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For the Love of the Game	By : poepoedawn Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 7593 -:- 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
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Chapter 1: Shock and Awe

Monday, 19 November 8:15 am.

Hermione Granger stood in the middle of her small, but comfortable sitting room staring out her window at the rainy mid-morning in front of her. She had just finished reading the latest Daily Prophet with her breakfast and couldn�t believe the headline. It read:

�CHUDLEY CANNONS OWNER INDICTED FOR EMBEZZLEMENT BY WIZENGAMOT; TEAM'S RETURN TO QUIDDITCH PLAYOFFS QUESTIONABLE�

Her mind kept replaying the past, and all that had happened after the war. After the fall of Voldemort, the Golden trio was still together, but the dynamic between them had changed. Because of the contribution they had made to the Light winning the war, those of influence in the wizarding world had rewarded them each with quite the nest egg, as well as recognizing each of their accomplishments as individuals. Hers had been recognition by not only Hogwarts for special services to the school, but by the Ministry of Magic itself with a choice of any open position within the Ministry that she wanted. She first had thought of teaching but only recently had changed her mind, after Harry had reluctantly agreed to take the open position of Minister for Magic. She had instead joined him at the Ministry as his personal assistant and an advisor on his council. So far, neither her job nor Harry had disappointed her. Ron�s choice had been more obvious. He had chosen Quidditch, and he was currently a Keeper for his favourite team, the Chudley Cannons.

How could this happen? She knew that Ron must be devastated. If a new owner wasn�t found, and soon, Ron was out of a job. It was that simple. The rain that pelted her picture style bay window was an exact match to her increasingly worried mood. And to think all she had really wanted was a normal day off! She chuckled softly to herself at the irony of it all, as she took another sip of her morning hot cocoa. Just when they had thought life was perfect�she should have known it wouldn�t last.

Hermione finished the remainder of her hot cocoa and decided to take action. Her mind was reeling at what exactly to do next. Should she Floo to Ron? Should she Floo Harry? She flexed her toes and feet, willing them to allow her to move, and finally removed her gaze from the bay window with determined effort. It was her favourite place to think, and today was no exception. Walking to her small, but cosy country kitchen, she placed her chocolate stained country rose caf� mug into the sink and ran some water into it. She then made her way back through the sitting room of her flat and down the hall toward her bedroom and the loo just beyond it. It would be easiest to take action after a hot shower and a change out of her pyjamas.

Her decision made, she stepped into her bedroom to take care of the necessary morning chores before her shower. She grabbed her wand, which she had placed on her white wicker night stand next to her latest book, an updated copy of Hogwart's: A History, and her clock. She decided to see Harry first, to get his point of view on the situation as well as the latest on the case. She would Floo to Ron�s after she had all the facts. She checked the time. Just a little after 9. Perfect. Harry would be at the office and sitting at his oversized mahogany desk, most probably reviewing his mountain of morning paperwork and drinking semi-cold coffee. Now would be the best time to catch him before he became too wrapped up in the day-to-day grind that was the Ministry of Magic.

She made quick work of putting away her nightclothes, making her bed, and grabbing the necessary toiletries. That done, she entered into her bathroom, relishing the contrast between the plush carpeting she had just left behind in her bedroom and the coolness of this room's tiled floor. Next to her perch on her sitting room sofa, this was her favourite. The room was very fung shuey, with its taupe coloured tiling and sandy marbled counter tops. Her accessories matched perfectly and all together the room had a very comforting and homey feel to it. Unfortunately, her surroundings did little to stop her rambling thoughts, as she turned on the tap and adjusted the water's temperature. Not too hot, since she knew that she would be tempted to stay in longer if that were the case. Once she had just the right water temperature, she entered beneath the spray of the shower nozzle. This wouldn't take long, but should still serve to energise her for the rest of the day. Hermione began humming quietly while she soaped up and rinsed, she was in and out of the shower within 15 minutes. She towelled off and set out to find something to wear. Gazing at her colour co-ordinated walk-in closet, she settled for a slate grey, comfortable pair of trousers and the dark periwinkle woolly chenille sweater that her mother had given her last year for the Christmas holiday. She dressed quickly and stepped back into the loo to sit at her lighted cr�me coloured vanity and figure out which glamour spell she would use for her hair this morning. She set to work, deciding on loose ringlet curls in a ponytail and tiny silver chain dangle earrings with a minimal amount of make-up.

