Hehe, talk about random, as a mild NASCAR fan (yes, not all of us are fanatics), I came up with this one afternoon after watching the Brickyard 500.
For those of you who don't know what that is, it's a car race, a big one, think of it as being similar to the Belmont Stakes of the Kentucky Derby in horse racing.
For those of you still lost, it's a big deal, end of story.
Anywhoo, this is a random drabble that's been languishing in a notebook in my room for far to long, enjoy the fruits of my randomosity.













            The wind screamed in his ears as he whipped around the curve, he had less that a hundred kilometers to go, thank Merlin. His eyes, like chizled ice, were narrowed to razor slits behind the dark sunglasses he wore to cut through the glare of the blinding sun.

            The back of his pale neck was blistering in the sun, he could feel the burns forming, and she would gripe at him for it. This he knew to be a fact. Why aren’t you waering sunscreen like I told you? Your neck lookes like a boiled lobster, you’ll get malignant melanoma at this rate. He could hear her already.

            “You burnin?” Ahh, there was that voice, her voice, in his ear, only this time, it wasn’t his imagination.

            “No” he growled back through bared teeth, he could hear her smirk.

            She had learned that smirk from him.

            “Liar.”

            “Shut up Granger”

            “Focus Malfoy, eyes on the prize.” She snaapped back as another Racer swerved around him. He spat out several choice curse words and leaned closer to his broom handle, slitted eyes glittering dangerously.

            Inspite of it all, he grinned. This was what he loved, fighhting for what he wanted, it wasn’t any fun to be the best wihout lifting a finger, the taste of a close match was far better than that of a hands down victory.

            He was a Racer.

            Muggles had their feeble horse races, and car races, bycilcle races, foot races and Merlin only knew what else they would put on a track to see who would cross the line first…

            Wizards had Racers.

            Professional flyers on specially designed brooms speeding at breakneck speeds on a Sky Track, generally upwards of twenty meters off the ground. The sport was far more of a rush than anything muggles could come up with.

            It was the Britain 3000, and he had less than ninty five kilometers to go.

            He was in secone place.

            This smply would not do.

            “Granger.” He was growling again.

            “Here Malfoy.”

            “Talk to me.” He was hugging the guy’s tail twigs, but he wasn’t quite as small as the kid, whoever he was.

            “That’s #46, Ty Jones. He’s new to Racing, this is only his first season, and already he’s got two wins, a second, and three thirds under his belt.”

            “I don’t want his pedigree, I want to win.” Draco snarled back, he was practically plastered to his broom.

            “He’ll need a pit stop soon, he’s got several bent twigs that need to be looked after. Pass him then.”

            “Can we go without another pitstop?”

            Hermione snorted through the spell that connected them, “That broom could win this race and go circle the globe minutes later, I designed it myself.”

            “Pride comes before the fall.” He was relaxing under her jabs, she knew just how to prod him out of his temper.

            “Oh hush, you’ll be fine for the next eighty kilometers.”

            “Okay.”

            “Just fly your race Malfoy.”

            Gods, she could be so bloody frustrating, but the company she had developed was his sponser, even if she didn’t own it anymore.

            She had surprised everyne when she had suddenly decided tobecome a fly-coach to whoever the new owner decided to sponser. She had trained to do this, coaching other flyers for other companies before deciding to fund her own Racer.

            Then she had gotten the idea to pass the company on to her vice president, and coach the Racer fll time, traveling all over the wizarding world to the different races. She had told the newly appointed president that their first job as head of the company she had nurtured since it was a mere dream was to find her a flyer who could win.

            The Racer that they had presented her with was Draco Malfoy, reformed sinner, who only wanted to make an honest living doing what he loved.

            Of course the interview had ended in a shouting match, and Hermione demading to see the next best canidate.

            That canidate had been arogant enough to make Malfoy look like an absolute angel. He also had talent flying, but little training, and no refined skill polished in years of Quidditch.They had gone to one Race, and one Race only.

            He had refused to listen to her council, and had bombed the race before he was fifty kilometers in.

             She had peomptly fired him, and asked Malfoy to come back and fly one Race, just to see if they could work together.

            Actually, asked wasn’t the right word, she had actually begged him to give her company, to give her a shot.

            They had argued bitterly the whole race through, but, in the end, he had listened to her, and between the two of them they had scraped a nearly unheard of win for a debuting Racer with a new Coach.

            Grudgingly, Hermione had allowed full sponsership, and hadn’t looked back sincel

            They were now embroiled in the last race of the season, and she was on pins and needles. This had been a good season, their seventh as a team, and she truly loved her job.

            She loved being track-side when the boys came streaming through the strip of hazy green smoke that served as a finish line. Preferably with Malfoy, in his silver and black tracksuit, in first place, which he usually was.

            “Granger.” His voice snapped her from her reverie, “Help”

            She spoke calmly, “Cool it Malfoy, you’ve just gotta gain your head and keep it for just under twenty laps, no greenhorn kid is gonna take this from you, from us.”

