The Bracelet (Draco Malfoy Fanfiction)

Chapter 31

Warning-not edited! I hope you guys will enjoy this anyways. It's about to get good in the next few chapters, so stick with me! Thanks, and enjoy!

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Jennifer's POV -

"Hey Nev." I sigh, plopping down next to him at a table in the deserted library.

"Hi." He responds, almost subconsciously. He looks up at me, as if he's holding something back. "I'm sorry."

"About what?" I cock my head in confusion.

"Draco. I've heard about what happened. Almost everyone has." His words are full of pity, but I can barely hear them over the sound of my own heart pounding in my throat.

How does anyone know about what happened, and how much do they know?

"What?" I say, my voice but a breath of air. "How? Why?"

"Don't worry." He chuckles, sweeping his books into his bag and standing up. "You guys ended things, that's all I know. That's all anyone knows." Relief courses through me at his relaxed tone. But I still can't help wonder what he would think of me if he knew the full story.

"Now, c'mon, we're gonna miss the Quidditch game." Neville says, bringing me back to focus.

And with that, we both head out of the library and toward the pitch, how Neville found out the only thing on my mind.

***

Draco's POV -

"Alright, shut up, and listen up. You can bet your ass I'm not losing to Gryffindor today." Flint says, pausing to let the chatter die down. "So we're going to get out there, and we're gonna do shit just like we rehearsed. Got it?"

A low grumble arises from the team in response. Chest heaving with emotion, Flint turns to me.

"This win'll be on you, Malfoy. Potter's got style. Get to that snitch, or die trying, because we've gotta win today."

"So no pressure." Blaise smirks from beside me, causing my eyes to roll into the back of my head.

With a solid nod of the head, Flint turns toward the door, and leads us out onto the pitch.

Despite the time of year, the weather isn't terrible. It's a muggy sort of day, with a hint of thunder in the air.

As soon as we step onto the field, a loud roar, mixed of boos and cheers, erupts from the full crowd. Across the field, red and gold cloaked figures approach us confidently.

Madam Hooch stands at the center of the pitch, her arms folded across her chest. The exasperated look plastered on her face becomes clearer and clearer as we grow closer to her.

"Now, I want a clean, fair game. Can we  all handle that?" She says, a hint of doubt laced through her voice. Her words seem to be directed specifically towards Flint.

Flint and Potter shake hands aggressively, gripping each other tighter than necessary as they shoot each other threatening stares.

"On my whistle," says Madam Hooch, "Three...two...one..."

With a roar of the crowd to speed us upward, the fourteen of us rise to the sky.