Next, she padded over to the shoe rack that housed her extensive collection of shoes. It was one of the few �girlie� habits that she allowed herself. Selecting a comfortable pair of black pumps she breezed back through her flat to the foyer closet, where she kept all of her cloaks and other outerwear. She opened the closet and grabbed her warmest winter cloak and pocketed her wand inside its folds. She then grabbed the bag of Floo powder and stepped back into her sitting room. She decided to first place a Floo call to Harry to make sure that he wasn�t busy and she would have his undivided attention.

Sitting at his huge desk, a mile-high stack of papers strewn across every available inch of space, Harry Potter rubbed his temples with both hands in circular motions in an effort to quell the impending headache he could feel coming on. It was too early in the morning for this. He had read the latest copy of the Daily Prophet just moments before and was at a loss. He had known, of course, that this was a likely result of the Cannons case, he had done everything possible to control just how much information was leaked to the Daily Prophet, in an effort to give himself and some of the Aurors the chance to complete their investigation and approach the players and other team staff personally.

The Prophet had not cited the source of the juiciest gossip of the day, but now it didn�t matter; the damage had been done. He was suddenly brought back to reality by the whooshing sound of someone calling through his Floo. A second later, he saw the familiar face of his personal assistant and best mate, Hermione Granger, appear within the green flames. The look on her face mirrored exactly what he felt. Worried. After exchanging greetings, Hermione wasted no time in stating the reason for her unexpected visit to his office on her day off. �Harry, we need to talk.� she said. �Are you free for a few?� Harry smiled an affirmative and set to straightening his desk as he waited for her to come through the Floo. Within seconds, Hermione had stepped through and was dusting the ash off of her cloak.

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Across town, 8:30 am....

Ronald Weasley was suddenly roused from his drunken slumber by the frantic, high pitched bleep of his alarm. Groaning in protest, he rolled over onto his side, and blearily opened one eye. He picked up the first thing he could find on the floor, one of his pillows he realised, and pitched it across the room with as much force as his tired body would allow. He was rewarded with a crashing thud when it hit its intended target. Unfortunately, he hadn�t considered what the sound of the crash would do to his already swimming head. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could and planted his foot on the floor to try and stop the merry-go-round effect. Lying back down gingerly, he waited a few minutes for his stomach and head to settle and allow him to move without difficulty or consequence. First order of business: Eggs accompanied by some Muggle aspirin and some strong coffee�.FAST! He�d be damned if he would let Manager Dorkins bench him for getting completely blitzed on a bottle of Firewhisky!

His mind was busy reminding him of the events of the previous night's shut out by the Falmouth Falcons during the last Quidditch game of the season. Here he was. A Keeper for his favourite team. His dream had finally come true when he had gotten the call from Manager Dorkins himself. He had replaced Gorovitch when he retired. And he had failed. Again. He knew that he was a rookie and all, but it did little to give him solace as he slumped on his bed with his legs crossed, vividly remembering his last play of the game.

He was on his broom, hovering in front of the hoops expectantly, trying not to be distracted by the crowd as the die-hard fans cheered on their team. He was sitting nonchalantly, his pants and his bright orange robes with the black C�s cannonball insignia billowing slightly in the breeze, only a slight shade brighter than his hair. It had been humid, but breezy, and he was doing his best to stay focused on the game. He had sweat beading down his forehead, which had plastered his hair to his head just beyond his eyes. His hands gripped tightly on his Firebolt, his eyes focused intently on the dark grey blob of the other team�s approaching Chaser--Horton, as he launched the Quaffle toward him. He had been so engrossed in locking eyes with Horton in an attempt to psych him out that he had failed to notice the Bludger that the Broadmoor brothers had expertly aimed at the centre of his broom. Out of nowhere, he had seen a flash of black and then it hit. The next thing he knew he was falling�.fast! He tried his best to grip the handle of his broom, but it had splintered in half as a result of the Bludger. He was using his dragonhide gloves to try to hold it together, but it wasn�t enough. He hit the ground hard, landing in a heap, face first. Meanwhile, Horton had wasted no time in scoring for the Falcons. The snitch had been caught just moments later while he was being taken on a stretcher, off the pitch and then Apparated to St. Mungo�s.

