"Time to get up," said the pleasant, melodious voice of the alarm clock.
"Snnx," I said into my pillow, groping blindly for the off button. Grasping nothing but air after approximately two seconds of exertion, I gave up and rolled over.
"Time to get up," said the clock again, with a little more urgency this time.
"You get up," Natalie grumbled from the other side of the room, buried under a mound of pillows.
"Come on, then, don't want to be late," the alarm clock urged, its tone getting increasingly clipped and annoyed at being ignored by two very resolutely sleepy girls. Upon finding that its firm yet gentle coaxing was not producing desired results, the clock finally reached its boiling point. "OI! Get up, you lazy bums! I don't want to go through this every morning! You're grown-ups with responsibilities and you'll never amount to anything if you keep on --"
"Okay, okay!" Natalie thundered, flinging off her blankets and stomping to the bathroom.
"There's a good girl," the clock cooed, and I hastily got up as well, lest it let loose more venom on me.
The clock had been quite the novelty the first week or so, after which we wanted it good and dead. We tried to hurl it out the window once, but it didn’t take.
While I haphazardly threw on my standard issue training gear with my eyes still half-closed, Natalie returned, brushing her teeth viciously.
"I swear I'm going to kill that thing. You’ll see. I’ll find a way," she said as darkly as she could through a mouthful of foam. "Why? Why couldn't Andrew give us regular alarm clocks that ring instead of hurling insults at us every morning?"
"Rather reminds me of home, actually," said Anthony, my fellow Chaser, as he jauntily passed by our room and had the audacity to whistle a disgustingly merry tune.
Ugh, morning people.
After I heard Natalie make her way downstairs I lumbered groggily down the corridor towards the bathroom.
"Morning, Weasley," said someone to my left.
Malfoy.
"Hate," I said.
What I really meant to say was that I hate mornings (and I do. Nothing worse than having to extricate yourself from the warm confines of your beloved bed to go... do things). But if he took it to mean that I hated him, then, well, no love lost there.
"You've graduated to forming actual words, I see. Congratulations," Malfoy said smoothly.
I managed to shoot a bleary glare in his general direction before stumbling into the bathroom.
It had become sort of a ritual, really, our crossing paths in the morning. He'd greet me, I'd make some sort of grumpy noise at him, he'd say something stupid back, and then we'd go our separate ways. It worked out well for me, since I was barely conscious in the mornings and couldn't properly register any meaningful interactions.
I was met downstairs with a chorus of staggered greetings, and a house elf whisked by, setting down my breakfast on the dining table with a clatter.
"What's on the docket today, then?" someone yelled from the kitchen.
"Speed drills to start, I think," Natalie replied. "And then extended BP for us." She nodded to her fellow Beaters. "I don't know about the rest of you lot."
"It's a bit funny this year, now that Andrew’s sequestered us in the middle of nowhere. I rather liked having the fans come out to see us train," said Mark, a reserve Beater.
"Yeah, all five of them," Anthony deadpanned.
"Come on, Mark, you just like showing off to the girls in the stands and hope they throw themselves at you," I said, jabbing him in the side with my elbow.
"Can't blame him," Malfoy interjected. "That's what celebrity is for."
"Exactly," Mark laughed, giving Malfoy a high five.
For reasons I couldn’t fathom, the other boys had actually taken a shine to Malfoy. The girls, of course, were all quite in love with him and desperately and unsuccessfully trying to hide the fact. Natalie and I were the lone holdouts in our camp of bitter grudge-holding and non-acceptance, and we were very happy there.
It would have been a lot more effective if Malfoy actually gave a crap though. Typical Malfoy, always so difficult.
"Oh, time to go!" Anthony announced, hastily clunking his coffee mug down on the table.
Following his lead we shuffled out to the training pitch.
*****
"All right, nicely done today. Emily, watch the position of your left shoulder when you're throwing the quaffle. Ginny and Anthony, I want to see a tighter execution of the Porskoff Ploy next time."
We nodded to our Chasing coach, too exhausted to demonstrate our acknowledgement in any other way.
"Oh, and one more thing before we're done here," he went on. "See if you can catch the Seekers' practice and pay attention to how Draco Malfoy flies. Top notch, that one. Can't believe someone didn't snatch him up before we did."
