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Playing Dirty	By : Sarea Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 4321 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Playing Dirty
- 1
TITLE: Playing Dirty
AUTHOR: Sarea Okelani
E-MAIL ADDRESS: sareaokelani@hotmail.com
WEBSITE: http://www.angelfire.com/wizard/okelani/
RATING: NC-17
CATEGORY: Drama/Angst, Romance
SPOILERS: Through Goblet of Fire.
KEYWORDS: Cho/Draco
DISTRIBUTION: Please do not archive — the full text of this story will be archived by me at my site or elsewhere at my sole discretion (mostly for version control issues). If you'd like to link to this story from your Web site, I'd be honored — but drop me a line first, please.
DISCLAIMER: The characters found in this story are property of the inimitable JK Rowling and her publishers.
FEEDBACK: I'd love to hear from you. All polite correspondence enthusiastically responded to!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Much love and thanks to Jade for her as-usual kickass beta and encouragement, and to Lysandra, for her big editor's brain and big red pen. My favorite part is copying and pasting random sentences into chat saying, "This sounds weird. What should it say instead?" I love you guys!
DATE POSTED: Feb. 24, 2002

SUMMARY: Sometimes, kindness isn't enough.

"Playing Dirty"
by Sarea Okelani

+++

When she was a young girl what she loved above all other things was for her father to take her up on his broom and show her the stars. She would raise her arms to the sky, certain that those bright twinkling lights were just inches from her grasp; her father only needed to go a bit higher. At the age of eight, when she finally received a broom of her own and began making solo travels to the sky, she often suspected that if she simply let go and gave herself up to the feeling, she would continue to soar higher and higher until she was able to view the very secrets of the universe, encased in those small lights. And in the moments that she entertained even the possibility, she was unbound; free.

These days, she is tethered to the world.

She is surrounded by stone walls, stuffy classrooms, and the everyday cacophony of her classmates. She feels these things pulling at her, pushing her down, like the strings of a marionette in careless hands. The same things that once brought her comfort now form a prison from which she cannot escape. They chain her with kind words and pitying looks, even as she gasps for breath and implores with anguished eyes for help. But they misinterpret her signals, if they see them at all. It didn't take her long to realize that their true sympathy lies with themselves, forced to suffer someone like herself in their midst. She cannot hide what she has lost, and they resent her for it.
Cho used to be the kind of girl who laughed often and loud, because even then, she knew the moments wouldn't last. She had enjoyed spending time with her friends, taking weekend trips to Hogsmeade, reading alone in her room, or studying in the library. These things had all felt right to her. She'd been doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing, and she'd been happy. It all fell into place when the day came that she met someone she truly believed she could love, and he felt the same in return. This is meant to be, she'd thought. Now she can't remember exactly the way his lips had moved on hers when he'd kissed her for the first time, but she remembers that it had been soft and sweet, and that she'd stood on her tip-toes even though he'd lowered his head to reach her. In that first touch of his lips to hers, she'd nearly burst with gladness.

She should have contained some of it before a stray gust of wind blew it all away.

It's not his fault. She knows this, but she can't bring herself to tell him. She feels his sorrow, his guilt, his contrition. How can she not, when they are always directed at her? She doesn't want them, doesn't need them, but doesn't know how to make him stop. She sees him cutting a fine figure in his Quidditch robes, all dark hair and big green eyes. She understands that he is attractive, and if she were any other girl she might be flattered by his attention. He is too like the one she has lost: Good; brave; kind. Most likely to die in the act of heroism.

And Cho wants to live.

Her peers don't know this. They think she is depressed and unable to function because of it. They treat her like a walking curse. If she is provoked she will let loose a gale of tears and destruction, which is the last thing they want after what happened; not now, when things seem to be getting back to normal. They don't want to be reminded. They don't seem to understand: Neither does she. But every moment of hesitation, every gaze that slides away rather than meet hers directly, every courteous smile, every cautious touch, is a reminder.

Exhaustion seeps into her bones and resides there with anger and sadness. All she thinks about during the day is going to her room and crawling between the sheets of her bed so that she can sleep until she has slept away the darkest of her emotions. But at night, listening to the soft chuffs and lazy wheezes of her roommates, she can't sleep. When she closes her eyes she is plagued by visions of trophies and hands she'll never feel again.

