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Having kept you all waiting long enough (SORRY!), I quickly typed up this chapter. ^_^ Enjoy!








VII.


You are currently reading the seventh way to impress a Mudblood. If you're not a bumbling fool like my minions, Crabbe and Goyle, then you know that we are at the halfway mark. You should have the object of your desire almost in your grasp, just like me.

Anyway, the seventh way to impress a Mudblood is all about Quidditch. Yes…Quidditch. If you are as handsome and talented as I am, then you have the position of the Seeker on the Slytherin team. Since I am the best and only Seeker Slytherin has got, you must not be as handsome and talented as I. Therefore, go on and skip ahead to the eighth way. (Or stick around for the fun.)

Girls love guys who play sports. No, chess is not a sport (ahem…Weasley). I'm talking about sports that require blood, sweat, and tears. Sports that give you those glorious muscles you love to flex. Sports like the noble game of Quidditch.

So, to sum this up in one line, the seventh way to impress a Mudblood is to beat Potter, the stupid Boy-Who-Just-Had-To-Live, in a Quidditch match and actually catch the Snitch for once. You must know that every single game I have lost was a fluke. Potter is just so damn lucky. There's no talent involved in any of his wins whatsoever. Right.



"Where on earth have you been?" Hermione asked me curiously as I stumbled into the Heads common room at half past twelve.

I tossed my prized Nimbus Two Thousand and Seven onto the floor just as my knees gave out. I sank to the floor and lay there, sprawled like a common peasant, on the deep red carpet. I was too tired to move.

"You look tired," she observed unnecessarily, getting off of the couch where she had been curled up with a book (one of the hundreds--or was it thousands--that I had purchased for her during that memorable Hogsmeade weekend) and walking over to me.

"Uunngh," I groaned in reply.

"What?" she said, being very unhelpful in my opinion. Just draw a hot bath and give me a back massage, woman!

But of course I didn't say that. I wouldn't advise you to try either. Last time I said that to Daphne Greengrass, she kicked me in the groin. That, my friend, took away some of my pride and dignity, as least until I stopped moaning in pain.

"Quidditch," I clarified. "I've been practicing Quidditch for the past seventy billion hours."

"Oh, that's right, it's Gryffindor versus Slytherin tomorrow, isn't it?" she said, kneeling down on the carpet by my head.

"Will you cheer for me?" I said, trying to get that old arrogant swagger back into my voice. But I was too tired.

"Of course not, silly," she said, whacking me playfully. Except I wasn't in the mood for playfulness, and I winced in pain.

"Why not?" I said, struggling to sit up.

"I always root for Harry and for Gryffindor. It would be rather traitorous to go over to the dark side." Her golden-brown eyes glittered at me.

"In that case, a kiss beforehand should suffice." Before she could protest or scramble away, I leaned towards her face and brought my lips crashing down on hers. In my exhausted state of being, I fell on top of her, my lips still glued to hers.

"Mmm--Malfoy! Get off!" she said, struggling to get away. My head lolled against her shoulder.

"I'm tired," I said groggily. And then I promptly fell asleep…on top of Hermione.

What a lovely position to be in, don't you think?



I woke up in the same spot I had fallen asleep in, sans Hermione to my disappointment. I stood up and winced in pain. It is not a good idea to spend the night on the hard, cold floor. Now I had sore muscles to deal with while impressing Hermione.

I blinked, still in a sleepy stupor, and glanced around the room. Something didn't feel quite right. The sun was shining brightly and the grandfather clock in the corner was beginning to chime. I rubbed my eyes and looked at the clock again. Galloping gargoyles! It was nine 'o clock already! I felt as though I had received a huge electric shock. If Urquhart, the troll-like captain, hadn't managed to stall the start of the match for me, then they would play the idiot Harper instead! I began to panic.

My first thought was to run down to the Quidditch field. I was almost out the portrait hole when I remembered that I should probably bring my broom. Once I grabbed my Nimbus Two Thousand and Seven (it's about time I asked Father for a new broom, I should think…the Nimbus series have gone out of style), I luckily caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. Merlin's pants, I looked horrible. I couldn't very well go out and impress Hermione looking like I had been run over by a Hippogriff.

Upon reaching this conclusion, I spent a good seven minutes primping in front of the mirror. Here's where magic comes in very handy. A few glamour charms and I looked as gorgeous as I always do. No one would be able to tell that I had spent the night on the dusty common room floor. No one would be able to tell that I had overslept either…apart from the fact that I was now more than ten minutes late for the match.

One last glance in the mirror and then I was ready. I jumped out the portrait hole, mounted my broom, and zoomed through the castle corridors, out an open window, and down to the Quidditch field. (Haven't you always wanted to fly through the halls of Hogwarts on a broomstick?)

My sudden appearance was met by cheers from the green-colored crowd and boos from the rest. I ignored the negative feedback and instead did something like pre-game victory lap, waving at my many fans, ignoring the sound of Madame Hooch's voice screeching at me to get down here this instant.