"We fly just fine," I grumbled to the other Chasers after our coach was out of earshot.
"Shh, Ginny, don't be silly," one of them chided. "I think it's a perfectly good idea to go watch Draco practice."
"Oh, you're just saying that because you're all madly in love with that idiot," I retorted.
Emily and Kate, our reserve Chasers, nodded vigorously.
Anthony opened his mouth.
"You too. You can't deny it," I accused, wagging my finger at him like a mother would at a wayward child.
Anthony smiled and shrugged, rocking on his heels.
Emily snickered softly. "Well, we're not Chasers for nothing."
"Emily Wickham!" I gasped, looking scandalised. "You're a thirty year old mother of two!"
"Yes, that's true, but I'm not blind." She flashed a lascivious grin my way.
"Just totally crazy," I said mildly.
"Mm, definitely," Emily agreed dreamily. "Crazy for some of that –"
"Oh, let's just go," Anthony said exasperatedly. "Can't do any harm to see what Draco's doing. We might pick up some tips." He pulled us along to where the Seekers were finishing up their training for the day.
It was easy to spot Malfoy right away; his style was and had always been on the showy side, and as much as I hated to admit it, he really was quite good.
It had been rumoured during my first year at Hogwarts that Lucius Malfoy had bought his son a place on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Regardless of their sudden acquisition of brand new equipment, it was clear from day one that the ferret had loads of talent. So imagine the Gryffindors' relief when Harry turned out to be marginally better (and slightly more prone to taking stupid risks).
I watched Malfoy go through his drills. He appeared to have lost none of his skills and was, in fact, faster and sleeker, and carried himself with a grace and confidence previously absent in his school years. He reminded me in a way of a predatory cat on the prowl, only infinitely more intriguing, and I rather resented him for being able to take my breath away like that.
*****
"Natalie."
"Grmph."
"Natalie, are you awake?"
"No."
It was a good thing we had an off day, as it was obscenely late (or early) and I hadn't been able to fall asleep. Feeling not all that tired and a little peckish, I grabbed a pack of cards and a book, and tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen.
*****
"Hang on, you can't do that. We go in threes, it's every third card! You can't just pick out cards you like! That's not how it's done!"
"Shut up, I'm the one playing," I chided the Jack of Spades. Enchanted cards; what was I thinking?
"Are you cheating at Solitaire, Weasley?"
I whirled around and let out a surprised squeal. "Oh god, Malfoy, don't sneak up on people like that. You're liable to induce heart attacks left and right."
Malfoy shrugged as he poured himself a glass of juice, and much to my disappointment, pulled up a stool to the kitchen island and sat across from me. He gestured to the display of cards in front of me and looked at me expectantly.
"Oh, like you're the bastion of moral integrity," I huffed.
"Don't get me wrong, Weasley. There's nothing wrong with a little cheating every now and then. But cheating at Solitaire? I mean, really? Solitaire?"
I frowned at him. "Shut up, Malfoy. Drink up and go away."
"Now, what did I ever do to deserve such animosity?"
I snorted. "Well," I began, putting the card deck back together. "There was the part where your father almost had me killed in the Chamber of Secrets."
Malfoy shot me a look of disdain. "Hang on, my father slips you a cursed diary, so I'm automatically evil by association? Don't be stupid, Weasley. You don't see me accusing you of being a short, dumpy fool obsessed with Muggle junk."
"Hey," I warned. "You lay off my dad."
He put up his hands in surrender, though his expression clearly implied nothing of the sort.
"And even with that aside," I said, "you were a real arse in school, did you know that?"
"Well, yeah. You don't have to tell me, I was there," Malfoy said matter-of-factly. "But that was, what? Six, seven years ago? Why are you still harping on about it now?"
"You were that big of an arse."
Malfoy shrugged. "With my background, I could certainly afford to be."
"And you apparently still can," I said, rolling my eyes.
"That still begs the question, Weasley," he said, casually swiping my deck of cards. "I don't recall ever being particularly nasty to you."
"You didn't even know who I was when you came here," I accused.
"Sorry, Weasley," he said apologetically and sounding almost sincere about it. "Your family may be big enough to populate a small country, but it's not like you lot have got a monopoly on being redheaded and freckled."
"Well, you antagonised my brother all seven years you were in school together; you ought to at least have recognised some resemblance."