+++

Sneaking out of Ravenclaw Tower is easy. She is light on her feet and her robes make no sound as she makes her way out of the castle to the pitch. The only light comes from the soft glow of the moon, which shifts to a different position every night — or so it seems. Everything is gray or darker gray, and might intimidate someone else. But she is familiar with every inch of the ground her shoes whisper over, and every object she passes in the dark is an old friend that greets her with a soft rasp as she brushes by. She can tell where she is just by sniffing the air, and when the scent of hyacinth and wood polish grows stronger, she knows she is nearly at her intended destination.

She has brought her broom, of course — the only thing for which she feels anything more than apathy. Flying, especially at night with the cold gusts of air that billow through her robes and sting her eyes, allows her to feel the blood that pumps through her veins, the heart that beats in her chest and in her ears. She flies fast, faster than she would when she is not alone, weaving in and out of the Quaffle hoops and the spectator stands, as low to the ground as she dares, as high as her lungs will allow. Sometimes the feelings that are provoked from her high-risk flying cause tears to spring to her eyes, and these she wipes away quickly with the sleeve of her robe. When her face is nearly numb and she can't feel her fingers gripping the handle of her broom anymore, she lands and heads back to her room, her mind clear and unburdened, to catch a few hours of sleep before she wakes up to begin the cycle all over again.

+++

On her way to Transfiguration, someone pushes by her, knocking her shoulder back, and the book she is carrying is knocked to the floor. Before she can pick it up, someone else does it for her. She finds Harry holding the book, offering it to her gently. If there's a way to "gently' offer someone a book, that's what Harry is doing now. She looks up — he has grown ridiculously tall, hardly the boy she remembers — and thanks him, taking the proffered textbook. He's not smiling but his eyes are big and sincere, and he hasn't yet lost that look of hopefulness that characterizes everything she remembers about him. Girls stare at him as they pass, and Cho knows that they are seeing what she sees: A handsome young man, with promise stamped all over him.

Cho is seized by a sudden feeling of resentment. She hates his tanned hands that look so strong and gentle, hates the long, lean body that looks capable of sustaining any injury, and especially, she hates his eyes, which are bright with emotions he doesn't express. She even hates his scar, which proclaims to the world that he has met with ultimate evil and survived. Others have not been as lucky. Without another word she continues to class, knowing that if she turns around she will find him in exactly the same spot, looking after her. And for that, too, she hates him.

+++

Quidditch matches were once the highlight of any week. Now they are just another thing to endure.

Ravenclaw is to play Slytherin for the first time this season. The changing room is quiet, only the occasional scuffle of kneepads and other protective gear being donned breaking the silence. Cho tells herself that she can get through this. She feels hundreds of eyes on her as she kicks off with the rest of the teammates. The sun is bright and she can already feel her face start to burn.

She looks half-heartedly for the Snitch while the spectators cheer her on. She knows the encouragement is for her, because even in a typical game they feel the need to "support' her, and as this game is against Slytherin, no one but Slytherins cheer for their Seeker.

Despite her lack of interest, she eventually sees the Snitch and dives toward it. The faster it's caught, the sooner the game ends. She expects to have it against her palm in short order, and is surprised when she is knocked hard to the side, throwing her off course. Her shoulder throbs in pain where Malfoy has slammed against it, and for a second she doesn't know what to do. She didn't expect such ferocious opposition. She can hear the displeased roar of the crowd. Even on good days, they don't tolerate Malfoy's play tactics very well, and because it is her, they find his behavior even more reprehensible. She considers her options. If she circles back, Malfoy will get the Snitch and the game will be over. Before today, that's all that has mattered — getting away as quickly as possible. Winning hasn't been a concern of hers for awhile.

Before she knows it she is right on his tail, pursuing his easily distinguished blond head as he winds his way around obstacles, single-minded in his pursuit of the Snitch. Her late-night flying habit has proven useful, as she is able to shadow his every move with alacrity. He is a better instinctual flier than she is, but on this familiar ground they are equals. They reach some open airspace and she takes the opportunity to give her broom a little burst of speed.

If Malfoy is surprised to see her shoulder to shoulder with him, he doesn't show it. He seems completely focused on capturing the small golden ball that evades them, and she wonders briefly what demons he's exorcising — surely all this raw determination can't be for winning a game. She can see the glint of the Snitch ahead, and they both plunge forward. The nearly deafening roar of the crowd barely registers on her mind, but she does note that nearly everyone is standing to watch Malfoy and Chang battle for the win. And it is a battle; Malfoy has no qualms correcting her in very physical terms when she gets too far into his space, and after a bit of this abuse she begins to respond in kind. Her body is going to be black and blue on both sides tomorrow, but instead of being angry she rather feels like a girl who has gotten her first thrilling love bite.

