Quidditch and the Challenge

Today marked the first Quidditch workout for the first years. The excitement was almost palpable—everyone seemed eager for their first chance to fly. Everyone but him. Don't get him wrong; he'd always wanted to fly, but not on a broom. He wanted to achieve flight like Voldemort did in the final movie.

Blaise could barely contain his enthusiasm, while Tracey looked like she'd rather be anywhere else. Daphne stood to the side, her usual composed and serious self. Draco, as always, was talking, but this time about how he'd supposedly out flown a helicopter—though, unsurprisingly, he didn't even pronounce it right. He didn't bother correcting him.

His shock and excitement grew when he found out Damian hadn't flown before. He promised they'd play Quidditch together at Christmas, but Damian just nodded politely with a smile.

As they made their way to the Quidditch pitch, the vast field stretched out before them. Madam Hooch instructed them all to stand beside their brooms and hold out their hands. "Stick your hand out and say 'up,'" she commanded.

Everyone followed suit. Harry's broom jumped into his hand immediately, as did Draco's, but the rest struggled. Damian tried calling to his broom the way Madam Hooch had instructed, but it stayed stubbornly on the ground. Frustration began to settle in, but he tried again—this time with intent, focusing all his magic and will into the command. To his relief, the broom shot into his hand.

As they all began to get the hang of their brooms, disaster struck. Neville Longbottom, already nervous, lost control. His broom shot up into the sky, with him barely hanging on. The broom spun wildly, and before anyone could stop it, Neville was thrown off. He hit the ground with a sickening thud. Madam Hooch rushed to his side, her face filled with concern. Thankfully, he wasn't seriously hurt; he just broke his arm and was rushed to the hospital wing.

In the chaos, Neville had dropped his Remembrall, which was gifted to him by his grandmother earlier that week. It had rolled across the field, unnoticed by most, except Draco. He picked it up, tossing it into the air with a smirk. Damian knew that look—it was the same one Draco wore when he felt like proving something.

Harry asked Draco to give him the ball, but Draco just smirked and flew on his broom, taunting Harry to get it from him if he wanted it. Harry, being as impulsive as ever, went after him. But Draco had other plans.

"Catch it if you can, Potter," Draco sneered, throwing the Remembrall high into the sky.

Harry didn't hesitate. In an instant, he was on his broom, soaring up after the ball. The rest could only watch as he shot higher and higher, completely disregarding the rules. It was reckless, but Harry was determined. In one smooth move, he caught the Remembrall mid-air, bringing it down in a swoop.

Just as Harry landed, Professor McGonagall stormed onto the field. Her expression was livid.

"Mr.Potter! What do you think you're doing?" she bellowed, marching toward him. "That was a dangerous stunt! You could have been killed!"

Parvati tried to speak up for Harry, but McGonagall wasn't hearing any excuses today. She ordered Harry to follow her, no doubt to hand down punishment for what he'd done.

Draco, standing beside Damian, looked triumphant. "Well, looks like I got him into trouble," he whispered.

What Draco didn't realise, though, was that McGonagall wasn't about to simply punish Harry. She had seen something in him during that reckless flight—something that marked him as a Seeker. Damian could feel it, too. The way Harry moved, the natural talent—it was undeniable.

As much as he hated the favouritism that seemed to surround Harry, it was hard to argue against what he'd just seen.

Damian sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, casually eating his breakfast the next day when a large owl swooped down, delivering a package right in front of Harry Potter. Draco, seated nearby, nudged Damian, smirking. "Bet it's a broomstick," Draco murmured. He stood, signalling for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him, concerned that this could get Potter into trouble. He had to check.

Draco left the table, shadowing Harry as he walked out of the hall with the package. Catching up to him, Draco called, "Hey, Potter! What do you have there?" He grabbed the package and confirmed his suspicion—it was indeed a broomstick.

Ron Weasley stepped forward defensively, snapping, "Sod off, Malfoy. You and your Death Eater spawn have no business here."

Draco sneered and countered, "First years aren't supposed to have their own brooms." Just then, Professor Flitwick happened to be walking by. Draco quickly turned to him, hoping to get Harry in trouble. "Professor! Potter's got a broomstick—first years aren't allowed."

Flitwick glanced at Harry and smiled. "Congratulations, Mr. Potter, on making the Quidditch team! Is that a Nimbus 2000?" 

"Yes, sir," Harry responded, somewhat surprised but relieved.

"Well done! Keep it up," Flitwick added before strolling off, much to Draco's dismay. 

Fuming, Draco turned back to Harry. "So just because you're the Gryffindor Seeker, you think you're special? How about a wizarding duel, Potter? Midnight. Trophy Room. Or are you too scared?"

Ron was quick to jump in, "Fine! I'll be Harry's second." Harry nodded to that.

Draco looked at Damian, expecting him to join the challenge. "Damian, you'll be my second, right?"

Damian, calm and unimpressed, looked Draco square in the eye. "I'm not wasting my time duelling a monkey and a pig who don't even know how to hold their wands properly. You don't need me to deal with these two Goyle is fine," he said, flicking his gaze toward Goyle for emphasis. This stung Ron, who angrily raised his wand at the Slytherins.

At that moment, Professor Snape appeared. "Thirty points from Gryffindor," he said coldly, glaring at Ron. "For raising your wand at a fellow student."

The crowd quickly dispersed, but not before Snape shot one last look of disdain in Gryffindor's direction.

Draco was a bit upset at Damian's refusal but liked how he used the opportunity to mock the Gryffindors.

In the dimly lit Slytherin common room, Damian sat near the fireplace, reviewing his Charms homework when Draco sauntered in, a smug grin plastered across his face. He looked around and then spotted Damian.

"Guess what, Damian?" Draco said, his voice dripping with glee. He dropped onto the sofa next to him, unable to contain his excitement.

Damian raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not entirely distracted from his work. "What is it, Draco?"

"You know when I challenged Potter yesterday," Draco said, leaning in. "I had no intention of actually going. I tipped off Filch, told him there would be students sneaking into the trophy room tonight. Thought I'd finally see that arrogant git and his little friends get what they deserve—detention, maybe even worse!"

Damian smirked, closing his book. "How very clever of you," he said, though there was a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "But if you're here, then I assume Potter took the bait?"

Draco leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. "Oh, he did. Him and his little band of misfits— Weasley and maybe that insufferable Granger too! I bet they were caught red-handed."

Before Damian could reply, Blaise walked over, overhearing the conversation. "Caught? Doesn't seem like it, Draco."

Draco's grin faltered, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

Blaise shrugged, settling into a nearby chair. "I heard them talking at dinner that they somehow escaped Filch. No detention, no punishment at all. Seems they got away clean. There is also a talk about three headed dogs with these romours."

Draco's face fell, confusion taking over. "What? That's impossible. Filch should've been there, waiting for them!"

Damian chuckled quietly. "Looks like your plan wasn't as foolproof as you thought."

Draco scowled, clearly irritated. "They must've had help. There's no way they got out of that without some kind of trick."

"Or maybe Potter's luck is better than yours," Damian said with a smirk, returning to his book as Draco fumed quietly beside him.