Artificial Love (Dramione)

Chapter 5 - The Realization

Draco hadn't been planning on saving a life that day. It had happened, and that was that. He had looked up, seen a falling form, realized that whoever that form was hadn't been doing anything to stop the fall, and automatically launched himself to their rescue.

Perhaps it had been impulse. Human nature called for people to protect other people, right? It was a simple rule of the animal kingdom; to protect your own.

But he couldn't have known that the one falling would be Hermione Granger, who just so happened to be one of his sworn enemies. And all because of her association with Harry Potter. He didn't regret saving her life. Despite the circumstances, he didn't want more people dying than need be, even if it was the mudblood herself.

Draco shook his head, trying to focus back in on the task at hand. Quidditch tryouts were in progress, and just because he had been on the team last year, that didn't mean he would be on it this year as well. Especially not if he wasn't focused when tryouts were going on.

"Malfoy, Zabini, Jackson, Harshman, Crabbe, Kendrick, O'Hare! You're up!" A call rang through Draco's ears, and he turned his attention to the field, a scowl passing across his face. Already set up in the sky, his opposing seeker would be the boy he had heard about earlier. The so-called second-year "prodigy"—dreadlocks, freckles, and sour grin included.

"You had better back off or else you might get hurt," Draco muttered, a wicked smile gracing his lips. He mounted his broom and took off into the sky, not letting the boy reply.

Marcus Flint, the captain, mounted his broom last and rose to their level, a whistle between his lips. His booming voice filled the stadium as he counted down, "On the count of ten! One! Two! Three!"

Draco gazed over at the opposers, all made up of his own housemates. Before making the team, all hopefuls would have to go through several rounds of conditioning. It ensured a possibility of showing off what they knew already as well as capacity for teamwork. When it came down to it, the beaters would be the strongest, the seeker would be the fastest, the chasers would be the most nimble, and the keeper would be the most aware.

"Eight! Nine! Ten! Go!" The shriek of Flint's whistle pierced the silence, and mayhem ensued as the six who had taken the position of chaser lunged for the center. The quaffle hung suspended in the air for an instant before its capture.

Draco fell back automatically, using what he knew about the members of the opposing team to predict their plays ahead of time. Unluckily enough though, he knew nothing about the new prodigy; not even his name. If he had overheard it ever before he had forgotten it by this point. But it wasn't his name that mattered, it was his plays.

Keeping his eye out for a familiar gold flash of the snitch, Draco studied his opponent. He was severely close to the edge of the field. If he were to just go out of bounds, this game would be a cauldron cake once he was declared disqualified.

A feeling of discomfort suddenly raced down Draco's back, a shiver racking his back. Something—or someone—was right behind him. Like a machine, all his options ran through his head as if they were coding on a computer. But when the other seeker began diving toward him with a crazed look in his eye, Draco knew exactly what to do.

Whipping around, he caught a quick glimpse of the fluttering ball as it whizzed off into the field. Draco was confident in his skill and the speed of his broom though, and so he powered on, chasing the snitch.

The kid was right on his tail. Turned out he didn't have a half bad broom, and his control—Draco couldn't help but notice—was actually very steady.

The chase was a short one. For some reason, the snitch made a quick turn to the left about five paces ahead of Draco. Since Draco was on the left side of the chase, he was able to veer off without a collision. He was successful in intercepting the snitch before it could build up any more speed.

Holding the snitch aloft, Draco descended from the sky. He glanced behind him to see the "prodigy" with a sour look on his face and a certain finger pointed toward Draco. Draco just smirked and returned the gesture before whistling to the chasers, who were still trying to get in their last few points.

"The game's over, mates!" Draco tossed the snitch in the direction of Flint, falling short. It didn't matter though; the snitch flew the rest of way to the Slytherin captain.

As everyone else landed back on the ground, windswept but caught up in the moment, Draco made his way over to Blaise Zabini. He tucked his hands into his pockets and shot a cocky grin at his friend.

"Nice catch. Smart maneuver. Of course you'll get the position. Okay, now that that conversation is over, we can talk. And by talk I mean options. And by options, I mean the love potion, if you were suddenly too dense to follow my broken train of thought." Blaise kicked his broom up into his hand, snatching it from the air. Draco already had his rested on his shoulder, bristles behind him.

"I'm not planning on feeding some poor girl a chocolate you made; I'd bet ten galleons it tastes like rubber."

"It's not the taste that matters, and you know that. Granted, I'm no pâtissier, but then again why bother? We've got magic for shit like that." Draco stayed silent as Blaise went on about the potion. They ended up in the changing rooms, and it was silent as they changed into their school robes once again.

"I'm not going to use it. Do you want me to give it back to you? I'm sure you'll have another girl to go after sooner or later, right? Here—" Draco began digging through his bag. When he realized he couldn't find the chocolate, he dumped his bag out (careful not to topple the inkwell). He scrambled to spread everything out, suddenly panicked.

"Shit." Draco slumped into himself, murmuring more profanities under his breath. "Granger's got the chocolate."

"Granger's got the chocolate? You've gotta be fucking with me! Good for you, mate! You gonna break her heart now?" Blaise clapped the moaning blond on the back, not noticing his depressed aura.

But Granger may not have eaten the chocolate quite yet! Draco could only hope for that outcome, somehow pushing his doubt to the back of his mind. Without explaining any further, he stuffed all his things back into his bag haphazardly and raced out of the room.