The entire Slytherin section gave ear-splitting (in a good way) shrieks as I flew past them. The Hufflepuffs, being too nice and docile to boo, simply frowned at me. A few of the girls giggled nervously though, which made me smirk at them (even though I would never consider any of them seriously, especially now that I have Hermione). As I passed the Ravenclaws, I was met with indifference. You know, the Ravenclaws are a pretty good-looking lot. They are quite proud of their intelligence as well, which makes them seem somewhat snotty. But their pride is far surpassed by that of Gryffindor, of course. Those bloody Gryffindors. I ended my pre-game victory lap before I got to their section, which only made them shout even more profanities. The sound of Weaselette's annoying voice made me turn back around and zoom over there, making rude hand gestures at everyone I saw as I went. (Every single one of them returned the gesture without pause.)

And then I saw Hermione. She was looking at me disapprovingly. Oh dear. I stopped with the hand gestures and smiled at her sweetly. Inwardly, I laughed as every Gryffindor (apart from my darling Hermione) in the stands swiveled their big fat heads around to see who I was smiling at.

Now she looked rather annoyed. She was blushing too. I smirked again. Then, on a complete whim, I decided to blow her a kiss. That, my friend, caused quite a stir.

First of all, she blushed an even darker shade of pink. The fact that she was blushing only made her look suspicious. Most of those idiot Gryffindors were a little slow on the uptake though, and she was able to avoid immediate scrutiny from them.

By the time I finally landed on the pitch next to my Slytherin teammates, most of them were staring at me with mixed expressions of anger and awe. Anger, because I had delayed the start of the game by at least half an hour (my mere presence, or lack thereof, has incredible influence). Awe, because of what I had just done. No one saw that coming. As an elite member of the Slytherin House, heck, as an elite member of the human race, it is my duty to keep everyone on their toes. It's fairly exhausting work, but hey, someone has got to do it.

Urquhart, the captain (it amazes me how that troll was made captain while I, superb Quidditch player that I am, was not), was absolutely livid.

"Malfoy, what the bloody hell have you been doing? You do realize we have a game to win?" he spat at me.

I gave him a look of supreme disdain. "I'm here now, am I not?"

As expected, he was taken aback. Trying to regain his authority (as if), he shouted, "Don't get smart with me, Malfoy! I'm the captain of this team--"

I yawned exaggeratedly. "Oh, stop your blabbering and let's get on with it already."

(If you're wondering why I'm being so belligerent to my fellow Slytherins, it's because that's just what we do. We test our meanness--words only, no wands--on each other to ensure that it is sufficient enough for everyone else, namely, my enemies Potty and Weasel.)

When Urquhart finally stopped sputtering, I turned my attention to the Gryffindor team. Ah…those darn Gryffindors. The primary source of my troubles. Potter especially.

Anyway, the bumbling fools clad in scarlet and gold (what a nauseating combination of colors…unless my darling Hermione is wearing them, of course) were as enraged as can be. Everyone except Weasley. He looked rather green, like he was going to be sick very soon. This observation made me laugh.

Potter's scowl deepened. The muscle in his jaw was working furiously. The hand holding his broomstick (how Potty got a Firebolt is what I'd like to know) was twitching. In fact, he was being rather jumpy and fidgety in general. This made me laugh again.

"When you're done acting like a fool, this game can begin," said Madame Hooch sharply.

I turned my glare on her. Unfortunately, it does not really work on her.

"Urquhart, Potter, shake hands," she barked. I watched with satisfaction as both captains (how either of them came to be captain is what I'd like to know) tried to crush the other's hand.

"Enough!" barked Madame Hooch when both captains refused to relinquish the other's hand. I spied Potter flexing his hand in pain behind his back. (Urquhart was doing the same…what a wimp.)

I started making faces at Weasley to mess up his mind a little more before the game started. However, although it had the intended effect (Weasley turned around and dropped to all fours like he was going to throw up), I missed the whistle that indicated the start of the game and hence looked like a fool (as Madame Hooch previously stated).

"Malfoy! Get on your bloody broomstick and fly, damn it!" Urquhart swore. For once, I immediately obeyed.

I kicked off the ground and zoomed into the air, swerving around so quickly that the move drew cheers from the female section of the crowd.

And thus the Quidditch match of my life began. For once I didn't spend my time insulting the Gryffindors and singing a song of my own brilliant composition, "Weasley Is Our King." Instead I flew around the field, surveying everything around me like a hawk. Potter seemed confused by my actions. Usually I'd be the one tailing him, but today he was the one tailing me. To get him off my trail I began zooming around, taking hairpin turns whenever I could. I heard a sickening crack behind me. Apparently Potter had gotten hit in the face with a Bludger. That wasn't part of the plan, but it was fine by me. (Thank you, oh god of Quidditch.) He sped to the ground, blood flying everywhere.

Strangely enough, I felt something blooming inside my heart (well, that sounded sappy beyond belief) that seemed to be pity. What was this nonsense? I couldn't possibly be feeling sorry for Potter!

Then I saw a familiar figure racing across the field to Potter's side. It was none other than my darling Hermione. What the hell was she doing?

I could almost hear her sarcastic reply in my head. ("Why, helping my best friend of course!")

