Damn You Malfoy!

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3rd Person POV

(Y/n) had a busy week. He spent most of the time with Harry avoiding Colin Creevey, a first year who seemed to have memorized Harry's schedule. Nothing seemed to give Colin a bigger thrill than to say, "All right, Harry?" six or seven times a day and hear, "Hello, Colin," back, however  (Y/n) noticed how exasperated Harry sounded when he said it. Then there was the dreams. Ever since last year were (Y/n) was knocked out from the giant chess set, he had weird dreams every now and then. The dreams were set a long time ago, as in when muggles and wizards were together and old creatures still existed. He saw many figures in chainmail with swords and bows. (Y/n) new that was along time ago. The dreams had become more strange once he arrived at Hogwarts. Before it was just random flashes, now it was if he was there. (Y/n) couldn't count how many times he woke up sweating, panting, he was having trouble sleeping. Ron's wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron's hand in Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck. 

Ultimately, (Y/n) was looking forward to the weekend.  He, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. However, when (Y/n) woke up, Ron explained to him that Harry was awoken early for Quidditch practice. (Y/n) thought that it would be supportive if they went and cheered Harry on. Hermione and Ron agreed. The three quickly made their way to the Great Hall to grab breakfast before heading to the Quidditch Ovals. The three found their seats, they were the only ones watching Gryffindor practice with the exception of Colin Creevey who attempted to interview the three about Harry, (Y/n) was having none of it and shooed the first year away who could be heard clicking his camera away.  (Y/n) watched carefully as a tired Harry walked over to chat, it seems that Wood had finally given them a break. "Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron incredulously. "I wish," said Harry, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall. "Wood's been teaching us new moves." "Here, you need your strength." (Y/n) said, passing Harry a couple slices of buttered raisin toast, Harry quickly scoffed it as (Y/n) could hear the cries of Wood saying that "You shouldn't eat too much Harry! You need to be light and nimble!" Harry then mounted his broom and made his way back to his team. (Y/n), Ron and Hermione watched in awe as Harry zoomed and swerved around the oval. (Y/n) didn't have much interest in Quidditch, but Harry was a treat to watch. 

(Y/n)'s attention was broken, he saw several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands. It seemed Slytherin wanted to use the ovals. Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands. "I don't believe it!" (Y/n) could hear Wood bellow in outrage. "I booked the field for today! We'll seeabout this!" (Y/n), Hermione and Ron made their way towards the Gryffindor team. (Y/n) saw Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred, and George followed. "Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!" Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood." Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man. "But I booked the field!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!" "Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. 'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker'. " "You've got a new Seeker?" said Wood, distracted. "Where?" 

And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy. "Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike. "Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team." All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindor's noses in the early morning sun. "Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps" — he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives —" sweeps the board with them." None of the Gryffindor's could think of anything to say for a moment, (Y/n) stood there silent. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits. 

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