He swerved around Potter and his gang, who exited Zonko's about five seconds before he passed it. Granger smiled at him. He managed a quick grin before he rushed on down the street.
He arrived in front of the pub out of breath and with about thirty seconds to spare, so he took a moment to slow his breathing and make sure he seemed nothing but calm and composed. Then he went in.
His father was seated at a small table in the corner and did not even look up when Draco entered. Draco walked over confidently and sat down with his usual aplomb.
"Father," he said neutrally.
"Draco." His father's eyes finally met Draco's own. "I trust you are well?"
"Yes sir." Draco would have said yes even if his hair was on fire; it was what his father expected of him. A little - well, not huge, anyway - hole in the shoulder was nothing.
"And everything else is... well?" He meant the spell.
"Yes sir." Apart from the hole in the shoulder Draco had got while he was ensuring that everything else was well.
"Excellent. Your progress so far has been satisfactory, Draco." High praise. "But that does not mean that you can allow yourself any lapses in other areas."
Other areas? He hadn't found out about he and Granger, had he? But Draco hadn't done anything wrong, not really! She was just a Mudblood, it wasn't as though he had allowed himself to be seen with her or anything...
"For instance, certain athletic areas."
Athle-- Ohh. Quidditch.
"You know how proud I am of your place on the Quidditch team, Draco. You should not feel pressured to give it less attention than you otherwise would."
In other words, Draco had better not fall behind because of the spell or people would get suspicious. Draco didn't think he was falling behind, but the lost Quidditch match had obviously convinced his father otherwise.
He could understand that; after all, it had been against Hufflepuff.
"No sir. I won't."
"Excellent. Now Draco, why don't you have a drink?" Keeping up appearances.
"Yes sir, thank you."
They sat in silence for ten minutes before his father finished his drink and stood up. "Well, Draco, I'm afraid I must take my leave of you. I do hope everything continues to go well."
"Yes sir." Draco stood up too. "Good day, father."
"Good day."
His father left and Draco sat down again. He waited another five minutes to finish his drink before heading back outside himself. He grabbed a sandwich in the Three Broomsticks and ate it on his way back to Hogwarts, where he immediately changed into his Quidditch robes and went out onto the pitch.
He had booked the pitch for the whole day, although the booking was probably superfluous on a Hogsmeade Saturday. He had also booked it for himself alone; he was sure he would have been able to get the other members of his team to participate somehow, but he wouldn't have been thanked for it and he didn't need any animosity during the match next week.
Besides, he needed to work out the best way to fly without causing unbearable agony in his still not exactly painless shoulder. He had tried to do it the day after the Painful Squid Escapade. He still didn't know how he had managed to convince his team-mates that nothing was wrong with him. After that he had just sat in the stands giving orders during practice, answering any questions with a sarcastic remark or an insult or two. But next week he would have to be able to fly. Next he week he would have to be able to win.
He climbed onto his broom gingerly, holding onto it with his good hand. So far so good. He tried holding on with the other hand, the one attached to the arm attached to the bad shoulder. It ached, but the pain was bearable. He kicked off and managed to fly around the pitch a few times without fainting, which was a good sign.
Now came the tricky part.
Draco landed again and opened the trunk containing the Quidditch balls. He let out the Snitch, closed the trunk again and sat on it for five minutes to give the Snitch a head start. Then he mounted his broom and went about trying to find it. That was the easy part; after that came the diving and catching. Draco found himself slightly nervous about attempting those things.
Still, only one thing for it...
He dived.
Painpainpainpainpainpain!
He ignored it. A moment later his fingers closed around the Snitch.
His goal accomplished, Draco allowed himself to cry out and landed as quickly as he could.
Ow.
But he was still alive, still conscious even, and that was certainly something.
He practised on Sunday as well, and on every weekday after supper, even when the Ravenclaw team had booked the pitch too and he had to wait until they were done.
By Friday night Draco felt he actually had a good chance at winning. If he could catch the Snitch with his good arm it wouldn't even hurt that much.
He had just got off his broom to try and get the Bludger he had let out back in the trunk when he noticed Granger walking onto the field.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"We had a date," Granger said.
Draco snorted. "We don't have dates, Granger."
"Oh yeah? What is it that we have, then?"
"We have... appointments."
Granger laughed. "If you say so."
"I do. In fa- Watch out!"
Draco pushed Granger out of the way of the Bludger hurtling towards her and caught it. It hurt. He carried the struggling ball over to the trunk and strapped it back in. Then he slammed the trunk shut and sat on it, wincing.
"Does it still hurt?" Granger asked, sitting down next to him.
"No."
"You're lying."
"Of course I'm bloody lying! You saw how deep the hole was!"
"Then why did you lie?"
"Because sometimes I do lie."
"But why?"
"Just shut up, Granger, okay?"
"Don't talk to me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm one of your Slytherin cronies who takes every word you say for gospel and doesn't dare say anything in their own defence. I know you, Malfoy, and I know you're not the be-all and end-all of everything that's young and male."