After the mediwizards had Apparated him to St. Mungo�s, they had gotten him into an exam room quickly and the Healers had begun casting spells right and left. All he could remember were the white lights of the exam room followed by frustrated, indecipherable voices which were then accompanied by various sparks of colour. He had felt every part of his body at one point or another. He had gone from hot to cold, from feeling happy and giddy to not feeling anything at all. It had been an entire rainbow of colour and sensation being sparked back and forth as he just lay there, slipping in and out of consciousness.

It took them about an hour to be fully satisfied with their handiwork. He had fully recovered, with only a slightly sprained ankle and a few sore spots for his trouble. They had given him instructions to try to take it easy for the next couple of days and see the team doctor if he had any more problems. Ron had thanked them graciously, signed a couple of autographs for the nurses who'd recognised him, taken a picture with a hot blonde resident Healer, and quickly found the nearest fireplace to Apparate to his flat and partake of a HUGE bottle of Firewhisky from his liquor cabinet.

And now here he sat, still reeling from one hell of a hangover and a night of regret, praying that he still had groceries in his kitchen. He rose slowly, allowing his legs to gradually pull his tall and lanky frame up to a standing position. He looked around his room trying to get his mind back in order. He noticed that his white and black striped bed sheets were a haphazard mess from his constant thrashing in his sleep. One pillow was lying diagonally across the head of the bed; his duvet hung half on, half off the bed, the bottle of Firewhisky strewn on the left side of his bed in the corner beneath one of his night tables. In his rush to quiet his alarm, he had knocked over last year's picture of his family at Christmas and it had landed cock-eyed inside one of the open drawers of his tall oak bureau. His robes and other various Quidditch paraphernalia had been discarded inside his walk-in closet. Other clothes were strewn here and there throughout the room and, all in all, it was a mess. His mother would have his hide when she came over at the end of the week to check on him.

He exited his room to head for his bathroom and take care of his morning ritual. After taking care of his business, he ran his hands through his copper hair and splashed water on his face to help remove the cobwebs from his mind. Now to just stop this blasted thudding in his head! Bloody hell, he hated being hung over! As an afterthought, he grabbed the bottle of Muggle aspirin from his medicine cabinet and headed down the hall and around the corner to his kitchen for breakfast.

He stepped into his galley-style kitchen and flipped on the light absently. He immediately flipped it back off again though, after it increased the bongo drums beating inside his brain. He opened his refrigerator and looked inside. Nothing. Just brilliant. Just bloody brilliant! Not even so much as a bottle of beer or any leftovers. Resigning himself to having to grab something on the way to the training building for practice, he turned around, grabbed the bottle of Muggle aspirin and headed back into his bedroom to get dressed.

He crossed back to the hallway after exiting the kitchen and onto the carpeting, suddenly thankful that he was no longer standing on its tiled floors. He hadn�t realised just how cold the floors were. Once inside his bedroom again, he found a semi-clean pair of jeans lying on the floor just inside the door and picked them up to test them. Pulling them up to his nose and sniffing loudly, he made sure they would pass inspection.

He found his game duffel and proceeded to grab the other necessities he would need for practice. He grabbed his practice gear, his trainers, an extra pair of boxers and socks and finally found his wand buried beneath his game robes. He placed it on his bureau and grabbed the remaining clothing he would need and an extra pair of gloves and some tape for his hands. He knew his broom had been destroyed, but fortunately for him, the team took care of the equipment, so he knew a new Firebolt would be waiting when he walked into the locker room. Double checking to make sure he had everything he needed, he proceeded to clean the pair of jeans with a cleansing spell from his wand--he was still amazed at how one spell could shoot blue sparks from his wand and the next thing you knew, the desired article was completely laundered and looked good as new. He pulled the jeans up his muscular legs and over his lean hips and set out to find a clean shirt. He found a clean orange team polo hanging on a hanger and slipped it over his head. He then dressed the remainder of his body quickly and with little consequence. Next he needed to head to the bathroom to shave. He grabbed his wand and pocketed it into his jeans and then left his room and headed for the bathroom and his razor.

