分卷阅读25（1 / 2）

Draco Malfoy was, however. He was holed up in the library attempting to find the peace he needed to finish the recently assigned History of Magic essay on the effects of the reign of Lord Borthord the First in Albania when he was approached by one of his year-mates, Blaise Zabini.

“Zabini, you’re blocking my light,” Draco informed him curtly and Blaise seemed to twitch at the tone of violence which Draco had so casually spewed out.

“Draco, I have been drafted into giving this to you,” he said resignedly, holding out a folded parchment of paper. Draco raised an eyebrow suspiciously as he took it. Blaise continued speaking, however, so he did not open it.

“I told them it was a stupid idea and you’d have them hung for it, and that if Snape didn’t care then it wasn’t an issue, but they went and did it anyway…so when you decide to kill them, remember I’m just the messenger.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Draco asked, annoyance showing slightly through the tint of anger.

“Just read it, Draco, you’ll understand.”

Draco looked down at the parchment and before he had even opened it, Blaise Zabini had left his area of the library. But when Draco did open the parchment, he would have completely agreed with Blaise’s logic if he had not been so enraged at what was written there.

Malfoy, by what is written in rule 52 of the rules pertaining to Quidditch, no magical creature may participate in the sport when an unfair advantage is given to one team over another because of certain characteristics that creature may possess. Your wings fall into that category, so please note that you will not be able to remain a member of the Slytherin Quidditch team from the day you receive this onward.

And underneath were the signatures of the entire Slytherin team.

Draco saw bloody red.

Harry was startled out of the slight doze that the History of Magic homework had put him into by the Medusa portrait slamming open and a very irate Draco Malfoy stalking into the room, past Harry, and into their bedroom where Harry heard him dump all his books on his bed.

“What’s wrong with you?” Harry asked as Draco emerged from that room.

His response was a snarl, and Draco thrust a piece of parchment at him before continuing through the room.

“I’m going to commit murder,” Draco hissed through clenched teeth and Harry jumped slightly as the portrait swung shut with a slam behind him.

Frowning, Harry looked down at the letter. As he read it, he wondered vaguely which Ravenclaw the Slytherins had made write this because there was no way they would be able to sound so knowledgeable, but then the full implications of the letter hit him and he almost ripped the letter in two. It was disgusting. If they did any research whatsoever, they would know that Draco’s wings couldn’t support him in flight yet. If they wanted to invoke whatever rule that was, they would have a point if they mentioned how Draco was now in tune with the magical currents around him and that would aid him in finding the snitch; but this was just an excuse, and a bad one at that, to kick Draco off the Slytherin team.

He knew that Draco would likely be intercepted by someone before he actually committed the murder that he wanted to commit tonight, so he wasn’t too worried about the overall health of the Slytherin team for the next day’s match. Yet, something was still wrong about this, and he didn’t know quite how to deal with it. As much as he hated to admit it, Draco had been his biggest competition in Quidditch, and sometimes his only competition. And Harry had been looking forward to testing his own skill against Draco’s full skills, which included those of the Veriae. So the Slytherin team had denied not only Draco what he wanted, they’d denied Harry what Harry had wanted. Something would have to be done about that. So, letter in hand, Harry headed for the Gryffindor Common Room. He needed to talk to the Gryffindor Quidditch captain.

Draco had fallen asleep long after Harry on Thursday night, and was therefore not surprised to wake up on Friday morning long after Harry did. He was surprised at the warmth of his bed, however. Draco’s own body heat didn’t tend to warm up that much surface area of the bed…but he shrugged it off. Potter had been doing so well at denying the Veriae bond for the rest of the week, Draco doubted he would let it slip once he knew how to shut it out. And today was Friday…the same Friday of the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match that he’d been excluded from. Draco felt irritation at this, but much more at the fact that Snape had been practically waiting to intercept him before he’d gotten to the Slytherin Common Room. Murder wasn’t looked well upon after all. The only consolation Snape could offer Draco was that he’d had no say in what the Slytherin team had done, so it was perceivable that Draco could talk his teammates into voting him back on the team at a later date if he so wished.

And that brought him back to the match this afternoon. Looking over at the clock, he was informed that it was two minutes after twelve right now. Well that is what happens when one goes to sleep at five in the morning, he thought. And since he’d already skipped his morning classes, Draco pulled the covers over his eyes to shut out any light in the room and promptly went back to sleep.

A few hours later, Draco was thrust back into reality by the sudden absence of the warmth that those covers provided, and he opened his eyes fully intending to blast anyone who dared wake him up like that across the room. But when he looked up and was met with eyes identical to his own he resisted that thought. His father sat down on the foot of Draco’s bed and was silent for a few seconds before he spoke.