Malfoy's broom eventually outmatches hers and he pulls ahead, arm outstretched, and nabs the Snitch neatly. The crowd, except for the Slytherin contingent, visibly deflates. The announcer calls the match, and the players all land to go through the after-game motions of sportsmanship.

Cho knows that her teammates are not angry with her for losing the Snitch to Malfoy. She has shown more spark this game than they've seen from her in weeks, and it gives them hope that they will have their old Seeker back soon. The players all mumble, "Good game. Well played," at one another, but Cho cannot take her eyes off of Malfoy. He is dirt- and sweat-caked, frowning, and obviously impatient to get back to the changing room. He won the game, and yet, unlike in past years, he is not obnoxiously rubbing the Ravenclaws' faces in their loss. He doesn't look as though he has taken any pleasure in the win, instead looking as if he has done his job and now deserves the night off. Cho cannot help but feel that this is wrong, that he has given her joy and has taken so little pleasure in it himself. She almost feels that he did this for her (although she knows that he did not), and that she ought to thank him in some way.

Before she can think twice about it, she has dropped her broom to the ground and thrown her arms around him. He is completely rigid. Shock, she imagines, and the same could probably be said for everyone watching. He doesn't return the embrace, but then, she doesn't expect him to. She murmurs, "Thank you" into his ear. This close, she can smell him — his sweat, his soap, his light aftershave, and she feels something ignite deep in her abdomen. Then she lets go, and the game is over.

+++

For weeks after the Slytherin match, Cho does not need to go to the pitch at night. The moment her head hits the pillow, she is out like a light, and has blissfully dreamless sleep. It doesn't last. The insomnia returns, and she is back out there, flying as dangerously as she can, tiring herself to the point when she is ready to collapse. She waits for the next Slytherin match. The bruises she sustained from the last game are already gone, and in a queer way, she misses them. The marks proved that her blood lay right below the surface, moving and healing, and when she pressed on them, she felt a good kind of hurt. She'd like to feel again.

Finally, the day of the second Slytherin-Ravenclaw game arrives, and unlike the last time, the sun is nowhere to be found. Clouds loom threateningly over their heads, and in the middle of the match the skies open up and show no mercy. The players continue to maneuver amidst torrential rainfall. Everyone knows the rule: As long as there isn't lightning, the game will continue.

As before, Malfoy does not treat Cho with kid gloves. He is competitive and plays dirty; he will do anything to secure the win. She likes this in him. The rain makes it even harder to see the Snitch, but she isn't really looking for it. She wants Malfoy to locate it, and when he takes off, she'll follow.

Another hour passes, and Ravenclaw is up by twenty points. Some of the spectators have left, and those that remain are huddled under umbrellas dotted in various house colors. Cho is cold and wet and her hair is plastered to her head, just like all the other players, but unlike them, she is having fun. She doesn't think Malfoy, who is hovering near the Slytherin goalposts, has even noticed the rain; he keeps circling the pitch hoping for a glimpse of the Snitch. He occasionalliy wipes his face with a hand or with his arm.

And then suddenly he is in motion. Cho takes a moment to admire the graceful turn and dive, as if he is not on a precarious, thin stick of wood but on a live animal that understands every infinitesimal move he makes. She allows herself this moment, but wastes no more time. Kicking into high speed, she races toward him, then veers off in the direction he's headed. When she gets close she sees the Snitch, but it's hard to keep track of it in the rain. She doesn't know how Malfoy was able to catch sight of it in his previous spot.

Just as before, he fights her for position. They pound against one another, once so hard that she thinks her teeth have surely come loose from the impact. Their protective gloves are no match for the steadily falling rain, and neither she nor Malfoy is trying the risky moves they executed with such ease during their last outing.

This time, luck is with her. The Snitch makes a sudden shift to the left and she has the better position to follow; she speeds ahead a split second before Malfoy is able to make the same move. The Snitch is hard and wriggly in her hand, and she realizes she's smiling. She remembers what it's like to want to win.

She doesn't know why she expects him to still be there, but Cho turns her head to share her grin "“ and in fact, he's still flying by her side, and there is a small, but answering quirk of his lips. It's gone by the time they land.

Her teammates are ecstatic, both because Cho got the Snitch, thereby winning the game, and because it means they will all be able to get out of this infernal rain. The Slytherins are sullen, and their congratulations are insincere. No one minds or expects anything else, however.

