Round 3 Challenge 6: The Screening
Grab a soda and some popcorn, movie fans … It’s time for the week six screening!
Welcome all to the World Premiere of "This is a Very Simple Game."
A couple of things to remember when deciding which drabbles to vote for (most and least favorite):
Guidelines:
As a voter, you have the option of leaving a brief statement about why you voted the way you did, for both most and least favorite. Your feedback will then be given to the drabble writer (if they want the feedback) ANONYMOUSLY.
Example: Most - #40: the ending was brilliant - OR - Least - #57: the ending fell flat
Please remember writers, that you may not vote for yourselves.
Here we go for week Six!
Choose your favorite and least favorite drabbles. Favorites will receive +1 point per vote, and least favorites -1 point per vote.
Voting ends at 11:59pm, Friday, March 6th.
This is a very simple game!
Scene (inspirational movie): Bull Durham
Action (must include): Quidditch; set at a World Cup
Theme (additional information): Victorious
1
Title: England vs. Spain
Author: kalina_blue
Rating: PG
Warnings: Post-DH, EWE
Word Count: 332
"I thought for sure England would get their arses kicked out of the championship in the semi-finals. Bulgaria has such a strong team these days, much better since they played the Cup last time. We were lucky Wood spotted the snitch before Krum did," Draco said excitedly, pulling Hermione through the crowd. She had trouble keeping up with his longer strides.
"Though luck alone won't be enough to win against Spain," Draco continued. "Merlin knows that Spanish Quidditch team wants the Cup. They haven't won a Quidditch World Championship since 1856. Mind you, England hasn't won since 1948 either, so it's about time we bring home the Cup."
"Draco can't you stop talking about Quidditch for one second? Aren't you worried at all what everyone is going to say about this?" Hermione fretted, indicating their joined hands.
Making their first public appearance as a couple at the Quidditch World Cup had been Draco's idea, although Hermione had initially agreed that it was a brilliant plan. All her friends were crazy about Quidditch, and there probably was no better time to tell them that she was dating their arch nemesis than when they were in Quidditch heaven.
However, now that they were actually at the stadium, bound to run into someone they knew sooner rather than later, Hermione was nervous. What if the Quidditch induced bliss wasn't enough to make everyone accept her relationship with Draco?
"Don't worry about it," Draco assured his girlfriend confidently. "Nobody is going to notice us while the game is still on; their attention is going to be on the pitch. And once England has won even Potthead and the Weasel won't care who you're dating."
"And if England loses?" Hermione asked, whispering so that the England fans surrounding them wouldn’t hear and accuse her of blasphemy.
"Well, in that case," Draco replied dryly, "you better be quick to point out to them that while I might be a Slytherin and ex-Death Eater, at least I'm not Spanish."
2
Title: Air Show
Author: luvscharlie
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 493
"Do we have to stay for the whole game?" Hermione asked, looking up from her book as Draco stood and cheered. "I mean just because you own the team, I don't see why we have to attend every game."
He turned grey eyes down upon her. Was she serious? "This is not just any game! This is the World Cup! And yes, we are most certainly staying." Puddlemere scored again, and Draco punched the air in excitement. "Do you know what this will do for our merchandising if we win?"
She rolled her eyes skyward then turned back to the book laid open across her knees.
There was snigger from three rows up. "Check out the bird with the book. Who brings a book to the World Cup?"
Draco took his seat beside her in an attempt not to draw further attention to himself… or his wife… daft bird that she was. He leaned close, hissing in her ear. "Put that away. You are embarrassing me. People are talking."
She leaned in as well. "You think people are talking about me? You should hear what the ladies two rows down are saying about the insane blond bloke who keeps jumping up and shouting every time Marcus Flint so much as rounds the pitch. I believe there was some talk that you-excuse me, the blond bloke-had a serious hard on for our dear Captain Flint."
Draco gasped, scandalized. "They did not! You're making that up."
She cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Did they? Really? What did they say exactly?"
She cocked an eyebrow again. Annoying bird certainly knew how to drive him spare. "Are you sure you want to know?" Hermione asked.
"Would I have asked, if I didn't?"
"Well," she said, leaning closer in conspiratorial fashion. "They said that if Flint's broom got close enough they wouldn't put it past you to jump on and do him mid-air for all to see."
He gasped. "Those pervy old bints. You know they're just dying to watch."
Hermione turned back to her book. "Well, it would be more entertaining than this silly game."
"This is the World Cup. It is not a silly-oh, never you mind."
*******
The after party was in full swing when they arrived, Puddlemere having pulled out a narrow victory. Captain Flint came over, a bit tipsy both from the victory and lager, and Hermione sniggered as Draco took a noticeable step backwards.
"Don't you have a book to read?"
"You told me to put it away." She splayed open her empty hands.
"Oh, and this is the one time you choose to listen to me?" Draco asked with a snort.
"Well, if there's going to be an air show, I'd hate to miss that."
"Enjoying this, are you?"
"Oh, immensely," she replied, curling an arm around his waist, and giggling once more when he pulled away.
"I'm going home." And with a "pop," he Disapparated to their flat.
3
Title: Symbol of Victory
Author: midnight_birth
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 499
“Go, Charles!”
Charles, a young man with long black hair and piercing brown eyes did a turn in the air, rolling to the right seconds before a Bludger heading straight for his head found its target. The crowd gasped and then burst into appreciative applause, and Charles bowed on his broom, his eyes fixed on her, grinning proudly.
Turning, he zoomed away towards the goalposts and her eyes followed him. Or, at least, an onlooker would have been assured her eyes were following her lover. But in fact they were fixed on a figure floating near the goalposts, his body hunched over. Hermione could sense his determination and his single-mindedness. It was the last match in the World Cup, and Draco wasn’t thinking about entertaining the audience.
Hermione gasped when Draco was gone, pelting so fast toward the ground people around her jumped to their feet. She turned and made her way to the stairs. She didn’t want to watch. She wasn’t a fan of Quidditch. She hated the sense of terror when players did reckless things. She hated the fact that her heart stopped beating when one particular player did reckless things, and it wasn’t the player her heart was responsible for.
The announcer announced the victory and her ears rang with tumultuous roars of happiness and disappointment when she was almost down at the field. Her heart slowed when there was no shocked silence, no screams or gongs that would announce a serious injury of a player.
She was shocked to run smack into someone at the entrance to the field and swept out of sight under the bleachers before the people behind reached her to see. She was pressed against the hard wood, gray eyes boring into her. Her hand reached for her wand automatically, but she stopped herself. This was uncharacteristic to say the least, but she knew she wasn’t in danger of any harm.
“First one on the field as usual.”
“First one off it as usual,” she fired back. His eyes were shining and he was breathing hard. She could smell the grass and sweat. She recognized the look. Charles got it when he spoke to her of Quidditch, but Charles never looked at her with those eyes.
“I won England the Quidditch Cup.” He was speaking into her neck now. “I felt it was fair to ask for my reward.”
“I’m not a trophy.” She hoped she sounded convincing. “How many times do we need to talk about this, Malfoy?”
“Charles is sleeping with half the Midi-Witches, Hermione, you know that. And he... talks to himself.”
His hand found hers and he pressed something cold and moving into her hand and took a step back.
“This is the last time I ask.”
He was gone and she was left standing alone, winded. She brought her hand up to her face and stared at the Golden Snitch. The symbol of Draco’s victory. She smiled. It was the symbol of his final victory indeed.