            She could hear his teeth gri through the spell they were usung to communicate, “Calm down, we’ve faced tougher than him before, we’ve beaten tougher than him before.” He wasn’t calm, and all she could do was kep talking, “Remember our first race?”

            His wind-chapped lips twitched in a tight smile, “Yeah”

            “That was a tougher race than this. We didn’t know how to work with each other like we do now.”

            “I guess.” He gasped, the wind taking his words as he spoke them, but she heard anyway.

            “Now close your eyes and let me fly you, even though you could pass him on your own.” He almost laughed, they both knew he couldn’t do this without her, or this trick they had worked out years ago. Slowly he squezed his eyes shut.

            “twitch left.” Her voice was soothing in his ear, clearly audible, even with the roar of the wind and the screams of the crowds.His fingers barely flexed, the broom seemed to obey her words rather than his touch. “Now dip down, and keep your head low, your almost under him, thre, you’re directly beneath him. Now bring her home.”

            Draco’s eyes snapped open, suddenly there was no crowd, no wind, no world outside this track. There was only her voice and that finish line that was just within his grasp.

            Her voice kept up a steady stream of encouraging words, that was all he truly needed.

            HE eased past the boy, and sped onward, he had less that ten laps to go, and the clock was ticking down. HE swung around the curve again, and lapped the three Racers in last place, they waved cherfully as he passed.

            Draco was well liked among the other Raacers, and these three would gladly try to stall Jones for a precious second. And stall they did, causing the upstart kid’s mouth to twist into a feirce snarl.

            He seemed to say something to his own flying coach as he sped past the last placers, hunting Draco down.

            Draco had les than a lap to go, and the kid was on his tail bristles. The finish line of smoke loomed closer, Hermione’s voice was breathless in his ear.

            He was ahead, and then Jones pulled up beside him, they were neck in neck, he closed his eyes, knowing Granger would direct him if need be.

            Draco felt the smoke whip past him and pulled up, Hermione was screaming in his ear, they had won the Britain 3000 by a broomhead. He flew to the twoer from which she had watched, elevated just above track level. She had stood on the balcony all day, counciling him nearly constantly for the past six hours.

            AS he soared, he straigtened from his flattened position, waving tiredly at the fans, many of qhom shouted his names and various versions of “will you marry, date, or sleep with me?”

            Hermione watched him fly towards her, her carmel eyes hidden behind her own dakr sunglasses, her grin just as wide as her partner’s, and just as tired.

            HE held out one black gloved hand, helping her onto the broom in front of him, letting her wedge her petite frame against his own. Draco buried his face in her hair, absorbing as much of her scent as possible, it all seemed so sureal. He had been Racing proffessionally for seven years now, but never had he won this race.

            The took their victory lap at a leisurly pace, waving to the stands as they circled the track, thousands of women sighed in frustration watching the pair fly by, glaring at the slim brunet tucked securly between his arms.      

            The winners touched down on the grassy center track, waving to their fans again, the cheers redoubled as the two exhausted victors leaned against each other. Dracoo was presented with a gleaming silver cup and a bottle of chapagne, which he prompty spewed all over himself and Hermione, as per tradition.

            Hermione cackled and stole the green glass bottle, gulping some of the icy contents before chucking what was left at him.

            Draco laughed, “You’re dead Granger.”he crowed, chasing after her, both nimbly avoiding cameras as the paparazzi swung after the pair.

            Hermione’s legs were tired after a day on her feet, and Draco’s limbs were far longer besides, he caught her quickly.

            “Gotcha.” He whispered, kissing his wife deeply, much to the glee of the watching reporters.

            All around them the cameras clicked as the couple came up for air, before turning with seamless precision and dissapearing in a swirl of shifting air.

            The Malfoy manor echoed with the resounding crack of the pair’s reapearence, the dark, cool house was welcome after a day spent in under the blazing, endless sun.

            Together they trooped up the stairs, a cool bath in the massive marble tub that resided in the mater bathroom was next on the agenda.

            As Hermione smoothed burn-healing lotion on the back of her husbands fried neck she chuckled softly, “Told you it was burned.”

            Draco didn’t hear her, he was already asleep, his head rested on the smooth skin of her thigh.

            Hermione smiled softly and went on with her massage, before leaning back on the cool tile herself and letting sleep wash over her.

            On the other side of the door dozens of trophys and cups glinted in the fading afternoon light, the newest one sparkled without the thin layer of dust that coated the rest. Countless wins lurked on the shelves and in the cabinets, waiting for Racing’s First Family to come give them all the routine, post-win polish and oiling.

            But in the bathroom, the young couple rested, exhausted an sun-burned they slept peacefully, soothed by each other’s company, for in the end, all that glitters is certainly not gold.  
  








Aww, aren't they sweet. Anywhoo, spelling and grammer mistakes abound, my spellcheck's on the fritz right now, and there isn't much I can do about it.
I'll go back an fix it later.
So, liked it, thought I took too much liberty with the wizardin world, will never read my work again?
Tell me, I'm on Christmas break (FINALLY) and have nothing to do, I'd love to hear from you, and will likely respond.
kisses
Jeni

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