Disowned (Drarry/Pansmione)

Chapter Seven

AN: Any opinions expressed in this and any chapter do not necessarily correlate to the opinions of the writer!

"Alright, Black," Wood huffed. "As much as I trust McGonagall's judgement, there's going to be a lot of angry people if the Seeker position is closed during tryouts. I hope you didn't tell anybody about this."

Draco shook his head. He hadn't dared tell anyone. After all, he hadn't actually made the team yet; he was getting an early and private tryout. All he had said when questioned about what happened was: "We'll see after tonight." This, of course, lead Hermione to believe that he was on trial or something to determine whether he would be expelled or not, but he had just let her frantically worry. It wasn't like she would have let him get a word in anyways.

"Alright then. I want you to take five laps around the whole pitch. After your fifth one I'll release the Snitch, and you need to catch it as soon as possible, got it?"

"Yes sir."

Wood raised an eyebrow at the word 'sir', perhaps thinking Draco was being sarcastic. Apparently, it wasn't something Wood was called often. Draco had been taught to always refer to his superiors as 'Sir' or 'Madam'. Wood, being the Quidditch captain, was considered a superior.

"On my count. Three, two..." Wood paused, and checked Draco's position on the broom. "... one."

Draco took off as fast as he could around the Quidditch pitch. It was much larger than the small field that Madam Hooch had had them practicing in. The turns, therefore, were also much wider, which Draco thought would have been better for beginners to try. Perhaps, if they had practiced here, Neville would not have lost control and needed help. Perhaps Draco wouldn't be getting this chance to try out early, and with a teacher's recommendation.

Third lap.

Why had Professor McGonagall insisted on this anyway? There was no reason for her to. Technically, Draco should have been expelled for leaving the ground without direct permission. Yet here he was, with an opportunity that a lot of people he used to be friendly with would quite literally kill for, expulsion not even on the table.

Fifth lap.

There had to be a reason, Draco decided. Was it because she felt sorry for him? She didn't seem to be the pitying type, but perhaps the cold exterior was just a mask, like his had been. Or was she so desperate for her failing team to win that she was actually willing to break the rules for a small chance?

Draco shook his head. He could worry about that later. He looked down to where Wood was standing. As agreed, when Draco passed the goalpost to finish his fifth lap, he saw the older boy raise his arm and let go of the tiny golden ball. Draco watched as it whizzed past the Ravenclaw stands, headed for the other half of the pitch.

"Alright buddy," Draco muttered. "Prepare to be caught."

Draco focused all of his control into the broom, so that without even moving his hands, the broom would turn as his instincts kicked in. Many professionals thought that this particular technique was dangerous and temperamental, but it had never failed him before. Besides, it was rather annoying to have to physically control an object like a broom. These things tended to have a mind of their own in the worst situations, like Neville's had earlier that day.

Draco saw a flash of gold by his right ear. He whipped his head over to it, and saw the Snitch flying temptingly close to his ear. He had to catch it off guard now. If he moved too slowly it would just fly away again.

"Hey Wood," Draco yelled, keeping the Snitch in the corner of his eye.

"What?"

Bam. There, the Snitch was in his hand. It had been intrigued as to why Draco had stopped focusing on it. Perfect way to catch it off guard. Again, many professionals thought it was a risky move, but again, it hadn't failed him yet.