All of the players turn to head to their respective changing rooms, but Cho trails behind her teammates. She turns and sees that Malfoy isn't too far away; she jogs up to him and pulls on the back of his robes.

Startled by suddenly being unable to move, he slips on the muddy ground and nearly falls. When he turns his face is filled with anger, but when he sees who it is, it settles into a wary grimace.

"What, am I supposed to thank you?" he says sarcastically, referring to her behavior at their last match.

Cho shakes her head. "No — I want to thank you. Again."

Malfoy stares at her. "Whatever." He turns away and begins walking again.

"Wait!" she says, not moving from her spot. He stops short, and it seems as if he is making the decision whether to keep going, or turn around and see what she wants. Shoulders lifting in a deep sigh, he turns. "I haven't thanked you yet, Malfoy."

"Chang, are you some kind of mental case?" he demands.

"Some might say that," she says with a smile. But you're going to fix me. "I'd like to thank you properly. Tonight. Interested?"

Indecision wars with intrigue; his expressions are easily read. He doesn't trust her, and she can't say she blames him. She imagines there aren't very many people he can put faith in. "What time?" he asks finally.

She is glad. "Midnight. Astronomy tower — room 42D." Most Hogwarts students know the Astronomy Tower as well as they know their own common rooms. She's sure Malfoy is no different. "See you later. And, Malfoy ... take a bath."

He looks irritated by her suggestion. He spreads his arms wide. "Well, I was thinking that this did the job rather nicely."

"A long, hot one," she suggests. "Bubbles and everything. I plan to soak for a good long while. Don't you think we deserve it?"

He drops his arms, and his eyes glitter. "Well, bloody hell, let's meet there instead."

She licks her lips. "See you at midnight." When she turns water droplets fly from her hair. She makes her way to the changing room without looking back. She knows that if she does she will find him in exactly the same spot, staring after her. And she likes that very much.

+++

Cho arrives early to prepare. The room is small, with only one window, and is therefore less drafty, which is why she chose it. She has charmed the lock so that it will only open for herself and Malfoy tonight. A small fire crackles in the grate, and provides a certain amount of warmth, but that's not its intended purpose. The fire is for atmosphere; the warmth charm she has cast is what will protect them from the chill. Near the merry little blaze she has laid out a number of blankets, and on these she sits, barefoot, waiting for Malfoy to arrive.

She wonders if he will show, or if he has decided that she was merely playing a joke on him and now refuses to fall into her trap. It doesn't really matter if he comes tonight or not; it will happen sooner or later. She'd rather it be sooner, but she wants him to be comfortable. A minute before midnight, the door opens to admit him. She can't quite hide her smile. He is a teenage boy, after all, and the promise of what she had teased him with is quite enough to bring him to her side.

Malfoy is cautious, however, and looks around warily before his gaze settles on her relaxed figure. Deciding it safe, he enters and closes the door behind him. As he leans against it for a moment, Cho is startled to notice that he, too, has gotten taller. She wonders if he is as tall as Harry. They have both grown into young men this year, and remind her very much of Cedric. Well, Harry does. Malfoy is nothing like the other two; he is their total opposite, in fact — in manner, ethics, and temperament. Plenty of girls — and boys — at this school find precisely these things appealing about him; his aloofness, his dangerous air, his tendency to treat people as if they are below his notice. Cho was never one of those girls who were attracted to males like Malfoy, but obviously, things change. If he is different now, so is she.

"Come sit," she invites.

She can't tell if he's taken care in dressing tonight. Out of his Quidditch robes, he has always looked impeccable, storming around in those expensive clothes of his. She decides that he didn't deliberately dress down, so that must be a good sign. He takes a seat near the fire, across from her. The grate's orange glow lights his face, gives him color. His eyes are dark and liquid-looking as he stares at her. Cho realizes with some surprise that he is actually quite good-looking; the sneer that was so unattractive on a pointy 11-year-old face has become something infinitely more tolerable on the face he has now.

For her part, Cho has taken some care with her appearance tonight — something she hasn't done in months. Her sleek black hair is washed, dried, and curled, falling softly over her shoulders and down her back. She has used a minimal amount of makeup, and she smells of jasmine, courtesy of the bath bubbles she used earlier. Her lavender robe is simple but elegantly cut, and underneath she wears nothing at all.

"What's this about, then?" he asks bluntly, roping his arms casually around his knees and clasping his hands.

She gives him a smile that tells him nothing, then rises to her knees and looks directly into his eyes. She keeps the contact even as she deftly flicks open her robe and lets the sinuous material slide down around her. Her smile widens when his impassive expression gives way to one of shock as his mouth gapes open. It's not an unattractive look for him.