4
Title: Three Victories
Author: dazzled_x
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none, really, i think? some language, i suppose.
Word Count: 406
“The press certainly is having a field day with this year’s Cup,” I observed as Ginny and I got comfortable in our front-row seats.
She laughed. “Could you blame them? Harry Potter and the Montrose Magpies are playing against Draco Malfoy and Puddlemere United - this is going to be quite the match.”
I ignored the pang in my heart at the mention of Malfoy.
And quite the match it was. There was never much of a difference in points between the two Quidditch teams; they were always neck and neck.
“Thank Merlin Draco isn’t Puddlemere’s Seeker - he and Harry would have destroyed this place by now,” Ginny commented. “Remember our Hogwarts matches?”
This time, I couldn’t hide the involuntary wince my body gave at Malfoy’s name. Ginny apologized profusely.
“You two still haven’t spoken?” she asked in between apologies.
I shook my head.
“But it’s been nearly a year! And you didn’t even cheat on him - it was all just a misunderstanding!”
“He refused to get off his high-hippogriff and apologize to me. Apparently our relationship didn’t mean that much to him,” I said bitterly. “I’d rather not talk about it anymore.”
My red-haired friend sighed as we both stood up and cheered at the Magpies’ victory. All of the players had the biggest grins on their faces; however, Harry looked slightly green.
Both teams - except for Harry - flew down. With the assistance of the referees and coaches, silence fell upon the stadium.
“’Evening, everyone,” he greeted. “I know all of you are tired and want to get back to camp, so I’ll keep this short. I just have one thing to say, and you all will be able to go afterwards.”
Harry turned and flew a few yards closer to where Gin and I were standing, keeping eye contact with her.
“Ginny Weasley, I’ve loved you since I was sixteen and my love only grows stronger every day. Will you marry me?”
The stadium erupted in applause and happy shouts as Ginny nodded enthusiastically and made her way down to the pitch and to her new fiancé.
I smiled faintly as two of my best mates kissed.
“Good for them,” I whispered to myself, “for starting a new life together.”
“Potter’s speech was utter rubbish. Mine’s going to sound better, someday,” a voice whispered in my ear. “If you’ll let me.”
I hadn’t known that I was crying until Draco Malfoy kissed my tears away.
5
Title: Our Boy
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: G
Warnings: A 'bad' word.
Word Count: 487 words
The rise and fall of voices was like the ebb and flow of an ocean tide. Upon that tide of noise was a name, but this name did not matter to Hermione as much as it once had. There was another name more important now.
Sitting in a box high above the pitch, she considered the chosen metaphor of the sea. A sea of colours in the stands, the red of the English team and the blue of the Australian team-fans in clashing primary colours, bobbing and swaying, arms flailing with pennants from clenched fists...
“You are not watching,” he said, leaning forward toward her back to whisper close to her ear. “After all the time, effort-not mention money-we put into our 'boy,' I would think you would be watching his every move, ready to spout a critique on his flying ability.”
The sarcasm dripped from his tongue, landing on her shoulder and slithering up her neck to her ear. Not literally, of course, but she could feel his jealousy like a tiny black snake.
The crowd burst into raucous cheers as her 'boy' began to hone in on the snitch, but she was more concerned about Draco Malfoy's lips brushing the base of her throat.
There were two other people in the box, she did not know them, and they were too fixated on the game to notice how her face flushed and her tongue darted out to wet dry lips.
“Or have you finally realised, as I have, that our 'boy' was pulling the strings all along?”
His breath was hot against her neck and the feel of his fingers twisting around the curls pulled back at the nape of her neck sent shivers through her body. She knew what he was doing and why, Hermione just wished he had not chosen the World Cup to do it at last.
A flash of gold startled her, and her 'boy' followed, also in a flash, and suddenly, the game was over.
Draco's words were almost lost in the roar of the crowd, but she heard them. It was as the other two spectators in the box were on their feet, cheering, that Draco Malfoy took the initiative to rise and move from his seat behind hers. It was as the red sparks of the pyrotechnics display dazzled her eyes that he grasped her by the waist and lifted her off her seat. It was as their 'boy,' their investment, her Harry, his 'Saint Potter' flew about the Quidditch pitch in a victory lap of sorts that Draco Malfoy kissed her soundly on the lips. It was as she closed her eyes and let herself be taken in by his kiss that Hermione realised how Draco Malfoy's jealousy of Harry had made him accept his own feelings for her.
And about damn time, if she could have said so-her lips were happily occupied.
6
Title: (This One Is) For You
Author: kate0404
Rating: PG
Warnings: Nada
Word Count: 498… sweet mother of…
The roar of the crowd around her rose to ear-splitting proportions. She couldn’t talk to Harry on her left, or Ron on her right, without screaming - and even then neither could understand her. Hermione found it absolutely ridiculous.
In all the years that she had been friends with Ron and Harry, they still hadn’t fully comprehended her dislike of Quidditch. Even now, sitting in the top box at the World Cup as England took on Ireland, Hermione was only feeling slightly excited and she was only feeling that excitement through osmosis of the other exuberant attendees.
Another roar went out through the crowd and a flash of white streaked past their box. Hermione’s stomach flipped. Maybe there was something exciting about Quidditch.
♥ ♥ ♥
In the four hours and twenty-seven minutes that the match had been running, Draco had seen the snitch exactly six times. Each time he had been thwarted by a rogue bludger or a successful defensive move by a chaser. However, it never dampened his spirits.
A slight shift to the right and Draco whipped around to head back the other direction, his eyes trained on the field for a flash of gold. Instead, a familiar flash of frizzy brown caught his attention and Draco couldn’t stop himself from changing his direction just a bit to fly by her box.
Draco smirked as he saw her mouth open slightly and he imagined the breathy gasp that had slipped past her lips. Maybe he would win something more than just the World Cup tonight.
♥ ♥ ♥
Three hours later, Hermione was leaning against the railing in front of her. Even watching Draco expertly zoom around the stadium had become boring, so she had started daydreaming about what it would be like to finally be able to call herself Draco’s girl.
They had been dancing around the subject for the last three years of their friendship and Hermione was sick of it. She wanted more. She wanted to know what it would feel like to hug him in a way that was so much more than platonic. She wanted to know what he tasted like when she kissed him. She wanted to know what emotions would erupt from her when she heard him mutter the three words she was longing to hear.
She sighed. She wanted him.
A collective gasp went through the stadium. She looked up; he was coming straight towards her. Hermione ducked before crying out.
♥ ♥ ♥
With his hand outstretch, Draco closed his fingers around the snitch and pulled the broom back with his other, coming to an abrupt stop.
Victoriously, he looked first at the snitch and then to her round, shocked eyes staring back at him. Elation swept through his body and he did the first thing that came to mind. Leaning forward, he kissed her long and passionately on the mouth.
When he finally pulled back, he grinned. “This one is for you, Hermione,” he said before flying off, though not before he saw her smile.
7
Title: Love's A Competition
Author: __vintagebomb
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Words: 496
Draco tore his eyes away from the crowd, cursing himself for not focusing on the match. He circled the pitch on his broom repeatedly as Potter's words before the match reverberated in his ears.
"This is the best chance you'll get, Malfoy. You better take advantage of it while you can."
He eyed Potter on the other side of the field but it seemed that he had not gotten any luck either. During the last five hours of the match, the Snitch had only made an appearance once and it disappeared before either Seeker had a chance to claim it.