Draco grinned. "If that's true, how come you're still here?"
She hesitated, then put a hand on his knee. "Maybe I don't want be-all and end-all."
"If that's true you must be even more insane than I thought. And you don't know me, Granger. How could you?"
"I know there's more to you than meets the eye."
"Maybe because I'm smart enough not to wear my heart on my sleeve like you Gryffindor freaks."
"We hardly do that, Malfoy, and you know it."
Draco was stumped for an answer for a moment, but then realized that he had the perfect one. "In that case, you don't really need your sleeve, do you?" he said, putting his hand under her shirt and pulling her arm out of the sleeve.
"Malfoy, it's cold."
"Which is why the point of this would be to make us... hotter."
Granger sighed. "I don't know why I put up with this."
But she was smiling.
The next day it wasn't cold. In fact, the weather was perfect for playing Quidditch, which was a good sign. Of course, the Ravenclaw team was probably thinking exactly the same thing... but then again, they were going to lose.
They had to.
So of course they would.
Wouldn't they?
Draco shook his head to clear it of these unsettling thoughts as he strode onto the pitch. He shook hands with the Ravenclaw captain, squeezing rather too hard, as was the Slytherin custom. Then the Quaffle was released and they took off.
Draco immediately soared up past the others and made a round of the pitch, scouring it for the Snitch. Alas, it was already nowhere to be seen. Draco took up a stationary position above the pitch a few yards away from the Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho Chang. She had obviously not spotted the Snitch yet either.
Beneath them, the match was already raging viciously, as first Rona, Slytherin's only female team member, had the Quaffle, then lost it to a Ravenclaw Chaser, who was hit by a Bludger from Joshua and dropped it straight into Fallon's waiting hands.
Draco smiled. Things were looking good.
"Slytherin scores!" the Gryffindor seventh-year whose name Draco didn't care to remember shouted a moment later. Fallon swooped up on his broom and punched the air triumphantly.
Then a Bludger hit him in the side of the head.
"No!" Draco shouted, as Fallon first wobbled, and then ever so slowly began to fall.
Furiously, Draco gripped his broom tightly and hurtled towards the ground, calling for a time-out just before he reached it. His arms were jarred by the rough landing and he had to resist the urge to cry out in pain as he ran towards Fallon, the rest of the Slytherin team following a moment later.
Fallon was out cold.
"Damn!" Draco viciously kicked the pole Fallon had landed next to. "Bloody, bloody hell!"
Rona looked at Fallon and cringed. "Now what? Fallon's our best player!"
"I know that, you dimwit!"
"We're doomed," Edmund said glumly.
"No we bloody well are not! We are not going to lose the Quidditch Cup to Gryffindor! Not this year!" Draco forced himself to calm down a little. "We'll just have to carry on without him. We can do it. You just keep the Ravenclaws from scoring too many points before I find the Snitch and we'll still win."
"Draco, do you really think-"
"Yes, Joshua, I bloody well do! Now come on, we have a match to win."
Fuming with anger and determination, Draco mounted his broom and kicked off. The others soon followed and the match was resumed.
But the absence of Fallon was sorely felt. Rona and Edmund had a hard enough time getting the Quaffle away from their opponents at all; getting it all the way to the other end of the pitch and through one of the hoops seemed practically impossible.
"170-30 TO RAVENCLAW!" the annoying Gryffindor shouted enthusiastically.
Draco scrutinized the pitch desperately for any sign of the Snitch. If Ravenclaw scored even once more it wouldn't matter if he caught it; Slytherin still wouldn't win, and they needed to win, for Merlin's sake!"
No sign of it, no sign of it...
Draco flew to Ravenclaw's end of the pitch and back again, but he still couldn't find it anywhere! He had to, he had to he had too...
A strangled squeal made him look down just in time to see his Keeper careening off to the side after having been hit by a Bludger. One of the Ravenclaw Chasers was rushing towards the goal hoops, Quaffle in hand, while her fellow Ravenclaws prevented Draco's Chasers from following.
Oh no. Nonononono...
Without thinking, Draco swooped down in front of the hoops just as the Chaser threw the ball. It hit him right where the spear had been plunged into his shoulder and he cried out in pain and squeezed his eyes shut, only opening them again for fear of crashing into a goal pole.
And there it was.
The Snitch was about 30 feet away, directly beneath him.
With a whoop of joy, Draco held onto his broom with all his might, accelerated downwards and caught the Snitch with his good hand.
The fact that the acceleration caused his other arm to hurt so much that he instinctively let go and fell to the ground from quite a height didn't bother him much at all.
With an immense feeling of satisfaction at Gryffindor Announcer Boy's "NO! HE CAN'T HAVE, THE ROTTEN BASTARD! NO!", Draco lay there and waited for his Slytherins to come and carry him home.
No lapsing in athletic areas despite agonizing injury... check.