Cho lifts one knee, then the other, taking the robe and tossing it to the corner of the room where she placed her shoes earlier. She lowers herself to the blankets once more, draws her legs together demurely, and rests a hand on her thigh. To her amusement, Malfoy refuses to break eye contact, but she can see his facial muscles twitching from the effort of not looking at her. She scoots closer to him, almost so that they're sitting side by side. If she leans forward she'll be able to kiss him. She doesn't; only murmurs, "You can look at me, you know. If you'd like."

He blinks, letting out a shuddering breath, as if he has been waiting for her permission, half convinced that she would never give it. He slowly lowers his gaze. Cho has no illusions about her body. Her breasts aren't particularly big, but they are nicely shaped, round and soft, and the rest of her is slim and toned, due to a happy combination of genetics and Quidditch. Her hands are a little rough from the calluses formed from holding her Nimbus 2000, but her fingers are long and tapered, the nails short and trim. Much like Malfoy's, Cho notes, as she takes one of his hands in hers. She thinks he stops breathing, and is waiting to see what she'll do next. She places his hand in the space between her breasts and holds it there with her hands as she leans forward and kisses him.

She is a little surprised when he responds immediately, applying his own pressure, opening her mouth under his. He is younger than her but not young; she has underestimated him, but this is even better. This kiss is nothing like Cedric's first attempt. Malfoy, despite being two years younger than Cedric had been at the time, already shows far more confidence and practiced skill.

They kiss with teeth and tongue and lips, and somehow his hands are in her hair and on her breast, and she is clutching his shoulders, the thick fabric bunching in her fingers.

Once the boundaries of ano another's mouths have been thoroughly explored (he tastes pleasantly of minty toothpaste), they move on to necks. Malfoy's clean soapy scent fills her nose, unexpectedly arousing.

Shadows and light dance over their heated skin, and the contrast of his being still fully clothed while she is utterly exposed to him is a powerful aphrodisiac. She forgets herself, sometimes; forgets her role, and retreats into the rather shy, unassuming girl she had once been and perhaps still is, but he doesn't let her hide for long. His fingers trail confidently over her skin, mapping her curves and finding the places that make her gasp. He isn't so experienced that his touch feels calculated and impersonal; no, he has the eager enthusiasm of a typical teenage boy, and his talented mouth and nipping teeth make her moan as he discovers what she likes.

Cho tugs at Malfoy's robe, pulling it over his head. Underneath he is wearing a white dress shirt and his Slytherin tie; seeing it reminds her of who he is, and why she is here. He tugs on the tie, loosening it, but when he motions to pull it off, she stalls him.

"Leave it on," she says. "Please."

"But it's hot in here," he protests, then shuts up when she draws his mouth to her breast.

She allows him to undo the top two buttons of his shirt and roll his sleeves up to his elbows, but that is as far as it gets. Eventually, she will allow him to unbutton his trousers, but then only to free that hard part of him that presses enticingly against her hip. It isn't that she would mind seeing him in the altogether — on the contrary, the light from the fire is very flattering to him; his body moves athletically beneath his shirt, and she can feel the hardness of his muscles for herself. She knows that he probably has a beautiful body. But there is plenty of time in the future to confirm this theory.

Any further objection might have had to not being allowed to remove a stitch of clothing are likely forgotten when she unfastens his trousers and slides one small hand inside to locate the heat of his erection. He groans when she wraps her hand around him, and shudders when she pulls him toward her. Cho knows enough about men to realize that he is now her willing slave, ready to do anything she asks. She herself is more turned on than she had thought she would be; she finds Malfoy unexpectedly, worryingly attractive. He arouses her with his kisses, the sounds he makes, and most especially the way he has of crushing her to him. He is not afraid that she will break. As far as she can tell, the possibility never enters his mind.

Cho pushes him away gently, lying on the blankets and parting her legs welcomingly. He needs no further invitation, and, having freed his hardness from the confines of his trousers, immediately lowers himself onto her and inside her. She gasps when it happens; he burns a trail of fire through her. He pushes forward relentlessly, and despite the slight discomfort she lifts her hips to aid him. When he is buried as far as he can go, he drops his forehead down to touch hers, their sweat intermingling, and for long moments they do nothing but share one another's breaths. She squeezes her lower muscles experimentally, making him suck in his breath. He feels absolutely unbelievable inside her, so hard and compellingly real. There is some pain, but she welcomes it; enjoys it; revels in it.

