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Assistant: Title: The Quidditch Pitch
        Author: Chengbby Chengbby 
        Chapter: 1/44 
        Summary: Hermione Granger’s worst nightmare comes true when she loses a bet to Draco Malfoy, the self proclaimed Slytherin Prince and star Slytherin Seeker, during their fourth year. His demand? She must wear his Quidditch jersey to every Gryffindor-Slytherin match until graduation, a long standing tradition among love interests and couples alike. For Hermione, it’s mortifying. For Draco, who’s secretly been in love with her since first year, it’s a dream come true, a chance for his name to finally grace the back of his dream girl.What starts as public humiliation turns into something neither of them expected—stolen glances, heated banter, passionate romps in the Room of Requirement, and a growing bond that defies deep seeded house rivalries. With meddling friends, over-the-top Quidditch drama, and a whole lot of tradition, The Quidditch Pitch is a lighthearted story of teenage love, where sometimes, the hardest battle isn’t on the pitch—it’s in your heart.
        Contents: Chapter 1: Year Four: The Bet
    

    


  

  
  
    
    The October air was crisp, carrying the distinct scent of pine and damp earth as the students of Hogwarts made their way toward the Quidditch pitch. Scarves of red-and-gold and green-and-silver fluttered in the breeze, and the buzz of excitement filled the chilly morning. Gryffindor versus Slytherin—the most anticipated match of the season. It was never just a game between these two houses. It was a battle of pride, of tradition, of bragging rights that lasted for weeks, if not months. A deep seeded rivalry dating back centuries.Hermione Granger trudged toward the stands, her arms tightly crossed over her thick cloak. She was in no mood for this. Quidditch, in her mind, was a spectacle of inflated egos and unnecessary injuries. Yet here she was, dragged along by her insistent friends.“Come on, Hermione,” Ron whined as they neared the pitch. His face was already flushed with excitement, and his Gryffindor scarf was wrapped haphazardly around his neck. “You’re always saying we don’t spend enough time together. Well, here’s your chance!”“I said that in reference to studying,” Hermione snapped, her breath misting in the cold air. “Not sitting in freezing temperatures watching you lot chase after a flying ball.”Harry grinned at her from behind his glasses, his Firebolt slung casually over his shoulder, his Gryffindor Quidditch robes billowing in the blustery October breeze. “You’ll enjoy it once the match starts. You’ll see.”“I sincerely doubt that, I have never enjoyed Quidditch.” Hermione muttered, pulling her cloak tighter as they climbed the steps to the Gryffindor stands.Ginny was already waiting for them, her fiery red hair tucked under a woolen cap. She waved them over, patting the seat beside her.“Oi, Hermione, hurry up! I saved you the best seats in the house.” Ginny called, her voice brimming with excitement. “We’ve got a match to win, and I need to see your face when we crush Malfoy’s team.”Hermione sighed as she took her seat, shifting her bag so it wouldn’t tip over. She didn’t bother replying. Ginny was already gearing up to play—her broomstick propped against the stands as she adjusted her Chaser gloves.“You really think Malfoy stands a chance?” Ron asked Ginny, sitting beside Hermione, though he was clearly hoping for her to confirm his own answer.Ginny snorted. “Not with Harry and me on the field.” She cast a glance toward Hermione, who had just pulled a thick Arithmancy textbook from her bag. “Are you seriously reading during a Quidditch match?“I can read and listen,” Hermione said without looking up. “Trust me, I’ll know if anything important happens.”Ginny rolled her eyes and turned back to the pitch, muttering something about Hermione’s priorities.  The sharp blast of Madam Hooch’s whistle pierced the chilly air, and the match began.