Dark child

11

It was Saturday morning when Elara came to the Great Hall to have breakfast and faced the whole Slytherin Quidditch team wearing their Quidditch robes having a cheerful breakfast before going for their first practice with Draco and their new broomsticks which was gifted to them from Lucius Malfoy. Draco asked Elara to come and watch his first practice and Elara accepted gladly.

As they reached the field, Elara saw the Gryffindor players already practicing there and she felt bad immediately. Maybe because Draco hadn't told her about this part of the plan where they were about to kick Gryffindors out of the field with a written permission of her dad.

As she was thinking about all of these, Oliver 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 him.
"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"
Oliver Wood was so large for his age but 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."
3 girl players of the Gryffindor 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, standing beside Elara proudly.
"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 Gryffindors' 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 team could think of anything to say for a moment. Draco was smirking so broadly his eyes were reduced to slits.
"Oh, look," said Flint. "A field invasion."
Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.
"What's happening?" Ron asked Harry. "Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?"
He was looking at Draco and Elara, taking in Draco's Slytherin Quidditch robes.
"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," said Draco, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team.
Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.
"Good, aren't they?" said Draco smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them."
The Slytherin team howled with laughter.
"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione sharply. "They got in on pure talent."
The smug look on Draco's face flickered.
"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.
Elara's eyes went wide open. Flint had to dive in front of Draco to stop Fred and George jumping on him, one of the Gryffindor girls shrieked, "How dare you!" and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Draco's face.
A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.
"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione.
Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.
The Slytherin team were paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Draco was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him. Elara didn't know what she should really do at the moment.
"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," said Harry to Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the pair of them pulled Ron up by the arms.
"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin, the Gryffindor annoying first year boy had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them as they left the field. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.
"Oooh," said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. "Can you hold him still, Harry?"
"Get out of the way, Colin!" said Harry angrily. He and Hermione supported Ron out of the stadium and across the grounds toward the edge of the forest.