𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝟑.𝟏𝟎 - 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭

Come Monday morning, the Great Hall was practically levitating with excitement. It was the first Quidditch game of the season; Gryffindor against Slytherin. You never really understood what all of the fuss was about. It was all just a jumble of brooms and ill-fitting uniforms in your opinion. But you still had every intention of showing your support on behalf of your athletically-inclined friends. 

Besides, even if you did have an interest in playing, Marcus Flint never let the girls try out for the house team.

You waltzed over to the Slytherin table and instantly spotted Draco sitting all alone at the very end. It was the first time you'd seen him not surrounded by his thick barrier of friends all year. His head was ducked low as he quietly nursed a steaming cup of pumpkin juice in his pale hands. 

Usually, you respected that he wasn't a morning person. But after your brief discussion with Blaise over the weekend, you decided he could suffer through just one early morning conversation.

 "Aren't you excited?" You asked, startling him by sitting down on the bench immediately to his right. "It's the first game of the season."

He shot you a sideways glance before letting his gaze flutter back downwards. "I quit the team."

You blinked and shifted your weight uncomfortably. "What? When?"

Shrug. "Few days back."

"I thought you liked Quidditch," you pouted, crossing your legs and ignoring how your sock was once again slipping down your ankle.

Draco didn't offer a reply, too content in staring off at the empty platter in front of him. He'd already said more than he had intended. A few moments passed and you realized he didn't intend on giving you any explanation at all.

 "Fine," you huffed, standing up. "I bet you'd spill your guts to Parkinson if she were here."

Right as you turned away, you heard the bench legs scrape against the stone floor behind you. "Wait," Draco said, his voice nearly drowned out by the excited shouts of other students. You spun around, a hopeful smile making its way to your face. 

You made eye contact and his gaze slowly fell to the floor. "Nevermind."

"Yeah...that's what I thought," you turned up your nose, marching away from him as casually as possible. You weren't eager to spend any more time in his presence than you already had to.

There was still a little less than an hour before the game so you made your way over to where Harry and the others were sitting in a small pod separate from everyone else. Harry and Hermione sat next to each other on the far side of the table and you took the seat next to Ron, who looked scared out of his wits.

"Are you not eating?" You asked, nudging the poor boy in the shoulder. He was already dressed in his Quidditch uniform, dark auburn hair hidden beneath a discolored leather helmet. 

Ron gulped and shook his head, pushing away his untouched plate. You'd never known him to deny food before, even when he was at his most stressed. You looked over at Harry who shrugged, taking a nonchalant sip from his goblet of pumpkin juice.

Hermione cleared her throat and set down her newspaper gingerly. "Did you hear about Slughorn's Christmas party?" She asked with her head ducked just in case anyone else had decided to listen in. You paused with your hand still outstretched to steal a piece of toast from Ron's plate.

 "No..." you answered. "I haven't heard anything."

She pursed her lips, looking over at Harry for assistance. He was wearing a skin-tight knitted Quidditch sweater with wide red and gold stripes running horizontally across the torso. It flattered the subtle muscles of his arms and you took notice as he tensed up at Hermione's words. With a dreary sigh, Harry put down his cup licked his lips.