A glimmer of gold caught the corner of his eye. The Snitch was hovering near the base of a goal post. Draco immediately swerved his broom 360 degrees before speeding off. He did not dare take his eyes off the little fluttering ball but he felt Harry's presence creeping closer and closer. Draco urged his broom faster, laying flat against it. He extended his arm in front of him as the Snitch neared. He was at the edge of his broom, stretching his fingers as far as they could possibly reach. Victory was almost in his grasp.
His fingers were about to close around the fluttering Snitch when Harry grunted behind him. The moment Draco hesitated, Harry was given the opportune moment, knocking him sideways to make a clear path for the Snitch. Draco lost grip of his broom and plunged towards the ground as the sea of orange roared victoriously. He hit the ground with a sickening crunch of his bones.
Amongst the cheers of the crowd, he heard an agonising scream. He felt nothing but white-hot pain radiating off most of his body. His leg was askew and a part of his bone had broken through the skin. He couldn't move his hand without pain shooting up the rest of his arm. He heard a pop as someone apparated to his side.
"Stop moving!" she chastised, forcing him to lay down on the grass. He clenched his eyes shut and groaned in agony. "I swear, you two are the most idiotic imbeciles I could ever meet. This sport is utterly ridiculous!"
"Malfoy, are you alright?" Harry asked, with the Snitch still in his hand.
"You could've killed him!" the woman screeched.
"Granger, I'm fine," he croaked.
"Shut up, Malfoy. You almost died."
The Mediwitch arrived on the scene and prepared to levitate Draco to the infirmary. Sensing his discomfort, Hermione took his uninjured hand in hers and gave him a weak smile. Harry followed the two of them across the field.
"I told you it would work," he said to the blond. "I think it's safe to say that for once, we're both victorious."
"What are you talking about, Harry?" Hermione asked, sensing that the two enemies had been up to something.
"As always, I got the Snitch and won the World Cup. But this time, Malfoy isn't walking away empty handed. He won you back."
8
Title: Worth the Wait
Author: slytherinswench
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Word Count: 458
Hermione should have known better than to bet again Ginny Weasley. Really, she should have known.
She dropped her head onto the scarred table at Punkinbee’s.
Hermione hated Quidditch and this was just one more reason. Damn Harpies. Damn Ginny Weasley.
If Hermione hadn’t been brought up as a lady, she’d have thrown all manner of things at the Wizarding-Direct screen. She would have used foul language too, like bint, wanker, and bugger.
“Sweet Bleeding Hell!” Hermione muttered to herself as Ginny Weasley scored and the Harpies won the World Cup. Damn her for that bet and damn her for making her swear. Somehow it was Ginny’s fault that Hermione sounded so awkward doing it, too.
Why was that such a bad thing, the winning of the World Cup? Why wasn’t Hermione cheering and getting pissed with the rest of Punkinbee’s?
Because if the Harpies won the World Cup, one Hermione Granger was bound to go on three dates with the Harpies owner. Ginny knew instinctively that it would take more than one apocalyptic disaster of a date for Hermione to admit that Ginny’s boss, the Harpies owner, and incidentally Draco-effing-Malfoy was not the Devil.
Even though he was.
It wasn’t fair! Horrible people were supposed to grow up to be, well, horrible. They didn’t have the right to look like Swedish underwear supermodels. They shouldn’t make those they’ve tormented imagine scenarios that were better suited to Playwitch than Inquisition Weekly.
“So, I believe you owe me a date, or three.” A familiar voice drawled.
Hermione didn’t even have to look up. She knew it was him.
“You should be pleased, Miss Granger. I know many a witch who would kill to be in your place.”
“Why not inflict yourself on them then?”
“Because I want to, as you say, inflict myself on you.”
Hermione was instantly filled with visions of him “inflicting” himself on her in all of the ways a wizard could. Maybe even a few that she would have to look up to see if they were possible.
She blushed.
“Ah, finally I make your face flush with something besides a fit of pique. It’s a much more attractive hue.”
She was horrified, embarrassed, and disgracefully hot for him all at once. She was also speechless.
And Draco, he was rather pleased with himself. Perhaps he even felt a bit victorious. He had a date with a silent, flushing, and obviously aroused Hermione Granger. Draco always said it was the bookish witches that were the wildest in bed. It had taken quite a bit of convincing, even for him, to talk Ginny into this. Plus the incentive bonuses to the team for winning the Cup, a pretty galleon indeed.
He knew she’d be worth it.
9
Title: Amongst Promises and Dreams
Author: somandalicious
Rating: G
Warning: none
Word Count: 498
The wind was rushing past Draco’s ears in a deafening whistle as he stretched his body the length of the broom. His arm was fully extended, and the elusive glint of fluttering gold was just beyond his fingertips. Just a bit more…
Suddenly, Potter zoomed up beside him, their knee-pads bumping, and Draco tightened his grip on his broom to keep on course and in control. He gave Potter his most sinister sneer; a promise that Potter wouldn’t win. This time, it belonged to Draco.
The snitch took an abrupt dive and nearly flitted from view. Instantly, Draco jerked on the broom while simultaneously arching his back, performing a back-flip before sending himself into a kamikaze downward spiral. A complicated maneuver that he had invented.
The crowd collectively gasped with concern, and the snitch played just above the grass of the pitch. Draco reached out, grabbing blindly as he kicked at the bristles and pulled up on the handle.
His broom stopped with a jerk, and his hand slowly opened. Immediately the crowd erupted in a boisterous cheer.
Draco grinned-a real, cheek-aching, wide smile-and gripping the snitch again, punched the air with victory as the announcer boomed over the stadium. “Draco Malfoy has won the World Cup for Ireland with his patent dive! Unbelievable! I was sure he was a goner! That’s 470 for Ireland and…”
He removed the glasses, the smile still imprinted upon his face. Before him stood a nervous Hermione Granger, her hands wringing as she bit her bottom lip in anticipation. “Did it work?”
Using his cane, he slowly stood and hobbled forward. “This is extraordinary magic, Granger. I’m impressed.”
A yelp of relief escaped from her, and she clapped excitedly before launching herself at him. He chuckled and wrapped his free arm around her as he steadied himself with his cane before he gave her a long, slow, grateful kiss. He really did appreciate his witch.
She began talking rapidly, rambling about how she thought of the glasses, a bit of the same charm of a Pensieve, but she had also expanded on the magic in a Weasley Wheezes Patent Daydream Charm. She had gotten the idea from Muggle technology, something about a Virtual Reality. As she finished explaining, she gave him a peck. “I told you I’d help you fly again.”
“That’s an improbable promise you’ve kept,” he reminded as he pulled away. “Also, these glasses are a useful tool; I know what to do so that I don’t have another accident.” He needlessly gestured to his leg.
Hermione grinned. “Yes, well, that was part of the plan too. I wanted them to help you when you truly fly again.” Then putting all playfulness aside, she said, “And despite your injury, you will fly again, Malfoy.”
He jerked her back against him and pressed his mouth to hers. The thing was, with Granger he was always flying, because she was the air in which he soared. Paralyzed leg or not.
10
Title: The Luck of the Irish
Author: teenage_hustler
Rating: PG
Warnings: Kissing, wagering... :P
Words: 490
The field is deathly quiet as the all-important player raises his fist in the air. The tiny golden wings of the snitch are just visible beneath the player’s fingers. A magically amplified whistle sounds and the winning team is announced.
The sound of thousands upon thousands of ecstatic fans cheering in victory assaults your ears. Their screams are deafening. You’re sure that you won’t be able to hear again after today.