"Please," Malfoy said, waving his hand dismissively. "Your brother was a hideous gorilla. You look nothing alike. And you can take that as a backhanded compliment if you'd like." He raised his glass and smiled, as if toasting me, and took a swig.
"I… Guh. Why do people like you?" I asked, far less rhetorically than originally intended.
"What," he grinned, “you haven't seen the latest Witch Weekly?"
"Yes, apparently you're very good at smouldering," I offered sarcastically. "But if that was the only criterion for likeability, Snape would be the most popular teacher in Hogwarts history."
"True," Malfoy admitted. "But you see, Severus can't charm people's pants off like I do," he added rather cheerfully.
I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back in my chair, living proof of a Malfoy charm repellant, silently daring him to suggest otherwise.
"Yes," he said, narrowing his eyes at me. "You are an anomaly."
"Well, huzzah for me."
"Ah, not to worry, dear Weasel. I'll get you yet. One day you’ll just fall in love with me and you won't even know how it happened."
"You are so full of shit, Malfoy," I said, chuckling at the absurdity of his proclamation.
"The pants," he insisted. "They'll be charmed right off."
As I shook my head in incredulity, he began shuffling and dealing the cards he'd pinched from me earlier.
"Eh?" I said.
"Poker, Weasley. The sport of kings," Malfoy declared, temporarily stilling his movements. "If you're going to cheat at cards, you might as well learn to cheat at something worthwhile."
Having nothing better to do, I shrugged and gestured for him to continue dealing. "Well, rack 'em up then."
Malfoy stared at me for a moment. "You're far worse than I thought. No wonder you have to resort to cheating at Solitaire." He gathered himself and pressed on. "No matter. Under my superior tutelage, you'll be grifting like a pro in no time." He winked slyly.
"Is this how the pants-charming begins?" I asked, picking up and eyeing my hand of cards suspiciously.
"Is it working?"
"Lord, no."
Malfoy smirked. "Then I obviously haven't begun."
________________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: Much love to my beta BlueJeanJunkie for all her hard work. Also, poker being the "sport of kings" and Ginny's line "Rack 'em up" are nicked from Sports Night, the Aaron Sorkin TV gem no one ever saw.
"Snnx," I said into my pillow, groping blindly for the off button. Grasping nothing but air after approximately two seconds of exertion, I gave up and rolled over.
"Time to get up," said the clock again, with a little more urgency this time.
"You get up," Natalie grumbled from the other side of the room, buried under a mound of pillows.
"Come on, then, don't want to be late," the alarm clock urged, its tone getting increasingly clipped and annoyed at being ignored by two very resolutely sleepy girls. Upon finding that its firm yet gentle coaxing was not producing desired results, the clock finally reached its boiling point. "OI! Get up, you lazy bums! I don't want to go through this every morning! You're grown-ups with responsibilities and you'll never amount to anything if you keep on --"
"Okay, okay!" Natalie thundered, flinging off her blankets and stomping to the bathroom.
"There's a good girl," the clock cooed, and I hastily got up as well, lest it let loose more venom on me.
The clock had been quite the novelty the first week or so, after which we wanted it good and dead. We tried to hurl it out the window once, but it didn’t take.
While I haphazardly threw on my standard issue training gear with my eyes still half-closed, Natalie returned, brushing her teeth viciously.
"I swear I'm going to kill that thing. You’ll see. I’ll find a way," she said as darkly as she could through a mouthful of foam. "Why? Why couldn't Andrew give us regular alarm clocks that ring instead of hurling insults at us every morning?"
"Rather reminds me of home, actually," said Anthony, my fellow Chaser, as he jauntily passed by our room and had the audacity to whistle a disgustingly merry tune.
Ugh, morning people.
After I heard Natalie make her way downstairs I lumbered groggily down the corridor towards the bathroom.
"Morning, Weasley," said someone to my left.
Malfoy.
"Hate," I said.
What I really meant to say was that I hate mornings (and I do. Nothing worse than having to extricate yourself from the warm confines of your beloved bed to go... do things). But if he took it to mean that I hated him, then, well, no love lost there.
"You've graduated to forming actual words, I see. Congratulations," Malfoy said smoothly.
I managed to shoot a bleary glare in his general direction before stumbling into the bathroom.