I angrily turned away from the scene that was taking place at ground level and debated on what to do next. I could probably get one of Slytherin's idiotic Beaters to whack a Bludger at me.

Then I realized what was going through my mind…. I was willing to ruin my perfect face, all for a girl. The horror!

The world was evidently coming to an apocalyptic end.

But then again, it was all for a very special girl, so I guess the idea wasn't so crazy after all. However, after fingering my nose lovingly, I decided to stick with the original plan.

As I reached this conclusion, cheers erupted from the Gryffindor section. I didn't bother turning around to see Potter getting back on his broom. (But then I did anyway, just so I could watch my dear Hermione sprinting off the field back to the stands.)

The game resumed at a fast and furious pace. The Quaffle and the Bludgers zoomed around the air at dangerous speeds. I took extra care to avoid taking one in the face like Potter had. Since I wasn't going to take one willingly, there was no point in taking one accidentally.

I wasn't sure what the score was, but I didn't really care. This game was simply between me, Potter, and the Snitch. The prize? Hermione. (I'm not insinuating that Potter wants Hermione too--gag--but I'm just saying that Hermione is my personal prize. You know what I mean.)

At the thought of Hermione, I glanced over at the stands, trying to see which scarlet-and-gold blob was her. Almost without knowing it, I flew in a little closer. The scarlet-and-gold blobs became clearer. And a beacon of light seemed to shine on my love.

You know, being in love can release your inner romantic poet.

Ahem, back to the game. I caught a glimpse of Hermione, stored the beautiful image deep within the fiery chambers of my heart (more sappy language) and then refocused on the Snitch, wherever that blasted thing was.

That's when I saw it. Well, I didn't see it, but I saw Potter reaching for it. I'm fairly certain it was the Snitch, because what else would a Seeker be blindly grasping for in midair for?

Anyway, when I saw that look on Potter's face (I'm sounding like I know Potter very well…eurgh) I immediately accelerated and headed in his direction. I flew faster than I had ever flown before, praying it would be enough.

The god of Quidditch (he must be feeling kind toward me today) answered my wishes and prevented Potter from catching the Snitch. I was gaining on him; there were now only a few meters between Potter and me.

To this day, I do not know what impelled me to do so, but when I saw Potter reaching for that pesky little Snitch (and it looked like he was really going to grab it this time), I did something terribly dangerous and risky. I threw myself off my broom and propelled myself through the air by wildly waving my arms around like a windmill. I landed on top of Potter, who didn't even know what had hit him. At the momentum I had crash-landed at, the Firebolt dipped and began losing height. I jumped once more, using Potter as leverage, and made one last swipe for the Snitch. My hand enclosed around something small and winged. Potter was yelling and the crowd was screaming as I, head first, went falling towards the earth.



"Draco? Draco? Draco!"

I blearily opened my eyes. The face of an angel swam into view. Hmm…was I in heaven?

"Oh, thank Merlin!" a familiar, angelic voice sobbed. Arms were flung around my neck. Ouch. That hurt. My vocal cords got the message from my nerve endings and I groaned in protest.

"Oh. Sorry," said the same voice, a little breathless now. Hey, that was--

"Hermione!" I managed to croak.

The angel burst into fresh tears. "Don't you ever do that again!" she cried as she clasped her hand in mine.

"Okay," I croaked. Ow…every inch of me was hurting. Including my fingers. But I wasn't about to tell her to let go.

As I slowly gathered my senses, I realized that it was night and I was obviously in the hospital wing. Hermione was the only other soul in the room.

"How long have I been out?" I asked, not as croakily this time.

"Two days," she whispered.

I had to ask. I just had to. "Did you miss me?"

She gave me a tiny smile. "Yes. Very much."

If I didn't feel like someone had thrown me into hell and then dragged me back out again, then I would have jumped up and started singing and dancing. That's when I remembered why I was in the hospital wing in the first place.

"Did I impress you when I caught that Snitch?" I said drowsily. (Hey, why am I feeling sleepy again? Must be those painkilling potions Madame Pomfrey has me drugged up on.)

Hermione looked horrified. "You leapt off a broom fifty feet in the air to impress me?"

"Yeah…" I said, my voice trailing off. Why was she reacting this way?

"Draco Malfoy, if you weren't severely injured I would hit you right now!"

"Why?" I said, bewildered.

"Because you scared the hell out of me when you tried to bloody impress me, you idiot!"

Ah. Well, I'm going to take that as a yes.

I, Draco Malfoy, impressed the one and only Hermione Granger with nothing but my superb Seeker skills. Let's see you try and do that







Only three more ways to impress a Mudblood! I'm not sure when the next update will be. I'm going to be on hiatus during November because I, in a moment of insanity, decided to sign up for NaNoWriMo, which is where you write 50,000 words in a month. Yup. 
So, what'd you think of this chapter? Am I going overboard with the parenthetical asides? xD
Yours till the Snorkack's horn crumples,
Queen Luna
P.S. I would be forever grateful if you went back and reviewed some of the previous chapters that lost reviews after the site crash. ^_^

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