Conflicted Loyalites

Chapter 14

Draco's POV

Why in Salazar had I agreed to a Quidditch match with Potter?

What had been going through my mind to make me agree to such a thing? Willingly, without being pushed or forced or anything like that? I'd actually just went along with it. I couldn't believe myself.

This could be dangerous; Potter looked hot as fuck in Quidditch robes. There was no way this was going to turn out well for me. No way at all. How was I going to be able to hide how hopelessly in love with him I was if he was smiling and being friendly and looking amazing about ten feet away from my face?

This was going to be impossible, never mind hard, never mind difficult. The Potions exams? They were hard. This? This was just not possible. At all.

Yes, I would get to stare at Potter with a reason now that I would be competing against him, but that wasn't the point. The point was that he had destroyed my resolve to try and keep him out of my life so easily, effortlessly. He'd thrown my petty, pathetic attempt to get over him right out the window, along with any hopes I had left of ever regaining my mother's recognition.

It was like I just crumbled when he spoke, no matter what I tried to do, no matter how many walls I put up. It wasn't how I was supposed to act at all. I was supposed to be composed and in control, that was how a Malfoy should be, and yet, all of that shrivelled up and died with just one of those musical laughs, just one glimpse of that lopsided smile.

It was ridiculous.

I shook my head slowly as I walked towards the pitches. Why was I even going? What was the point in showing up? It wouldn't end well, how could it end well? How could it be anything but bad?

I gripped my broom tightly in my left hand, trying to force myself to relax without much success.

Despite all my worries, I was still going towards the pitches, I still hadn't made any attempt to turn around and head elsewhere instead. Had he hexed me or something? That would make more sense than me actually wanting to go to this stupid match.

I had already gotten into more appropriate clothing for Quidditch while in my dorms. I figured that if I got changed there it would just be better for the both of us.

The pitch looked empty when I first walked out onto it. The stands were all completely desolate, no one to be seen in any of them. It was a strange sight, even though I'd practised in here many times before without an audience.

"Malfoy? I'm surprised you actually showed up."

His voice came from right above me, which I hadn't been expecting at all. I flinched back at the sudden noise from so nearby, hating myself for doing so almost immediately.

Great. This was already going just amazingly.

I tilted my head up to glare at Potter, smirking smugly at me from about fifteen feet up in the air. His glasses were askew, like they always seemed to be, typical of him. The way he sat on the broom, like he'd just been born with the grace of a thousand swans. It really wasn't fair. How could anyone make flying a broom attractive? How could he look so ridiculously gorgeous with his hair an absolute shitshow? His robes a mess? His smile as dazzlingly infuriating as always?

There had to be something up here, these couldn't just be my feelings towards the prick. It was just too much. Everything would make so much more sense if I'd been drugged, hexed, something, anything other than conjuring these ridiculous thoughts from my own mind.

I glared at the git, my usual sneer slipping easily back onto my face, as it generally seemed to do near Potter. "You don't think I am capable of keeping my word, Potter? Or do you just not want to lose?"