
Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who tsk’dand sat back in his chair, knowing he was busted this time.
“What is it Miss Granger?” Moody asked, looking up from the paper in front of him.
Hermione cleared her throat.
“Sir, I’m afraid I’m feeling a little dizzy. Since we’ve already had our review, may I go to the Hospital Wing to have a lie down for a bit?”
Moody stared hard at her for a second, and then nodded.
“Potter, you’re done as well, so escort your Housemate to Madam Pomfrey, to make sure she gets there safely.” He returned to talking to Terry, ignoring everyone else, who sat around in groups and whispered, gossiping and making plans for the weekend and after graduation.
Harry stood without needing to be told twice.
Truth be told, he was bored off his gourd.
“Yes, sir.”
Ron threw him a ‘you lucky bastard!’ expression and waved him off, then moved his chair back to Seamus, Neville, and Dean’s little gathering one row back to join in their discussion about next Friday night’s farewell Formal.
Making his way to Hermione’s side, Harry took her bag and slung it over her shoulder, and then the two headed out.
On the way past Malfoy’s desk, Hermione locked eyes with their rival, smirked, and pressed the wadded up paper into his free hand.
Without skipping a beat, she kept walking, so Harry didn’t stop either.
When they were far enough down the corridor for no one to hear, Harry finally had to ask.
“Right, so what did Slytherin’s Prince have to say to you, and what did you say back that’s got you grinning like the Cheshire Cat?”
Hermione chortled.
“I wondered how long it would take before you broke. He asked me if I liked kneeling, because he planned to have me in that position for him this Saturday night if he pulled my name as his partner.”
Harry clenched his jaw.
“How did you reply?”
A tinge of a blush bloomed across her pretty, golden cheeks.
“I told him he should get his cushioned Quidditch leggings out of storage because it wouldn’t be me on my knees if we were lucky enough to be thrown together. I further intimated that I might just write up a Forfeit card that required all of the men on his team to suck each other’s penises if he kept harassing me.”
Harry burst into laughter.
“Brilliant, ‘Mione!”
His best girl friend shrugged.
“Top of the class, you know,” she joked, fluffing her hair in playful teasing.
They both erupted into fresh gales of mirth then, and changed topics, discussing their all of their test scores to date.
Chivalrously, Harry let his Housemate talk first.
As she critiqued her own essay for Potions (which had–gasp–earned her an “E” instead of an “O”), Harry considered his best female friend from the corner of his eye, catching every third word or so.
He’d had a crush on ‘Mione in third year, and for a little bit of fifth year, too, but hadn’t wanted to step into Ron’s territory.
Now, though, she was free and clear, as his two best friends’ relationship hadn’t worked out, and he knew she wasn’t currently dating anyone.