Hooch to-"
He had put his shoulder back in enough times to know how to do it effectively, how to breathe, how to control the feeling that could only be described as someone sticking a forge-heated dagger into his joint and twisting it.
Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Merlin's painted toenails, Malfoy! You don't really need to be that hardcore."
A short distance away, Madam Hooch was attempting to decapitate a now grounded Bligh, using only threatening hand gestures.
Ginny was convinced that Draco was about to pass out. His shoulder was now back in place, but he looked a shade of white she hadn't seen before. He sucked in a long, shuddering breath and unfurled himself slowly.
Draco wanted to say something clever, something snide, but he was convinced that if he opened his mouth, all that emerge would be a tiny mewl of distress.
"Look! The Snitch!" Ginny suddenly screeched, sounding like her brother's ridiculous pygmy owl during breakfast mail delivery.
The sneaky little thing was hovering in circular motion just over their heads, like an eavesdropper. As if just realizing it had been seen, it shot upwards with a speed reminiscent of Granger's right arm during question time in Charms class.
"Hell," Draco swore. He was too worn out to think of anything more creative. The bright white, vision blurring pain in his shoulder was only just starting to recede. His left arm felt like it would drop of if he tried to move, and yet he knew he must.
"GET IT!!" Ginny screamed at him, the unnatural light of Quidditch Madness shining in her brown eyes. "Get it Malfoy!"
Draco didn't have to turn around to know that Tanner had heard her and was coming at them like a souped-up, Muggle firecracker. The loud boos and hisses of the entire population of Hogwarts plus Hogsmeade residents, were hot on his tail.
The score was dead even. If Draco caught the Snitch now, victory would be Hogwarts'.
He did, and it was.
**
It was definitely advantageous to be a Hogwarts prefect. If you happened to be a Weasley and a prefect, it earned you Molly Weasley's eternal admiration and extra fudge deliveries come Yule. The nice prefects were aware of and grateful for their good fortune and were always careful to use their powers only for good.
The not so nice prefects, on the other hand - and really, there were only two - were more ambivalent, rather than corrupt. Hermione and Blaise ran a tight ship and the fact that they got on without too much bickering themselves, set an example (or indeed, precedent) for the rest of the school to follow.
An example of a worthwhile perk was the fact that prefects were not always bound by annoying things like curfew, bedtime and restricted sections. Prefects were quite able to go missing for relatively long periods without anyone asking where, why and how.
Dumbledore allowed his prefects a huge amount of autonomy. It was a risky move, but the war had a maturing effect on the students and where some might have taken advantage and misbehaved, there was restraint.
Prefects were also rewarded with the occasional haven that was the Prefects Bathroom. And what a place it was.
Floor-to-ceiling white marble that echoed pleasantly and made each drip and splash of water sound like you were bathing in a private grotto. The dome shaped room seemed to operate its own climate system and was never too stifling in summer, or too brisk in winter. The enormous bathtub that was sunk into the ground in the middle of the room could easily fit two Crabbe and Goyle-sized Quidditch teams. The diving board had been removed in Hermione's sixth year due to lack of use. In its place was a drinks cabinet, suspended over one section of the tub and stacked with every possible sugary drink a wizarding teenager could name and a few unpronounceable ones. Alcohol was strictly prohibited however, and McGonagall herself made regular inspections to ensure that whatever went on in the Prefect's Bath was done in good-natured, sobriety.
After the match was over, it was Ginny who suggested a bath to cure whatever it was that Hermione was suffering from.
"You look feverish," she told the Head Girl. "And your hair is wanting a good wash.
Thank goodness for Ginny and her forthrightness, thought Hermione, touching the noticeably limp, un-excited mess that was her hair. It gave her a welcome excuse to avoid the noisy, crowded, Quidditch after-party that was currently in full swing in four separate Common Rooms across Hogwarts Castle.
Ron was glowing, Ginny