Mistake

Chapter 1

Chapter 1- Aphrazeil
7 Years Later

Aphrazeil was happily reading his favorite textbook, that is, until his older brother Draco came into his room trying to get him to play quidditch with him.

"Come on!" Draco said tugging on his younger brother's arm. He knew that he was stronger, taller and bigger, but he didn't want to hurt his brother so he settled on badgering him till he caved. "I wanna play quidditch!" he almost whined. Malfoys do not whine.

His brother Aphrazeil, an ebony haired, green eyed boy with a small, too small frame, looked up from Most Potente Potions. "I'm reading." he deadpanned.

"You're always reading." This time there was a definite whine in the blonde's voice. "And you're as pale as a vampire," he pointed out, "a little sunshine won't hurt you. In fact it'll do you some good." He once again began tugging on Aphrazeil's sweater.

The younger boy sighed patiently. His older brother could be such a babe at times. Why can't he practice by himself? A tug on his sleeve alerted him that he was not alone, Draco was apparently getting impatient. He has just noticed it, but he was ignoring Draco. And no Malfoy likes being ignored with the exception of himself of course.

"Fine," he said, facing the blond, "I'll meet you outside, I still have to return this." He picked up the thick book, "to the library."

Draco nodded his consent and left Aphrazeil's chambers.

"Well, took you long enough."
Aphrazeil just dismissed the comment and mounted his JetFire 500.

"Are you even listening to me?" Draco huffed. Aphri just gave him a blank stare. Draco growled, not too different from a werewolf's.

"I play chaser, you can defend the goal hoops." Draco told his brother. He was a little pissed that Aphri was ignoring him... again.

"Sure."

Both young boys shot in the air. Draco accioed a Quaffle, while Aphrazeil went towards the indoor goal poles.

"You ready?" Draco asked his little brother.

"Try me." Aphrazeil smirked, fire burning in his usually emotionless eyes.

Let the Games Begin!

It's been 45 minutes and Draco was able to get in 9 shots. 15 more minutes to go. And both boys were already panting heavily. Draco's usually immaculate hair was a mess, his body sweating and heaving, his arms tired from all the swinging. Aphri was not much in a better state, his stylishly messy hair was now too messy and windswept, and his whole body was aching because of all the saves he did.
1 more goal and Draco wins.

15 more minutes and Aphri wins.

Both were determined to be the victor.

15 more minutes...

1 more goal...

Aphrazeil threw the Quaffle back and Draco caught it with an expert hand.

Draco flew around trying to find an opening in Aphri's tight defense. After a few minutes of circling the quidditch hoops he saw an unnoticed side, to small to be spotted unless you look closely but big enough for a risky shot. Draco spared Aphri a quick glance and decided that his brother was too busy circling the hoops, watching it as a mother hen would with its new born chicks. Rushing towards the opening, Quaffle positioned to shoot, he rushed pass his brother barely giving him a spare glance. He threw the red soccer like ball in the hoop.

Aphri spotted the Quaffle heading towards the hoop, but he was too late. The Quaffle flew through the left hoop with a whoosh making Draco the victor of the quidditch match.