And yet, the sound is nothing compared to the roar of victory inside your own head. The joy that is shared among the masses is absolutely nothing compared to the joy that you experience as you realise what this means.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Draco,” Hermione said, shakily tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Of course you can,” Draco encouraged her, reaching out to take her hand. “It’s perfectly simple. I love you. You love me. We should be together.”
“That’s just it though.” Hermione slid her hand away from his, nervously avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know if I do love you.”
You could have knocked Draco over with a feather. He stared at her, unable to believe what he’d just heard. He’d been so sure. “You… you don’t know?”
Hermione shook her head. “I’m sorry, Draco.”
“So… so what do we do?” Draco asked. Was there any point in him asking that? If Hermione wasn’t sure if she loved him, was there any hope for him at all?
Hermione’s wandering gaze hit the window. Looking out, she noticed a group of young lads, dressed head to toe in green, marching down the street and hollering “Ireland! Ireland! Ireland!” This gave her an idea.
“Why don’t we let the game decide?”
“What?” Draco followed her gaze out the window. “The Quidditch final?”
Hermione nodded. “If Ireland wins, I love you. If Wales wins, I don’t.”
Draco’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Are you telling me that I’m betting your love for me… on the Irish?”
Hermione shrugged. “Better them than the Welsh.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Wading your way through the sea of green, you barely notice the seven Irish players flying around the pitch, waving at the ecstatic crowds. You also couldn’t give a toss. You’re thinking only one thing: Where is she?
Suddenly you see a gap amongst the sea of green, and there she is, her head anxiously bobbing up and down as she tries to find you. She sees you and her face lights up. Her smile is wide, and her eyes are soft with relief. She’s just as happy about the outcome as you are.
You’re hardly aware of you reaching her, but you do. You embrace each other, your hands knotting themselves in her ridiculous hair, her heart beating wildly against your chest. You kiss, and you know now how it feels to be truly victorious.
You break apart, and she smiles shyly at you.
“The luck of the Irish,” she says.
11
Title: Nothing Stops the Game
Author: greenschist
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 496
A/N: One line was paraphrased from Bull Durham.
Draco's silvery owl Patronus shot from the tip of his wand and disappeared through the wall.
"What did you tell Harry?" Hermione never looked up from her work.
"Status report," Draco replied. "That with just over an hour until detonation, we're still disarming the device, and although my legs are tired from climbing all those stairs, it was worth it for the chance to watch your arse move under those tight little trousers."
"I wish you'd stop winding up Harry and Ron."
"Give me a break, Hermione." On the other side of the bomb found mounted beneath the announcer's booth, Draco's hands moved in a complicated dance, fingers of one hand tracing the circuit through the device while disarming magical tripwires with the wand in his other hand. Overhead, eighty thousand people roared as Portugal battled Sweden in the 432nd World Cup. "I'm elbow deep inside a bomb rigged to disperse poisonous gas through a stadium still filled with oblivious fans because image conscious Ministers won't stop the game and evacuate, and you refuse to go out with me. Winding up your friends and looking down your blouse are the only bright spots in my life right now."
Hermione gave him a sour look but did not stop working long enough to adjust the neckline of her security staff tunic.
"Why won't you date me?"
"Is this the appropriate time for this conversation?"
"We could make the wrong move and die horribly at any moment, so humor me. I'm rich, charming, devilishly handsome-don't snort; it's the truth-I've promised you fine dining, entertainment, and long, slow kisses that last for three days. I would date me. Why won't you?"
"It's complicated."
"Is it my family?" He made a face. "Or are you still in love with Weasley?"
"No! Look-"
Harry's silver stag suddenly appeared before them. "There's been another note. The bomber now says we have three minutes. If you have something brilliant up your sleeve, Hermione, this is the time to pull it out."
Hermione gasped in indignation. "We're supposed to have forty-seven minutes!"
"Some terrorists are so inconsiderate," Draco drawled.
"Merlin, Draco, shut up!"
"I think I can disarm it."
"You think?"
"Yeah. I'm pretty sure if I cut this wire, everything stops."
"…How sure?"
"Sure enough to risk both our lives."
Hermione took a deep, shuddery breath. "Do it."
"Go out with me."
"What? Draco, cut the wire!"
"Say you'll have dinner with me."
"We're out of time!"
"We certainly are. You should say yes."
"Yes! Yes, all right? Yes!"
"Really?"
"Yes, now cut the damn wire, Draco!"
She flinched involuntarily as the two halves of the wire fell apart with a quiet snip of his scissors. The hum of the device ceased, and she sank to her knees in relief.
"Success!" Draco crowed. There was a triumphant light in his eyes that Hermione suspected had nothing to do with diffusing a bomb and saving close to a hundred thousand people.
12
Title: Winners Don’t Always Get the Girl
Author: floorcoaster
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Word Count: 499
Draco hated his court-appointed “job”-though prison sentence was often the more appropriate term. The negative aspects of the position were many, but could be easily summarized: clean every inch of every surface in the entire Quidditch stadium after games, from the seats to the toilets to the locker rooms. He couldn’t decide which was worse: the job, or having to be so close to the sport he loved but could never hope to fully enjoy again. A wayward spell in the final battle had seen to that.
The aftermath of tonight’s game was especially heinous. England’s national team had won its first playoff match of the World Cup-at home. The stadium was the filthiest Draco had ever seen it.
When he reached the locker rooms, Draco was annoyed to discover that one player, his least favorite, remained. Ron Weasley. He rolled his eyes at the redhead and went to the corner farthest from where England’s star Keeper sat, surrounded by simpering, buxom witches.
Weasley was soaking in the attention, as he always did, and it made Draco’s blood boil. The git had a girl, and not just any girl. Granger. Draco had found himself watching her more and more as the seasons passed, reluctantly charmed by her warm, easy manner. And little by little, piece by resistant piece, he had come to respect her. There were moments when he thought she was beautiful.
The door flew open and in walked Granger. Draco watched, darkly amused, as Weasley hurriedly tried to push through the fangirls to get to her.
Granger was not pleased.
Draco unsuccessfully tried not to listen. Their conversation quickly escalated into a heated argument. Her hands were flying in all directions, and Weasley’s face was bright red. It served the git right for his flirtatious nature; when a bloke has someone like Hermione, he’s an idiot to screw it up.
Their voices got quieter, their expressions harder. He couldn’t hear them anymore, but he watched as Granger’s eyes went wide. Weasley seemed to backpedal, but she ignored him and turned to look straight at Draco, then back at Weasley.
Draco suddenly wished he was anywhere but there and turned to gather his cleaning supplies.
“Don’t you dare, Hermione!” Weasley shouted.
Draco looked up to find Granger bearing down on him, a determined and vengeful look on her face. Without a word, she stopped before Draco, angrily grabbed his face, and kissed him-hard.
At first, he was too stunned to respond, but the feeling quickly passed. Before he could make the decision, he was kissing her back, surprising himself with the intensity of his actions.
Then he was ripped from her, and just before she turned back to her boyfriend, their eyes locked for an interminable second. As it ticked by, he saw shock in her eyes, followed by a glimpse of desire.
For the first time in his life, Draco thought that she finally looked at him. He inwardly cheered.
Then Weasley punched him.
ooo
REMEMBER: Vote for the NUMBER of the drabble, NOT THE NAME. It just makes it easier on the mods!
Please leave both a MOST favorite and a LEAST favorite vote. We must have both in order for your votes to count.
