to find Hagrid on the pitch after the bludger servicing, collecting these deceased specimens, ostensibly to feed his pet of the month.
That particular morning, a small crowd of students were gathered in one corner of the pitch to watch the unfolding spectacle of Tandish Dodders, a fourth year Slytherin, attempting to avoid having his head mashed into a pulp.
Draco emerged from the Castle and sprinted up to the first Slytherin he recognized. It was Edward Knox from sixth year, Draco's best customer when it came to selling off old assignments.
"Tell me."
Knox looked incredibly relieved to see Draco. "Some early bird Ravenclaw was the first one to spot him. Weasley and Parkinson are on rounds this morning and Parkinson's just left to get Madam Hooch. Weasley's been trying to blow up the Bludgers that get too close, but he's a terrible shot. I tried using Finite to stop them, but that isn't working either. Basically, we have no idea how to actually turn them off,"
he finished.
Draco and Knox, with the kind of detachment only Slytherins could manage, watched Dodders throw himself to the ground, narrowly avoiding a hit to the base of his spine.
"Has anyone actually asked him to stop?"
"Close one!" Knox exclaimed. He turned his attention back to Draco. "Of course we asked him to stop. He's ignoring us. Also, he's a third of the way through so we figure there's still a chance he might make it"
Another bludger swooped down past Dodders' ear. The crowd gasped and several of the younger girls covered their eyes. Knox's estimation of Dodders' chances was not too far off the mark. The Bludger Run had been attempted by a few, dim witted souls over the years, but they had all been sixth or seventh year dim wits.
Dodders was small, short of leg, quivery of disposition and not likely to last much longer without some sort of assistance.
Knox glanced towards the stands. "Weasley's coming over."
Ron was indeed jogging towards them, looking like an angry, finger-pointing, paper-waving, lobster. He came to a halt when he was nose to nose with Draco.
"You have some nerve, you sadistic creep!"
For a moment, Draco thought that Granger had actually told Weasley about what had transpired in the Prefect's Bathroom, but then, the Gryffindor prefect thrust the bit of paper he had been holding into Draco's chest.
"I know you Slytherins have your own sick, little rituals and rites of passage rubbish, but this is just plain wrong!"
With Knox peering over Draco's shoulder, the two Slytherins read the note.
Prove your worth on the pitch. This morning.
One end to the other. No stopping. No turning back. I'll be watching.Malfoy
Draco' s eyes were stormy when he looked up at Ron. "Where did you get this?" he demanded, whisper soft.
The quality of his voice made Ron turn from furious to suspicious and then, to appalled. "It was in the stands. Next to the boy's book bag," Ron informed. He rubbed his nose. "You' re going to tell me that you didn' t write that, aren' t you?"
Knox answered the question. "Wow. I think someone's trying to set you up, Malfoy."
"Badly," Draco agreed, pocketing the evidence. Another student joined them. It was Ernie McMillan, Hufflepuff's equivalent of Pansy Parkinson, which meant to say that he was an enormous gossip.
"Where on earth is Madam Hooch? Parkinson left ten minutes ago. Should I go and get Professor Snape?" Ernie asked.
"Poor Tadpole. Death by Snape is going to be worse than death by bludgers,"
Knox muttered.
"Finding Snape would take too long," Ron told them. "He's uh, busy."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "How do you know he's busy?"
"He's with Harry."
"Doing what?" Knox and Draco asked, at the same time.
Ron went redder. "Harry told me he had appointment to see Snape this morning to discuss the results of some...ongoing project, is all."
"Great," Draco sighed. "I was just about to ask where Saint Potter was. This is right up his alley."
"Uh, lads," Ernie interjected, "I don't mean to interrupt, but I don't think your boy is going to survive the next five minutes."
The bludgers in question were currently circling Dodders, looking like large, misshapen vultures. Every so often, one would break off from the pack and hurtle threateningly towards the crouching Slytherin.
Draco rolled his shoulders, taking a quick moment to cast a suspicious, knowing look to the heavens. "I'll handle this."
With his wand in hand, and with the rest of them watching, Draco stalked towards the middle of the pitch, his mood as dark as his eyes. The bludgers started