Umbridge, it turned out, went nowhere special. She vanished into her office and didn't come out again. Draco only hoped he hadn't been spotted. He disappeared down the corridor, blind to the Alice band that turned to watch him go.

*

As Hermione had repeatedly acknowledged, Quidditch was just as athletic as football, only more hazardous. At least it was faster but she would be damned if she had to spend more than a precious hour watching this game she had little interest for. Both Draco and Harry were playing, against each other: Gryffindor versus Slytherin and in some ways, she wanted neither to win. 

She believed Draco was still hurt that she had offered only a meagre excuse for getting away from him when he'd confessed to unconsciously using Legilimency and losing this match would only make them more distanced. Technically she was supporting Gryffindor, which was why she told Harry not to let Ron see the 'Weasley is our King' badges, humorously in a crown shape. Then she followed the crowd outside and chose a seat at the back so that she might simply read if it became too arduous to watch.

She knew at once when the teams had come on to the pitch; Draco's silvery-blond hair gleamed in the sunlight as he stood, looking rather normal-sized, next to the towering Goyle, lumbering Crabbe and the murderous Graham Montague, the Slytherin captain. Then the Gryffindor team walked on and Angelina Johnson, the Gryffindor captain, had her fingers crushed by Montague. 

The teams kicked off and the game begun.

*

Draco usually enjoyed flying; it was his favourite pastime to get away from either his hulking bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle, to escape the wrath of his father for a few hours, or the overprotective custody of his mother. However, playing against Harry had never given him less pleasure. It didn't help that Harry was a marginally better player; he was a natural while Malfoy had spent years practising on their private Quidditch field. 

His temper didn't improve as Miles Bletchley saved Johnson's goal or when Katie Bell was hit from behind with a Bludger by Goyle, who'd recently been assigned to the team with Crabbe as Beaters. Potter ended up grabbing the Snitch from him and, to retaliate, Crabbe threw a Bludger at him, even though Gryffindor (damn that house) had already won. He landed near his fellow Seeker and, too furious to even consider what his actions might do, began insulting Potter and the Weasleys.

"Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?" He sneered at Harry. "I've never seen a worse Keeper... but then he was born in a bin... did you like my lyrics, Potter? We wanted to write another couple of verses!" He called. "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly – we wanted to sing about his mother, see_ We couldn't fit in useless loser either – for his father, you know_" 

The Weasley twins, Malfoy saw, had finally caught on about what he was yelling about. Johnson grabbed one of them by the arm, Frederick, it seemed. 

"_But you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter? Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells OK_"

Potter was holding the other twin, while it took Johnson, Bell and Alicia Spinnet to restrain Frederick. Malfoy couldn't stop laughing.

"Or perhaps," he continued, still leering as he walked slowly away, "you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it_" he was cut off as Potter and Weasley's fists made contact with him; Potter's in his stomach, winding him and Weasley's into his nose. 

He fell to the ground and curled up, his nose bloody. He vaguely noticed Madam Hooch using Impedimenta to stop Potter and the Weasley, the one that wasn't Frederick. Then he was, whimpering and moaning, escorted to the Hospital Wing and there he succumbed to a dark and twisted sleep.