Poll round 3 challenge 6
Welcome all to the World Premiere of "This is a Very Simple Game."
A couple of things to remember when deciding which drabbles to vote for (most and least favorite):
Guidelines:
- Which drabble best incorporates the prompt?
- Is the drabble clever, different, fresh? Does it evoke an emotional response (good or bad)?
- Does the drabble contain grammar, canon or spelling errors?
- The movies merely serve as inspiration for the prompts. The requirements and theme are most important.
As a voter, you have the option of leaving a brief statement about why you voted the way you did, for both most and least favorite. Your feedback will then be given to the drabble writer (if they want the feedback) ANONYMOUSLY.
Example: Most - #40: the ending was brilliant - OR - Least - #57: the ending fell flat
Please remember writers, that you may not vote for yourselves.
Here we go for week Six!
Choose your favorite and least favorite drabbles. Favorites will receive +1 point per vote, and least favorites -1 point per vote.
Voting ends at 11:59pm, Friday, March 6th.
This is a very simple game!
Scene (inspirational movie): Bull Durham
Action (must include): Quidditch; set at a World Cup
Theme (additional information): Victorious
1
Title: England vs. Spain
Author: kalina_blue
Rating: PG
Warnings: Post-DH, EWE
Word Count: 332
"I thought for sure England would get their arses kicked out of the championship in the semi-finals. Bulgaria has such a strong team these days, much better since they played the Cup last time. We were lucky Wood spotted the snitch before Krum did," Draco said excitedly, pulling Hermione through the crowd. She had trouble keeping up with his longer strides.
"Though luck alone won't be enough to win against Spain," Draco continued. "Merlin knows that Spanish Quidditch team wants the Cup. They haven't won a Quidditch World Championship since 1856. Mind you, England hasn't won since 1948 either, so it's about time we bring home the Cup."
"Draco can't you stop talking about Quidditch for one second? Aren't you worried at all what everyone is going to say about this?" Hermione fretted, indicating their joined hands.
Making their first public appearance as a couple at the Quidditch World Cup had been Draco's idea, although Hermione had initially agreed that it was a brilliant plan. All her friends were crazy about Quidditch, and there probably was no better time to tell them that she was dating their arch nemesis than when they were in Quidditch heaven.
However, now that they were actually at the stadium, bound to run into someone they knew sooner rather than later, Hermione was nervous. What if the Quidditch induced bliss wasn't enough to make everyone accept her relationship with Draco?
"Don't worry about it," Draco assured his girlfriend confidently. "Nobody is going to notice us while the game is still on; their attention is going to be on the pitch. And once England has won even Potthead and the Weasel won't care who you're dating."
"And if England loses?" Hermione asked, whispering so that the England fans surrounding them wouldn’t hear and accuse her of blasphemy.
"Well, in that case," Draco replied dryly, "you better be quick to point out to them that while I might be a Slytherin and ex-Death Eater, at least I'm not Spanish."
2
Title: Air Show
Author: luvscharlie
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 493
"Do we have to stay for the whole game?" Hermione asked, looking up from her book as Draco stood and cheered. "I mean just because you own the team, I don't see why we have to attend every game."
He turned grey eyes down upon her. Was she serious? "This is not just any game! This is the World Cup! And yes, we are most certainly staying." Puddlemere scored again, and Draco punched the air in excitement. "Do you know what this will do for our merchandising if we win?"
She rolled her eyes skyward then turned back to the book laid open across her knees.
There was snigger from three rows up. "Check out the bird with the book. Who brings a book to the World Cup?"
Draco took his seat beside her in an attempt not to draw further attention to himself… or his wife… daft bird that she was. He leaned close, hissing in her ear. "Put that away. You are embarrassing me. People are talking."
She leaned in as well. "You think people are talking about me? You should hear what the ladies two rows down are saying about the insane blond bloke who keeps jumping up and shouting every time Marcus Flint so much as rounds the pitch. I believe there was some talk that you-excuse me, the blond bloke-had a serious hard on for our dear Captain Flint."
Draco gasped, scandalized. "They did not! You're making that up."
She cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Did they? Really? What did they say exactly?"
She cocked an eyebrow again. Annoying bird certainly knew how to drive him spare. "Are you sure you want to know?" Hermione asked.
"Would I have asked, if I didn't?"
"Well," she said, leaning closer in conspiratorial fashion. "They said that if Flint's broom got close enough they wouldn't put it past you to jump on and do him mid-air for all to see."
He gasped. "Those pervy old bints. You know they're just dying to watch."
Hermione turned back to her book. "Well, it would be more entertaining than this silly game."
"This is the World Cup. It is not a silly-oh, never you mind."
*******
The after party was in full swing when they arrived, Puddlemere having pulled out a narrow victory. Captain Flint came over, a bit tipsy both from the victory and lager, and Hermione sniggered as Draco took a noticeable step backwards.
"Don't you have a book to read?"
"You told me to put it away." She splayed open her empty hands.
"Oh, and this is the one time you choose to listen to me?" Draco asked with a snort.
"Well, if there's going to be an air show, I'd hate to miss that."
"Enjoying this, are you?"
"Oh, immensely," she replied, curling an arm around his waist, and giggling once more when he pulled away.
"I'm going home." And with a "pop," he Disapparated to their flat.
3
Title: Symbol of Victory
Author: midnight_birth
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 499
“Go, Charles!”
Charles, a young man with long black hair and piercing brown eyes did a turn in the air, rolling to the right seconds before a Bludger heading straight for his head found its target. The crowd gasped and then burst into appreciative applause, and Charles bowed on his broom, his eyes fixed on her, grinning proudly.
Turning, he zoomed away towards the goalposts and her eyes followed him. Or, at least, an onlooker would have been assured her eyes were following her lover. But in fact they were fixed on a figure floating near the goalposts, his body hunched over. Hermione could sense his determination and his single-mindedness. It was the last match in the World Cup, and Draco wasn’t thinking about entertaining the audience.
Hermione gasped when Draco was gone, pelting so fast toward the ground people around her jumped to their feet. She turned and made her way to the stairs. She didn’t want to watch. She wasn’t a fan of Quidditch. She hated the sense of terror when players did reckless things. She hated the fact that her heart stopped beating when one particular player did reckless things, and it wasn’t the player her heart was responsible for.
The announcer announced the victory and her ears rang with tumultuous roars of happiness and disappointment when she was almost down at the field. Her heart slowed when there was no shocked silence, no screams or gongs that would announce a serious injury of a player.
She was shocked to run smack into someone at the entrance to the field and swept out of sight under the bleachers before the people behind reached her to see. She was pressed against the hard wood, gray eyes boring into her. Her hand reached for her wand automatically, but she stopped herself. This was uncharacteristic to say the least, but she knew she wasn’t in danger of any harm.
“First one on the field as usual.”
“First one off it as usual,” she fired back. His eyes were shining and he was breathing hard. She could smell the grass and sweat. She recognized the look. Charles got it when he spoke to her of Quidditch, but Charles never looked at her with those eyes.
“I won England the Quidditch Cup.” He was speaking into her neck now. “I felt it was fair to ask for my reward.”
“I’m not a trophy.” She hoped she sounded convincing. “How many times do we need to talk about this, Malfoy?”
“Charles is sleeping with half the Midi-Witches, Hermione, you know that. And he... talks to himself.”
His hand found hers and he pressed something cold and moving into her hand and took a step back.
“This is the last time I ask.”