It had become sort of a ritual, really, our crossing paths in the morning. He'd greet me, I'd make some sort of grumpy noise at him, he'd say something stupid back, and then we'd go our separate ways. It worked out well for me, since I was barely conscious in the mornings and couldn't properly register any meaningful interactions.
I was met downstairs with a chorus of staggered greetings, and a house elf whisked by, setting down my breakfast on the dining table with a clatter.
"What's on the docket today, then?" someone yelled from the kitchen.
"Speed drills to start, I think," Natalie replied. "And then extended BP for us." She nodded to her fellow Beaters. "I don't know about the rest of you lot."
"It's a bit funny this year, now that Andrew’s sequestered us in the middle of nowhere. I rather liked having the fans come out to see us train," said Mark, a reserve Beater.
"Yeah, all five of them," Anthony deadpanned.
"Come on, Mark, you just like showing off to the girls in the stands and hope they throw themselves at you," I said, jabbing him in the side with my elbow.
"Can't blame him," Malfoy interjected. "That's what celebrity is for."
"Exactly," Mark laughed, giving Malfoy a high five.
For reasons I couldn’t fathom, the other boys had actually taken a shine to Malfoy. The girls, of course, were all quite in love with him and desperately and unsuccessfully trying to hide the fact. Natalie and I were the lone holdouts in our camp of bitter grudge-holding and non-acceptance, and we were very happy there.
It would have been a lot more effective if Malfoy actually gave a crap though. Typical Malfoy, always so difficult.
"Oh, time to go!" Anthony announced, hastily clunking his coffee mug down on the table.
Following his lead we shuffled out to the training pitch.
*****
"All right, nicely done today. Emily, watch the position of your left shoulder when you're throwing the quaffle. Ginny and Anthony, I want to see a tighter execution of the Porskoff Ploy next time."
We nodded to our Chasing coach, too exhausted to demonstrate our acknowledgement in any other way.
"Oh, and one more thing before we're done here," he went on. "See if you can catch the Seekers' practice and pay attention to how Draco Malfoy flies. Top notch, that one. Can't believe someone didn't snatch him up before we did."
"We fly just fine," I grumbled to the other Chasers after our coach was out of earshot.
"Shh, Ginny, don't be silly," one of them chided. "I think it's a perfectly good idea to go watch Draco practice."
"Oh, you're just saying that because you're all madly in love with that idiot," I retorted.
Emily and Kate, our reserve Chasers, nodded vigorously.
Anthony opened his mouth.
"You too. You can't deny it," I accused, wagging my finger at him like a mother would at a wayward child.
Anthony smiled and shrugged, rocking on his heels.
Emily snickered softly. "Well, we're not Chasers for nothing."
"Emily Wickham!" I gasped, looking scandalised. "You're a thirty year old mother of two!"
"Yes, that's true, but I'm not blind." She flashed a lascivious grin my way.
"Just totally crazy," I said mildly.
"Mm, definitely," Emily agreed dreamily. "Crazy for some of that –"
"Oh, let's just go," Anthony said exasperatedly. "Can't do any harm to see what Draco's doing. We might pick up some tips." He pulled us along to where the Seekers were finishing up their training for the day.
It was easy to spot Malfoy right away; his style was and had always been on the showy side, and as much as I hated to admit it, he really was quite good.
It had been rumoured during my first year at Hogwarts that Lucius Malfoy had bought his son a place on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Regardless of their sudden acquisition of brand new equipment, it was clear from day one that the ferret had loads of talent. So imagine the Gryffindors' relief when Harry turned out to be marginally better (and slightly more prone to taking stupid risks).
I watched Malfoy go through his drills. He appeared to have lost none of his skills and was, in fact, faster and sleeker, and carried himself with a grace and confidence previously absent in his school years. He reminded me in a way of a predatory cat on the prowl, only infinitely more intriguing, and I rather resented him for being able to take my breath away like that.
*****
"Natalie."
"Grmph."
"Natalie, are you awake?"
"No."
It was a good thing we had an off day, as it was obscenely late (or early) and I hadn't been able to fall asleep. Feeling not all that tired and a little peckish, I grabbed a pack of cards and a book, and tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen.
*****
"Hang on, you can't do that. We go in threes, it's every third card! You can't just pick out cards you like! That's not how it's done!"