“AND THEY’RE OFF!” Lee Jordan’s voice boomed through the enchanted speakers, carrying over the roaring crowd. “Gryffindor’s Ginny Weasley takes possession of the Quaffle—brilliant feint past Montague—AND SHE SCORES! Ten points to Gryffindor!”The Gryffindor stands erupted in cheers, with Ron leaping to his feet and pumping his fist in the air. Hermione clapped politely, her eyes flicking briefly to the pitch. Ginny was grinning ear to ear, her fiery hair whipping behind her as she flew back to her position.Hermione’s gaze drifted to Harry, who was circling high above the pitch, his sharp eyes scanning for the elusive Snitch. Just below him, a familiar figure in green-and-silver robes hovered, looking just as focused. Draco Malfoy.If there was one thing Draco Malfoy took seriously, it was his rivalry with Harry Potter. And as Hermione watched him, she couldn’t deny that he looked completely at ease on his broom, his movements smooth and calculated.She frowned and turned back to her book.The match quickly turned into a fierce battle. Gryffindor was ahead by thirty points, thanks in large part to Ginny’s quick passes and sharp aim, but Slytherin was closing the gap.“SLYTHERIN SCORES! The gap narrows—40 to 30 in favor of Gryffindor!” Lee’s voice rang out, tinged with tension.“Come on, Harry!” Ron shouted, his hands gripping the edge of the stands as though it would help the team. “You’ve got this!”Hermione winced at the volume but refused to look up. Ginny flew past the stands, her expression fierce as she intercepted a Slytherin pass and sent the Quaffle hurtling toward the goal hoops.“And GINNY WEASLEY DOES IT AGAIN! Gryffindor leads, 50 to 30!”Even as the Gryffindor stands celebrated, Malfoy made his move.“There he goes!” Lee shouted. “MALFOY SPOTS THE SNITCH!”The stadium held its breath as Malfoy dove, his broom slicing through the air like a knife. Harry was right behind him, the Firebolt closing the gap inch by inch. But Malfoy was faster. His hand shot out, and he snatched the golden ball just seconds before Harry could reach it.“AND SLYTHERIN WINS!”The Slytherin stands erupted in cheers, their voices drowning out the groans of Gryffindor supporters. Malfoy raised the Snitch above his head, his smirk visible even from the Gryffindor stands.Ron sank back into his seat, looking utterly dejected. “Unbelievable.”Ginny landed nearby, her broom tucked under her arm. “Don’t beat yourself up, Ron. Malfoy’s quick, but Harry will get him next time.”Hermione didn’t say anything as she packed up her book. She knew better than to expect anything less than arrogance from Malfoy, but his victory still grated on her nerves.  The post-match chaos was a cacophony of cheers and groans as students streamed out of the stands. Hermione stayed behind, waiting for the crowd to thin before making her way back to the castle. She didn't much like the hustle and bustle.She didn’t make it far before she heard his voice.“Well, well. If it isn’t Gryffindor’s brightest witch.”She turned to see Malfoy leaning casually against a nearby tree, his broom slung over his shoulder. His smirk was firmly in place, his grey eyes glinting with amusement.“What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked, folding her arms.“Nothing. Just thought I’d check in to see how you’re holding up after that tragic loss.”Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me—”“Not so fast,” he said, stepping into her path. “I couldn’t help but notice how blasé you were during the match. Supporting your team, were you?”“I am able to multi task, actually. Not only was I getting ready wipe the floor with you in Arithmancy, I was also simply pointing out and studying your shortcomings,” she replied coolly.“Shortcomings?” He arched a brow. “Granger, I just won the game. Perhaps you’d like to revise your statement.”“Perhaps you’d like to leave me alone,” she shot back, trying to push past him.But Malfoy, ever the opportunist, wasn’t about to let her go that easily. “You know,” he said, his tone light but laced with mischief, “if you’re so confident in Gryffindor’s abilities, why don’t we make a little wager?”Hermione paused, her eyes narrowing. “What kind of wager?”“The next time Gryffindor plays Slytherin,” he said, leaning in slightly, “if your precious team wins, I’ll write you a ten-foot essay on the brilliance of Muggle-borns. But if Slytherin wins…”Hook, Line, and...He let the sentence hang, his smirk widening.“If Slytherin wins?” Hermione prompted, already regretting her curiosity.“You wear my jersey,” he said smoothly. “To every Gryffindor-Slytherin match until we graduate.”Hermione stared at him, stunned. “You can’t be serious.”“Deadly serious.”For a moment, she considered walking away. But the look on his face—so smug, so sure of himself—lit a fire in her chest. She would wipe that smirk off his face, one way or another.
  Sinker.
“Fine,” she said, her voice firm. “But don’t think for a second that you’ll win.”Malfoy’s grin was infuriatingly victorious. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Granger.”'
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