He was gone and she was left standing alone, winded. She brought her hand up to her face and stared at the Golden Snitch. The symbol of Draco’s victory. She smiled. It was the symbol of his final victory indeed.
4
Title: Three Victories
Author: dazzled_x
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none, really, i think? some language, i suppose.
Word Count: 406
“The press certainly is having a field day with this year’s Cup,” I observed as Ginny and I got comfortable in our front-row seats.
She laughed. “Could you blame them? Harry Potter and the Montrose Magpies are playing against Draco Malfoy and Puddlemere United - this is going to be quite the match.”
I ignored the pang in my heart at the mention of Malfoy.
And quite the match it was. There was never much of a difference in points between the two Quidditch teams; they were always neck and neck.
“Thank Merlin Draco isn’t Puddlemere’s Seeker - he and Harry would have destroyed this place by now,” Ginny commented. “Remember our Hogwarts matches?”
This time, I couldn’t hide the involuntary wince my body gave at Malfoy’s name. Ginny apologized profusely.
“You two still haven’t spoken?” she asked in between apologies.
I shook my head.
“But it’s been nearly a year! And you didn’t even cheat on him - it was all just a misunderstanding!”
“He refused to get off his high-hippogriff and apologize to me. Apparently our relationship didn’t mean that much to him,” I said bitterly. “I’d rather not talk about it anymore.”
My red-haired friend sighed as we both stood up and cheered at the Magpies’ victory. All of the players had the biggest grins on their faces; however, Harry looked slightly green.
Both teams - except for Harry - flew down. With the assistance of the referees and coaches, silence fell upon the stadium.
“’Evening, everyone,” he greeted. “I know all of you are tired and want to get back to camp, so I’ll keep this short. I just have one thing to say, and you all will be able to go afterwards.”
Harry turned and flew a few yards closer to where Gin and I were standing, keeping eye contact with her.
“Ginny Weasley, I’ve loved you since I was sixteen and my love only grows stronger every day. Will you marry me?”
The stadium erupted in applause and happy shouts as Ginny nodded enthusiastically and made her way down to the pitch and to her new fiancé.
I smiled faintly as two of my best mates kissed.
“Good for them,” I whispered to myself, “for starting a new life together.”
“Potter’s speech was utter rubbish. Mine’s going to sound better, someday,” a voice whispered in my ear. “If you’ll let me.”
I hadn’t known that I was crying until Draco Malfoy kissed my tears away.
5
Title: Our Boy
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: G
Warnings: A 'bad' word.
Word Count: 487 words
The rise and fall of voices was like the ebb and flow of an ocean tide. Upon that tide of noise was a name, but this name did not matter to Hermione as much as it once had. There was another name more important now.
Sitting in a box high above the pitch, she considered the chosen metaphor of the sea. A sea of colours in the stands, the red of the English team and the blue of the Australian team-fans in clashing primary colours, bobbing and swaying, arms flailing with pennants from clenched fists...
“You are not watching,” he said, leaning forward toward her back to whisper close to her ear. “After all the time, effort-not mention money-we put into our 'boy,' I would think you would be watching his every move, ready to spout a critique on his flying ability.”
The sarcasm dripped from his tongue, landing on her shoulder and slithering up her neck to her ear. Not literally, of course, but she could feel his jealousy like a tiny black snake.
The crowd burst into raucous cheers as her 'boy' began to hone in on the snitch, but she was more concerned about Draco Malfoy's lips brushing the base of her throat.
There were two other people in the box, she did not know them, and they were too fixated on the game to notice how her face flushed and her tongue darted out to wet dry lips.
“Or have you finally realised, as I have, that our 'boy' was pulling the strings all along?”
His breath was hot against her neck and the feel of his fingers twisting around the curls pulled back at the nape of her neck sent shivers through her body. She knew what he was doing and why, Hermione just wished he had not chosen the World Cup to do it at last.
A flash of gold startled her, and her 'boy' followed, also in a flash, and suddenly, the game was over.
Draco's words were almost lost in the roar of the crowd, but she heard them. It was as the other two spectators in the box were on their feet, cheering, that Draco Malfoy took the initiative to rise and move from his seat behind hers. It was as the red sparks of the pyrotechnics display dazzled her eyes that he grasped her by the waist and lifted her off her seat. It was as their 'boy,' their investment, her Harry, his 'Saint Potter' flew about the Quidditch pitch in a victory lap of sorts that Draco Malfoy kissed her soundly on the lips. It was as she closed her eyes and let herself be taken in by his kiss that Hermione realised how Draco Malfoy's jealousy of Harry had made him accept his own feelings for her.
And about damn time, if she could have said so-her lips were happily occupied.
6
Title: (This One Is) For You
Author: kate0404
Rating: PG
Warnings: Nada
Word Count: 498… sweet mother of…
The roar of the crowd around her rose to ear-splitting proportions. She couldn’t talk to Harry on her left, or Ron on her right, without screaming - and even then neither could understand her. Hermione found it absolutely ridiculous.
In all the years that she had been friends with Ron and Harry, they still hadn’t fully comprehended her dislike of Quidditch. Even now, sitting in the top box at the World Cup as England took on Ireland, Hermione was only feeling slightly excited and she was only feeling that excitement through osmosis of the other exuberant attendees.
Another roar went out through the crowd and a flash of white streaked past their box. Hermione’s stomach flipped. Maybe there was something exciting about Quidditch.
♥ ♥ ♥
In the four hours and twenty-seven minutes that the match had been running, Draco had seen the snitch exactly six times. Each time he had been thwarted by a rogue bludger or a successful defensive move by a chaser. However, it never dampened his spirits.
A slight shift to the right and Draco whipped around to head back the other direction, his eyes trained on the field for a flash of gold. Instead, a familiar flash of frizzy brown caught his attention and Draco couldn’t stop himself from changing his direction just a bit to fly by her box.
Draco smirked as he saw her mouth open slightly and he imagined the breathy gasp that had slipped past her lips. Maybe he would win something more than just the World Cup tonight.
♥ ♥ ♥
Three hours later, Hermione was leaning against the railing in front of her. Even watching Draco expertly zoom around the stadium had become boring, so she had started daydreaming about what it would be like to finally be able to call herself Draco’s girl.
They had been dancing around the subject for the last three years of their friendship and Hermione was sick of it. She wanted more. She wanted to know what it would feel like to hug him in a way that was so much more than platonic. She wanted to know what he tasted like when she kissed him. She wanted to know what emotions would erupt from her when she heard him mutter the three words she was longing to hear.
She sighed. She wanted him.
A collective gasp went through the stadium. She looked up; he was coming straight towards her. Hermione ducked before crying out.
♥ ♥ ♥
With his hand outstretch, Draco closed his fingers around the snitch and pulled the broom back with his other, coming to an abrupt stop.
Victoriously, he looked first at the snitch and then to her round, shocked eyes staring back at him. Elation swept through his body and he did the first thing that came to mind. Leaning forward, he kissed her long and passionately on the mouth.
When he finally pulled back, he grinned. “This one is for you, Hermione,” he said before flying off, though not before he saw her smile.
7
Title: Love's A Competition
Author: __vintagebomb
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Words: 496
Draco tore his eyes away from the crowd, cursing himself for not focusing on the match. He circled the pitch on his broom repeatedly as Potter's words before the match reverberated in his ears.
"This is the best chance you'll get, Malfoy. You better take advantage of it while you can."