"Shut up, I'm the one playing," I chided the Jack of Spades. Enchanted cards; what was I thinking?
"Are you cheating at Solitaire, Weasley?"
I whirled around and let out a surprised squeal. "Oh god, Malfoy, don't sneak up on people like that. You're liable to induce heart attacks left and right."
Malfoy shrugged as he poured himself a glass of juice, and much to my disappointment, pulled up a stool to the kitchen island and sat across from me. He gestured to the display of cards in front of me and looked at me expectantly.
"Oh, like you're the bastion of moral integrity," I huffed.
"Don't get me wrong, Weasley. There's nothing wrong with a little cheating every now and then. But cheating at Solitaire? I mean, really? Solitaire?"
I frowned at him. "Shut up, Malfoy. Drink up and go away."
"Now, what did I ever do to deserve such animosity?"
I snorted. "Well," I began, putting the card deck back together. "There was the part where your father almost had me killed in the Chamber of Secrets."
Malfoy shot me a look of disdain. "Hang on, my father slips you a cursed diary, so I'm automatically evil by association? Don't be stupid, Weasley. You don't see me accusing you of being a short, dumpy fool obsessed with Muggle junk."
"Hey," I warned. "You lay off my dad."
He put up his hands in surrender, though his expression clearly implied nothing of the sort.
"And even with that aside," I said, "you were a real arse in school, did you know that?"
"Well, yeah. You don't have to tell me, I was there," Malfoy said matter-of-factly. "But that was, what? Six, seven years ago? Why are you still harping on about it now?"
"You were that big of an arse."
Malfoy shrugged. "With my background, I could certainly afford to be."
"And you apparently still can," I said, rolling my eyes.
"That still begs the question, Weasley," he said, casually swiping my deck of cards. "I don't recall ever being particularly nasty to you."
"You didn't even know who I was when you came here," I accused.
"Sorry, Weasley," he said apologetically and sounding almost sincere about it. "Your family may be big enough to populate a small country, but it's not like you lot have got a monopoly on being redheaded and freckled."
"Well, you antagonised my brother all seven years you were in school together; you ought to at least have recognised some resemblance."
"Please," Malfoy said, waving his hand dismissively. "Your brother was a hideous gorilla. You look nothing alike. And you can take that as a backhanded compliment if you'd like." He raised his glass and smiled, as if toasting me, and took a swig.
"I… Guh. Why do people like you?" I asked, far less rhetorically than originally intended.
"What," he grinned, “you haven't seen the latest Witch Weekly?"
"Yes, apparently you're very good at smouldering," I offered sarcastically. "But if that was the only criterion for likeability, Snape would be the most popular teacher in Hogwarts history."
"True," Malfoy admitted. "But you see, Severus can't charm people's pants off like I do," he added rather cheerfully.
I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back in my chair, living proof of a Malfoy charm repellant, silently daring him to suggest otherwise.
"Yes," he said, narrowing his eyes at me. "You are an anomaly."
"Well, huzzah for me."
"Ah, not to worry, dear Weasel. I'll get you yet. One day you’ll just fall in love with me and you won't even know how it happened."
"You are so full of shit, Malfoy," I said, chuckling at the absurdity of his proclamation.
"The pants," he insisted. "They'll be charmed right off."
As I shook my head in incredulity, he began shuffling and dealing the cards he'd pinched from me earlier.
"Eh?" I said.
"Poker, Weasley. The sport of kings," Malfoy declared, temporarily stilling his movements. "If you're going to cheat at cards, you might as well learn to cheat at something worthwhile."
Having nothing better to do, I shrugged and gestured for him to continue dealing. "Well, rack 'em up then."
Malfoy stared at me for a moment. "You're far worse than I thought. No wonder you have to resort to cheating at Solitaire." He gathered himself and pressed on. "No matter. Under my superior tutelage, you'll be grifting like a pro in no time." He winked slyly.
"Is this how the pants-charming begins?" I asked, picking up and eyeing my hand of cards suspiciously.
"Is it working?"
"Lord, no."
Malfoy smirked. "Then I obviously haven't begun."
________________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: Much love to my beta BlueJeanJunkie for all her hard work. Also, poker being the "sport of kings" and Ginny's line "Rack 'em up" are nicked from Sports Night, the Aaron Sorkin TV gem no one ever saw.
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