After shaving, combing his hair and brushing his teeth without too much problem from his still thudding head, he managed to walk out to the sitting room before he realised he had no clue about where he had laid his cloak. He spun around, apparently too quickly because he had to grab his coffee table and then he slowly sank onto his couch and waited for the world to stop spinning and his stomach to stop churning. Once he felt closer to normal, he grabbed his wand from his pocket and muttered quietly �Accio cloak.�

He opened his hand and felt the cloak make contact with his callused fingers. He put it on, pocketing his wand inside the pocket just a little off the centre of his chest. He liked this particular cloak especially, because no matter where he turned, it had the black and orange colours of the Cannons. It was primarily black with a set of orange stripes on each side, and the cannonball emblem diagonally across it starting at the left shoulder and ending on the right just above his waist. He checked his appearance in the small mirror just above the mantle of his fireplace and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. This trip was going to be LOADS of fun. He took a deep breath and spoke quickly in his booming baritone to the fireplace as he dropped the powder onto the grate,�Diagon Alley!�

He stopped quickly at a bistro style caf� for a strong espresso and a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. After devouring his breakfast in what seemed like only a few milliseconds, he realised that he had left his Muggle aspirin bottle on the bureau in his bedroom. Cursing swiftly under his breath, he casually walked up to the owner and asked �Pardon me mate, but would you happen to have some Muggle aspirin?� �I have one hell of a bloody headache!� The caf� owner leaned quickly behind the counter, looked at him rather quizzically, and extracted a small white bottle of pills. Feeling the need to explain why he hadn't just asked for some Hangover Potion, he said "Sorry mate, I'm allergic to Hangover Potion, Muggle aspirin is all I can take for a good hangover." The caf� owner nodded his understanding and handed Ron the bottle. Popping the lid quickly and shaking out two pills he placed them in his mouth and gulped up the remainder of his espresso to wash them down.

Thanking the owner for the great food and the aspirin, he set off to find a decent Apparition point to Apparate to the training complex for his morning weight training and practice drills. He found a small side alcove beside one of the smaller new shops and with a loud POP! He was gone.

He made it to the training complex just before 9:00 in the morning and was walking through the doors toward the right corridor that led to the weight facilities when he saw one of his team mates walking behind him. Gabrielle Delacour was one of the reserve Chasers for the Cannons, and hadn�t changed much at all since their days at Hogwarts. She still had the delicate French accent, the long silvery-blonde hair and the kind blue eyes that reminded him so much of her older sister and his sister-in-law, Fleur.

Always the gentleman, he stepped back so he could open the door for her and allow her to enter the complex. She greeted him with a bright smile and a soft-spoken �Sank You Ronald�. And she gently fell into step with him. He smiled back and returned the compliment with a mumbled �Welcome�. They walked together quietly as they made their way toward the weight room. They entered the state-of-the-art weight room together and then parted ways as she headed to the women�s locker room on the right and he took a left to the men�s locker room.
He had just entered the locker room and dropped his bag onto the bench to open his locker when he noticed a copy of the Daily Prophet lying casually across the bench as if someone had dropped it in a hurry to meet the training staff. Picking it up, he checked the date to make sure it was today�s edition and slowly read. The bottom dropped out of his stomach and landed somewhere in the vicinity of his feet as his eyes focused on the headline staring back at him.

�CHUDLEY CANNONS OWNER INDICTED FOR EMBEZZLEMENT BY WIZENGAMOT; TEAM'S RETURN TO QUIDDITCH PLAYOFFS QUESTIONABLE�

He suddenly went deathly pale as he sank onto the bench slowly allowing the reality of those words sink in. Speaking only to the walls surrounding him, all he could say was: �Bloody Hell!�
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For the Love of the Game