He eyed Potter on the other side of the field but it seemed that he had not gotten any luck either. During the last five hours of the match, the Snitch had only made an appearance once and it disappeared before either Seeker had a chance to claim it.
A glimmer of gold caught the corner of his eye. The Snitch was hovering near the base of a goal post. Draco immediately swerved his broom 360 degrees before speeding off. He did not dare take his eyes off the little fluttering ball but he felt Harry's presence creeping closer and closer. Draco urged his broom faster, laying flat against it. He extended his arm in front of him as the Snitch neared. He was at the edge of his broom, stretching his fingers as far as they could possibly reach. Victory was almost in his grasp.
His fingers were about to close around the fluttering Snitch when Harry grunted behind him. The moment Draco hesitated, Harry was given the opportune moment, knocking him sideways to make a clear path for the Snitch. Draco lost grip of his broom and plunged towards the ground as the sea of orange roared victoriously. He hit the ground with a sickening crunch of his bones.
Amongst the cheers of the crowd, he heard an agonising scream. He felt nothing but white-hot pain radiating off most of his body. His leg was askew and a part of his bone had broken through the skin. He couldn't move his hand without pain shooting up the rest of his arm. He heard a pop as someone apparated to his side.
"Stop moving!" she chastised, forcing him to lay down on the grass. He clenched his eyes shut and groaned in agony. "I swear, you two are the most idiotic imbeciles I could ever meet. This sport is utterly ridiculous!"
"Malfoy, are you alright?" Harry asked, with the Snitch still in his hand.
"You could've killed him!" the woman screeched.
"Granger, I'm fine," he croaked.
"Shut up, Malfoy. You almost died."
The Mediwitch arrived on the scene and prepared to levitate Draco to the infirmary. Sensing his discomfort, Hermione took his uninjured hand in hers and gave him a weak smile. Harry followed the two of them across the field.
"I told you it would work," he said to the blond. "I think it's safe to say that for once, we're both victorious."
"What are you talking about, Harry?" Hermione asked, sensing that the two enemies had been up to something.
"As always, I got the Snitch and won the World Cup. But this time, Malfoy isn't walking away empty handed. He won you back."
8
Title: Worth the Wait
Author: slytherinswench
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Word Count: 458
Hermione should have known better than to bet again Ginny Weasley. Really, she should have known.
She dropped her head onto the scarred table at Punkinbee’s.
Hermione hated Quidditch and this was just one more reason. Damn Harpies. Damn Ginny Weasley.
If Hermione hadn’t been brought up as a lady, she’d have thrown all manner of things at the Wizarding-Direct screen. She would have used foul language too, like bint, wanker, and bugger.
“Sweet Bleeding Hell!” Hermione muttered to herself as Ginny Weasley scored and the Harpies won the World Cup. Damn her for that bet and damn her for making her swear. Somehow it was Ginny’s fault that Hermione sounded so awkward doing it, too.
Why was that such a bad thing, the winning of the World Cup? Why wasn’t Hermione cheering and getting pissed with the rest of Punkinbee’s?
Because if the Harpies won the World Cup, one Hermione Granger was bound to go on three dates with the Harpies owner. Ginny knew instinctively that it would take more than one apocalyptic disaster of a date for Hermione to admit that Ginny’s boss, the Harpies owner, and incidentally Draco-effing-Malfoy was not the Devil.
Even though he was.
It wasn’t fair! Horrible people were supposed to grow up to be, well, horrible. They didn’t have the right to look like Swedish underwear supermodels. They shouldn’t make those they’ve tormented imagine scenarios that were better suited to Playwitch than Inquisition Weekly.
“So, I believe you owe me a date, or three.” A familiar voice drawled.
Hermione didn’t even have to look up. She knew it was him.
“You should be pleased, Miss Granger. I know many a witch who would kill to be in your place.”
“Why not inflict yourself on them then?”
“Because I want to, as you say, inflict myself on you.”
Hermione was instantly filled with visions of him “inflicting” himself on her in all of the ways a wizard could. Maybe even a few that she would have to look up to see if they were possible.
She blushed.
“Ah, finally I make your face flush with something besides a fit of pique. It’s a much more attractive hue.”
She was horrified, embarrassed, and disgracefully hot for him all at once. She was also speechless.
And Draco, he was rather pleased with himself. Perhaps he even felt a bit victorious. He had a date with a silent, flushing, and obviously aroused Hermione Granger. Draco always said it was the bookish witches that were the wildest in bed. It had taken quite a bit of convincing, even for him, to talk Ginny into this. Plus the incentive bonuses to the team for winning the Cup, a pretty galleon indeed.
He knew she’d be worth it.
9
Title: Amongst Promises and Dreams
Author: somandalicious
Rating: G
Warning: none
Word Count: 498
The wind was rushing past Draco’s ears in a deafening whistle as he stretched his body the length of the broom. His arm was fully extended, and the elusive glint of fluttering gold was just beyond his fingertips. Just a bit more…
Suddenly, Potter zoomed up beside him, their knee-pads bumping, and Draco tightened his grip on his broom to keep on course and in control. He gave Potter his most sinister sneer; a promise that Potter wouldn’t win. This time, it belonged to Draco.
The snitch took an abrupt dive and nearly flitted from view. Instantly, Draco jerked on the broom while simultaneously arching his back, performing a back-flip before sending himself into a kamikaze downward spiral. A complicated maneuver that he had invented.
The crowd collectively gasped with concern, and the snitch played just above the grass of the pitch. Draco reached out, grabbing blindly as he kicked at the bristles and pulled up on the handle.
His broom stopped with a jerk, and his hand slowly opened. Immediately the crowd erupted in a boisterous cheer.
Draco grinned-a real, cheek-aching, wide smile-and gripping the snitch again, punched the air with victory as the announcer boomed over the stadium. “Draco Malfoy has won the World Cup for Ireland with his patent dive! Unbelievable! I was sure he was a goner! That’s 470 for Ireland and…”
He removed the glasses, the smile still imprinted upon his face. Before him stood a nervous Hermione Granger, her hands wringing as she bit her bottom lip in anticipation. “Did it work?”
Using his cane, he slowly stood and hobbled forward. “This is extraordinary magic, Granger. I’m impressed.”
A yelp of relief escaped from her, and she clapped excitedly before launching herself at him. He chuckled and wrapped his free arm around her as he steadied himself with his cane before he gave her a long, slow, grateful kiss. He really did appreciate his witch.
She began talking rapidly, rambling about how she thought of the glasses, a bit of the same charm of a Pensieve, but she had also expanded on the magic in a Weasley Wheezes Patent Daydream Charm. She had gotten the idea from Muggle technology, something about a Virtual Reality. As she finished explaining, she gave him a peck. “I told you I’d help you fly again.”
“That’s an improbable promise you’ve kept,” he reminded as he pulled away. “Also, these glasses are a useful tool; I know what to do so that I don’t have another accident.” He needlessly gestured to his leg.
Hermione grinned. “Yes, well, that was part of the plan too. I wanted them to help you when you truly fly again.” Then putting all playfulness aside, she said, “And despite your injury, you will fly again, Malfoy.”
He jerked her back against him and pressed his mouth to hers. The thing was, with Granger he was always flying, because she was the air in which he soared. Paralyzed leg or not.
10
Title: The Luck of the Irish
Author: teenage_hustler
Rating: PG
Warnings: Kissing, wagering... :P
Words: 490
The field is deathly quiet as the all-important player raises his fist in the air. The tiny golden wings of the snitch are just visible beneath the player’s fingers. A magically amplified whistle sounds and the winning team is announced.