Before long, Malfoy shifts and begins to move. "Don't be gentle," she says.

The feral lifting of his lips is barely recognizable as a smile. "Don't worry," he promises. Or maybe threatens, she amends hazily, right before she's rendered incapable of further thought. He grinds his hips against hers, pulling and pushing in her, and she gasps into his ear. His trousers chafe the inside of her thighs as he thrusts into her, and she feels sinfully nude every time her nipples brush against his shirt. She can't believe how right all of this feels.

He wasn't lying; he isn't gentle. His lower body forces her to the brink of pain and tumbles her over to a valley of pleasure, which is actually even better than the pain. His movements are rapid and unforgiving, and he forces sounds from her throat that she would be embarrassed about if she were in any state to have a care for such things.

His fingers find the place where they are joined and rub against her as he continues to move; one brutal thrust later, a white-hot pleasure knifes through her center and immobilizes her. She wonders who is making all that noise, and realizes it is herself. Malfoy comes like a hot tide inside her only seconds later, his face pressed tightly against her neck, his hands gripping her hips with punishing force. She will find ten perfect finger-shaped bruises there in the morning.

For now, all she can do is pant and try to recover. The world does eventually stop spinning, and Malfoy rolls off of her onto his back. He pulls up his trousers but leaves them unbuttoned; he is breathing heavily and his eyes are closed.

Cho has enough presence of mind to close her legs, but otherwise does not move. The silence is broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire. Then Malfoy speaks.

"I don't like being used," he says coldly.

"I'm sorry." In Cho's opinion, he should have known better. She is neither a Hufflepuff nor a Gryffindor. She is a Ravenclaw, which means only that her Slytherin cunning is, for the most part, dulled by indifference. It doesn't mean it's nonexistent. "Are you upset?" she asks carefully. She finds she rather likes Malfoy, but if he's going to make this into something it isn't, she will take care of it now.

Malfoy opens his eyes and looks over at her with a minimal movement of his head. After awhile, he gives a slight shrug of resignation. "I can think of plenty of worse things."

She's sure he can. "Why do you try to beat me during our matches?" she asks curiously.

He raises a sardonic eyebrow. "It's called a game, Chang. That's what you do — try to beat your opponent."

"That's not what I meant. I mean, why do you ... actually play me?"

"You mean, why don't I treat you like an untamed Hippogriff, the way everyone else at this school does?"

Cho is slightly dismayed by his perception, not to mention his analogy. She had rather thought he'd been oblivious to it, and she would almost prefer that he compare her to, for instance, a fragile China doll than a volatile Hippogriff. But now that they're here, she wants to know the answer. "Yes."

"Because you're not the one who died."

She closes her eyes. A flair of grief rises quickly in her chest, but she quickly squashes it. Malfoy doesn't mince words, and she neither wants nor expects him to.

"Anyway, it's not all about you, Chang," he continues. "I play you because that's what the game is there for — to be played. And my father expects me to win. It doesn't much matter whom I play against."

Cho is silent. Her own parents are nothing like the Malfoys; she can't imagine living with that kind of pressure day in and day out. At least there'd been a time in her life when she'd been carefree. She suddenly realizes that she feels closer to this boy than she has to anyone in quite some time, yet he is barely more than a stranger to her. She turns her head, and they regard one another silently. He might be a stranger, but in an odd way, she knows him. And even odder still, he knows her.

"So what now?" he asks finally.

She takes awhile to formulate her response. "Want to be friends?"

He gestures wryly at the scene around them. "I'd say we're past that point."

She smiles but shakes her head in the negative. "We're not."

"Hmm. Instead of, or in addition to?" He sounds vaguely bored.

"I don't know yet, do I?"

He sighs, then raises his arms and places his hands behind his head. "Fine," he says grudgingly. "I suppose I could try to be friends with you." His tone of voice indicates that he is being extremely magnanimous.

"Thanks," she says dryly.

He looks in the direction of the room's only window. "Looks like the skies have cleared up," he remarks. "This may sound odd, but — fancy doing some flying? There's nothing like it just after it's rained." His voice is dreamy, then it sharpens. "Of course, it's late and we'd have to get our brooms and sneak out. You up for it?"

The smile on her face is answer enough.

= The End =

Thanks for reading!

If mature Harry Potter discussion and fan fiction sounds like your cup of tea, check out the Magical Mayhem list at http://www.topica.com/lists/magical_mayhem/. Jade and I would love to see you there.
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Playing Dirty