Time flew by.
The lessons seemed to grow increasingly intense, and Hermione seemed to become increasingly busy.
Draco, though no longer required to practise Quidditch, now had to make time to tutor the slow-witted Crabbe and Goyle in lessons they could not understand, and confiscate all the sweets hidden in their pockets to stop them gaining any more weight.
He even dragged Crabbe and Goyle to the Quidditch pitch with a blank expression, ordering them to spend some time each day on their flying brooms instead of sitting forever at the Slytherin table, or drooling over books in the library.
"Why, Draco, why are you doing this to us?" Crabbe wailed. "We have already drawn the star chart correctly!"
"Vincent Crabbe," Draco said seriously, "I remember when you were in second year, you wanted to join the House team and be a Seeker. At the start of third year, I even saw you and Goyle practising throwing Quaffles about on the pitch of an evening. And now, all you think about is how to eat another bag of sweets! What has made you lose your fighting spirit?"
"She... they said I am not cut out for it," Crabbe said, blinking his small eyes and sadly lowering his head. "I do not have the talent to be a Seeker, nor the ability to be a Chaser."
"No. No one is born knowing how to play Quidditch. However talented someone is, to play well, they need consistent practice," Draco said. "Besides, you have not found your niche. Vincent, have you ever thought that you might be better suited to being a Beater?"
Crabbe looked up, puzzled, at Draco.
Draco Malfoy, who often ruthlessly forced him to do his homework and confiscated his beloved sweets, who was usually cold and aloof, was now smiling slightly, a hint of unexpected encouragement in his eyes:
"Have you ever thought that with your sturdy build, you might be better suited to wielding a bat against those Bludgers?"
Draco Malfoy, it seemed, Crabbe thought in surprise, was no longer the boy he remembered from his childhood who never gave him a second glance, only belittled him, and treated him like a dog.
"And you, Gregory Goyle! I remember you sneaking about to watch the House team practise, more than once. Can you honestly say you never had any thoughts about it?"
Draco said, looking at the equally surprised boy beside Crabbe.
"But..." Goyle's blank expression faded, replaced by sadness. "Nobody will believe us, nobody respects us, they all laugh at us."
"Respect is earned!" Draco glared at him with exasperation.
"Slytherins only respect the strong, do you not know that? Be ambitious! Look how popular those Quidditch players are within the House! If you do not want people laughing at you, you have to show some skill! You have to bring honour to the House to earn people's respect!"
"But we..." Goyle said uneasily, looking down at his soft, thick middle.
"No buts. A number of the Chasers and Beaters on the House team are graduating soon, and the team needs fresh blood. This is an opportunity.
You have probably noticed Blaise has been practising with Quaffles in secret this year. He wants to try out for the upcoming trials and compete for a Chaser's place. You cannot keep drifting along like this. You have to seize this opportunity."
Draco pressed a bat into each of their arms and said firmly, "If you want to wear Slytherin Quidditch robes and earn the respect of your House, you need to practise hard."
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with apprehension and shock.
"Right now, immediately. Go and fetch the brooms! I shall keep you on your toes."
Draco put on a menacing look and threatened them, "Do not even think about slacking off."
So, with Hermione Granger busy with her studies and rarely seen, and amidst the occasional groans of Crabbe and Goyle echoing across the training pitch, Draco Malfoy finally found something to distract himself.
"Draco, are you not a little too idle these days?" Blaise asked him sceptically as he walked by one day, tossing a Quaffle in his hand. "Do you truly believe they can do it?"
"The point is not whether I believe it, but whether they themselves believe it, is it not?"
Draco watched Crabbe bravely clutch the Quaffle like a sack of flour and yelled at him, "Good work! Now try hitting it with your hand!"
Crabbe turned around and grinned at him... the next second he was jolted by the Bludger... and almost fell off his flying broomstick.
"Merlin's nail varnish, oh, this is a disaster! I think they are just going through the motions. They will probably give up in a couple of days," Pansy said to Draco, frowning, as she walked away with the smug Blaise, leaving behind a pessimistic remark.
"I will wager you my most cherished set of blue and white porcelain cups that they will never be Beaters. This is pure fantasy, a complete waste of time!"
However, Crabbe and Goyle did not give up. They showed up at the training ground despite the ridicule, rain or shine.
They persisted until the day of the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff match.
That match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff was exceptionally intense, lasting until the afternoon. Ultimately, Gryffindor defeated Hufflepuff, achieving a score exactly equal to Slytherin's total.
Not a point more, not a point less.
Reality is always more dramatic than fiction.
"So, how will Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall decide who gets the trophy?"
Blaise asked Draco, his lips twitching. "Shut up in one office all day? Handing it back and forth every morning?"
Draco shrugged, noncommittal.
He was not feeling well that day.
From his angle, he could not see much of the Gryffindor seating. There were too many people, blocking his view of her entirely.