The sound of thousands upon thousands of ecstatic fans cheering in victory assaults your ears. Their screams are deafening. You’re sure that you won’t be able to hear again after today.
And yet, the sound is nothing compared to the roar of victory inside your own head. The joy that is shared among the masses is absolutely nothing compared to the joy that you experience as you realise what this means.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Draco,” Hermione said, shakily tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Of course you can,” Draco encouraged her, reaching out to take her hand. “It’s perfectly simple. I love you. You love me. We should be together.”
“That’s just it though.” Hermione slid her hand away from his, nervously avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know if I do love you.”
You could have knocked Draco over with a feather. He stared at her, unable to believe what he’d just heard. He’d been so sure. “You… you don’t know?”
Hermione shook her head. “I’m sorry, Draco.”
“So… so what do we do?” Draco asked. Was there any point in him asking that? If Hermione wasn’t sure if she loved him, was there any hope for him at all?
Hermione’s wandering gaze hit the window. Looking out, she noticed a group of young lads, dressed head to toe in green, marching down the street and hollering “Ireland! Ireland! Ireland!” This gave her an idea.
“Why don’t we let the game decide?”
“What?” Draco followed her gaze out the window. “The Quidditch final?”
Hermione nodded. “If Ireland wins, I love you. If Wales wins, I don’t.”
Draco’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Are you telling me that I’m betting your love for me… on the Irish?”
Hermione shrugged. “Better them than the Welsh.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Wading your way through the sea of green, you barely notice the seven Irish players flying around the pitch, waving at the ecstatic crowds. You also couldn’t give a toss. You’re thinking only one thing: Where is she?
Suddenly you see a gap amongst the sea of green, and there she is, her head anxiously bobbing up and down as she tries to find you. She sees you and her face lights up. Her smile is wide, and her eyes are soft with relief. She’s just as happy about the outcome as you are.
You’re hardly aware of you reaching her, but you do. You embrace each other, your hands knotting themselves in her ridiculous hair, her heart beating wildly against your chest. You kiss, and you know now how it feels to be truly victorious.
You break apart, and she smiles shyly at you.
“The luck of the Irish,” she says.
11
Title: Nothing Stops the Game
Author: greenschist
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 496
A/N: One line was paraphrased from Bull Durham.
Draco's silvery owl Patronus shot from the tip of his wand and disappeared through the wall.
"What did you tell Harry?" Hermione never looked up from her work.
"Status report," Draco replied. "That with just over an hour until detonation, we're still disarming the device, and although my legs are tired from climbing all those stairs, it was worth it for the chance to watch your arse move under those tight little trousers."
"I wish you'd stop winding up Harry and Ron."
"Give me a break, Hermione." On the other side of the bomb found mounted beneath the announcer's booth, Draco's hands moved in a complicated dance, fingers of one hand tracing the circuit through the device while disarming magical tripwires with the wand in his other hand. Overhead, eighty thousand people roared as Portugal battled Sweden in the 432nd World Cup. "I'm elbow deep inside a bomb rigged to disperse poisonous gas through a stadium still filled with oblivious fans because image conscious Ministers won't stop the game and evacuate, and you refuse to go out with me. Winding up your friends and looking down your blouse are the only bright spots in my life right now."
Hermione gave him a sour look but did not stop working long enough to adjust the neckline of her security staff tunic.
"Why won't you date me?"
"Is this the appropriate time for this conversation?"
"We could make the wrong move and die horribly at any moment, so humor me. I'm rich, charming, devilishly handsome-don't snort; it's the truth-I've promised you fine dining, entertainment, and long, slow kisses that last for three days. I would date me. Why won't you?"
"It's complicated."
"Is it my family?" He made a face. "Or are you still in love with Weasley?"
"No! Look-"
Harry's silver stag suddenly appeared before them. "There's been another note. The bomber now says we have three minutes. If you have something brilliant up your sleeve, Hermione, this is the time to pull it out."
Hermione gasped in indignation. "We're supposed to have forty-seven minutes!"
"Some terrorists are so inconsiderate," Draco drawled.
"Merlin, Draco, shut up!"
"I think I can disarm it."
"You think?"
"Yeah. I'm pretty sure if I cut this wire, everything stops."
"…How sure?"
"Sure enough to risk both our lives."
Hermione took a deep, shuddery breath. "Do it."
"Go out with me."
"What? Draco, cut the wire!"
"Say you'll have dinner with me."
"We're out of time!"
"We certainly are. You should say yes."
"Yes! Yes, all right? Yes!"
"Really?"
"Yes, now cut the damn wire, Draco!"
She flinched involuntarily as the two halves of the wire fell apart with a quiet snip of his scissors. The hum of the device ceased, and she sank to her knees in relief.
"Success!" Draco crowed. There was a triumphant light in his eyes that Hermione suspected had nothing to do with diffusing a bomb and saving close to a hundred thousand people.
12
Title: Winners Don’t Always Get the Girl
Author: floorcoaster
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Word Count: 499
Draco hated his court-appointed “job”-though prison sentence was often the more appropriate term. The negative aspects of the position were many, but could be easily summarized: clean every inch of every surface in the entire Quidditch stadium after games, from the seats to the toilets to the locker rooms. He couldn’t decide which was worse: the job, or having to be so close to the sport he loved but could never hope to fully enjoy again. A wayward spell in the final battle had seen to that.
The aftermath of tonight’s game was especially heinous. England’s national team had won its first playoff match of the World Cup-at home. The stadium was the filthiest Draco had ever seen it.
When he reached the locker rooms, Draco was annoyed to discover that one player, his least favorite, remained. Ron Weasley. He rolled his eyes at the redhead and went to the corner farthest from where England’s star Keeper sat, surrounded by simpering, buxom witches.
Weasley was soaking in the attention, as he always did, and it made Draco’s blood boil. The git had a girl, and not just any girl. Granger. Draco had found himself watching her more and more as the seasons passed, reluctantly charmed by her warm, easy manner. And little by little, piece by resistant piece, he had come to respect her. There were moments when he thought she was beautiful.
The door flew open and in walked Granger. Draco watched, darkly amused, as Weasley hurriedly tried to push through the fangirls to get to her.
Granger was not pleased.
Draco unsuccessfully tried not to listen. Their conversation quickly escalated into a heated argument. Her hands were flying in all directions, and Weasley’s face was bright red. It served the git right for his flirtatious nature; when a bloke has someone like Hermione, he’s an idiot to screw it up.
Their voices got quieter, their expressions harder. He couldn’t hear them anymore, but he watched as Granger’s eyes went wide. Weasley seemed to backpedal, but she ignored him and turned to look straight at Draco, then back at Weasley.
Draco suddenly wished he was anywhere but there and turned to gather his cleaning supplies.
“Don’t you dare, Hermione!” Weasley shouted.
Draco looked up to find Granger bearing down on him, a determined and vengeful look on her face. Without a word, she stopped before Draco, angrily grabbed his face, and kissed him-hard.
At first, he was too stunned to respond, but the feeling quickly passed. Before he could make the decision, he was kissing her back, surprising himself with the intensity of his actions.
Then he was ripped from her, and just before she turned back to her boyfriend, their eyes locked for an interminable second. As it ticked by, he saw shock in her eyes, followed by a glimpse of desire.
For the first time in his life, Draco thought that she finally looked at him. He inwardly cheered.
Then Weasley punched him.
ooo
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