Finding Draco - A Dramione Novel

Chapter 5 - Draco

The Durmstrang indoor Quidditch pitch was, by far, the most lavish part of the castle. Award banners and portraits of Durmstrang Quidditch elites adorned the walls of the massive indoor training facility.

Draco tightened his grip on his new broom, the Maelstrom. It was the most advanced broom ever constructed, and he had possession of a first edition, acquired during his most recent trip to Diagon Alley.

"Oh, look, Amira and Jarvey are here. Let's catch up." Halvard mounted his broom and was off.

Throwing his leg over the handle, Draco kicked off and flew around the training course. Each position had a workout area to master different skills.

His Maelstrom was the smoothest ride he'd ever had. Not quite as fast as a Firebolt, but it was more powerful and extremely maneuverable. The broom reacted to his slightest direction. He found the Seeker's workout area and watched as a couple of players practiced defensive feints.

Durmstrang was renowned for its Quidditch, and now he understood why. The extra tuition money certainly wasn't going towards creature comforts—it was going towards molding athletes. Draco grabbed a Golden Snitch used for training and set off after it.

Amira flew up beside him, cheekily knocking his shoulder as they battled for the Snitch. The pair weaved in and out of other players, chasing after the golden streak in the air.

Halvard and Jarvey saw opportunity in their game and began hitting bludgers at them—deadly shots that caused Draco to dodge and weave. He was nearly struck several times during their pursuit. Jarvey was a crack shot.

Amira made a formidable opponent as well. Quick and lithe, she had a natural Seeker's build. Draco's Maelstrom gave him a slight edge over her Nimbus 2001, and snatched the small, golden ball in his outstretched hand.

"Good chase, but I would have caught the Snitch if we were on the same broom. That Maelstrom is a machine!" Amira said with a hint of admiration.

"I just know how to use the tools available to me. You have shorter arms, and I was able to maneuver past you. It's called strategy." Draco tossed the Snitch up over her head and snatched it away, laughing at her frustrated look. "So, you're the Captain?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Jarvey and Halvard play Beater—or at least they will if they make tryouts." Her long, dark hair swinging with each bawdy laugh.

"I'm Leland. Or just Jarvey." Draco found his hand crushed in Jarvey's firm grip. By all standards was an attractive wizard. Jarvey had the air of someone who came from new money in his new Quidditch trainers and perfectly coifed hair. Dark skin and darker eyes, Jarvey had the build of a true beater—muscled and intimidating. Every inch an athlete.

"Draco Malfoy. Well met. You almost knocked me out with that last bludger."

"I get a bit carried away. But practice like you play, right?" Jarvey put his fists up in a very muggle way and pretended to punch Draco's shoulder.

"I try to maintain that standard as well." Draco gave Jarvey a half-smile. "So, what positions are open? I played Seeker for five years."

"Well, you can piss off if you think I'd hand over Seeker to you!" Amira scoffed. Draco gritted his teeth. "I have openings for Chaser and Keeper after the last Seventh years graduated. I hope you consider trying out for Chaser. With that Maelstrom, you'll be better off than most."

"Right, well, I'll think about it. It's been a long day, I think I'll head back to the dorms." Draco's fingers worked at his temples. He needed a bath and some rest.

"You need help finding your way back?" Halvard called after him.

"No, I'll manage." Draco flew down to the entrance of the Quidditch pitch and strode off towards the dorms.

Draco undressed, wrapped a towel around his waist, and headed for the salt tubs. The hot, cleansing water enveloped him to his chin. He summoned a book and sat back and started reading. He was trying to understand the theory behind a Patronus. Never having conjured one himself, he wanted to try. Finding a singularly happy memory seemed to be the basis of the spell, but he didn't know what that memory could be.

The steaming water made Draco perspire on his brow. He was so engrossed in his reading he hardly noticed the pair of students sneak in and splash into a tub together. Looking up over the book, Draco realized his presence was unwelcome. He didn't relish in the idea of listening to two people banging in the same room. With a heavy breath, he lifted himself out of the water and summoned his towel around his hips.

Back in his cell, he laid in his comfortable but plain bed, twirling his wand between his fingers. It was a new wand. Potter had stolen his old wand and never saw fit to return it. So,
Ollivander had crafted this one for him.

Still Hawthorn wood, but with dragon heartstrings instead of unicorn hair. A bit less springy than the last, but supple.

Wand lore had been the downfall of the Dark Lord, and Draco saw fit to study as much about it as he could. His family had fallen into possession of a few wands after the last Wizarding War. Many people had been held captive in the dungeon below the manor, and a wand wasn't something you just threw away.

As Draco closed his eyes, his mind drifted through the events of the day. It had been one of the best days he'd had in a long while. He may have made a friend or two, saw a beautiful girl completely naked, and got to fly on his new broom.

And then there was Aurora Zabini. What the hell was up with that? She had to be of an age with Blaise. Were they twins, cousins, half-siblings? Blaise's mother had been a great beauty and had married half a dozen men Draco knew.

Great beauty.

His sleep-deprived brain landed on Granger's face. This time she was clad in an emerald green gown and wore a thick diamond necklace around her neck. Her hair was tied up in a neat chignon, but one renegade strand had broken loose and hung beside her face. There was a wicked grin playing on her lips as she walked towards him. Then her warm fingers curled around his neck. He pulled her close, their lips a breath apart, before she whispered his name.

Draco.

Then his lips were covering the smooth skin of her neck, low moans escaping from her perfect mouth.

Draco felt like such a fool. Hermione would never speak his name like that. Never moan against him. But in dreams, you didn't have to accept reality. So he pushed aside his insecurities and continued kissing her collarbone. He had plans to unzip the back of that slinky gown.

Maybe this was Azkaban. Maybe he was reliving the horrible memories of what could have been. What it could be like if he were to remove the masks he so carefully wore. Not just the Death Eater mask, but the falsehoods he wore daily to protect his family, his pride, his name.

What was he, if not a Malfoy? Who was he if not the son of Lucius?

"Draco," breathed Hermione. "You are Draco."