Round of 16
Rita: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to BBC Sports and thank you for tuning into our broadcast of the London 2012 Olympics, hosted by myself, Rita Skeeter, and my co-host, Gilderoy Lockhart. Speaking of hosting, it's such an honor to be the host country of such an amazing sporting competition, isn't it Gilderoy?"
Gilderoy: "You live here? Marvelous!"
Rita: "Oh, Gilderoy. Always the jokester. This year's Olympics should be especially interesting considering most of the athletes have quite the reputation. My favorite so far has been Barty Crouch Jr. who set the new British WR for the 100m and 200m sprints."
Rita:"Oh, very. It even took his father, Barty Crouch Sr. by surprise, which was doubly entertaining in that the record was previously held by him. Quite the flair for dramatics, that family, hm? Anyway, here comes our very own Malfoy and Parkinson, representing Britain in the mixed doubles portion of the tennis competitions, ready to take on Bulgaria in the first round of elimination."
Rita: "I don't know about that, Gilderoy! Parkinson is fresh from success in the women's singles and looks hungry for another gold medal. I wager that Bulgaria has quite the challenge ahead of them today. Just look at that game-face Malfoy is sporting."
Rita: "Hilarious. Everyone in Britain knows who Draco Malfoy is, even if they've never watched a tennis match in their life! I suppose that may have something to do with the endless magazine coverage of him being pitted against the young American. Do you think there's any truth to the exploits?"
Gilderoy: "The truth will always come out eventually!"
Rita: "That's quite… sound, actually. Well, if that's the case, then I sincerely hope whomever spurred those allegations of a turbulent romantic history causing their hostility towards one another did so under false pretenses. We all know the rule against athlete relations and how unforgiving the board can be with such things."
Granger stood on the opposite end of the athlete's lounge from him. She was with her teammate, her coaches, and the rest of the bandwagon that prepared her for every and any sporting event. Likewise, so was he.
"Draco," Pansy snapped, bringing his attention back to his own team. Based on her exasperated sigh and pointed hand on her hip, he presumed that she'd been calling his name for quite some time. "Would you, for the love of god, stop staring at that boorish girl? If you keep it up people are really going to think you two had some kind of secret affair and falling out."
He shot her a glare, absent-mindedly plucking at the mesh of his racket. He was unfortunately notorious for getting tennis elbow and was constantly messing with his strings to make sure there wasn't too much (or also, too little, though that didn't result in injury for him) tension. "None of that's true."
"Listen, I don't care." She whacked her racket against the bottom of her shoe. "I really don't, and I don't mean that to be offensive." Pansy hesitated, eying their coaches as they slunk off in search for some free food. Then, she continued in a hushed tone. "Whatever you want to do off the court, that's your business. I'm hardly incompetent, Draco, I know what's going on between you two. As long as it stays off the court, I don't care. If it in any way interferes with us getting gold, then I'm warning you," – she tossed a ball up in the air and sent it flying across the room toward a practice wall – "Those won't be the only balls this racket comes into contact with. Are we clear?"
Draco didn't blink, "Crystal."
"Good," she immediately brightened up, putting on her debutant demeanor. "Then, let's go out there and have a good match! It's a beautiful day to be alive!"
She twirled away, the brilliant white of her flawless Nike dress flashing behind his eyes, and practically skipped out onto the court with both hands waving at the crowd the instant she was visible to them.
Draco cast a weary glance over his shoulder where Granger sat on one of the tables, talking animatedly with her teammate while he tied her shoelaces, and noticed that when she hopped down one of the pleats of her skirt had failed to adhere to gravity. He could see the perfect sculpture of her hamstring – always visible thanks to the shortness of tennis skirts – curving into her glutes; the normally-covered spandex shorts underneath the skirt now exposed, giving him a wonderful view.
He quickly adjusted his own shorts and tried to think about anything else besides digging his fingers into her bum and hoisting her up onto his hips all the while never letting go. Draco splashed some cold water across his face, then schooled it into a stoic expression and followed Pansy out onto the court for their first match of the 2012 Olympics.
Round of 16
Lee: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome, welcome! Thanks for being here and tuning into NBC for your coverage of the 2012 Olympics, hosted in London, England this year! How exciting! I am your host, Lee Jordan, and this is my co-host, Luna Lovegood. Luna, how are you feeling this morning?"
Lee: "Well, I must say that's a fine pair of rose-colored glasses you're wearing! We all could use a pair, in my opinion. Anyway, it's been a fantastic summer for our athletes and for America so far, hasn't it?"
Luna: "Can Hippogriff's fly?"
Lee: "I would say that's debatable seeing as they're most definitely mythological! You know what is not debatable, folks? The absolute domination we are seeing among the American athlete's this year. With a grand total of 16 medals so far, 12 of which are gold may I add, the most notable among belonging to Cedric Diggory who took home gold in not one, not two, but five events for Men's Swim. Outstanding! He must be part shark for dethroning previous champion, Viktor Krum of Bulgaria."
Luna: "No, but Krum certainly was!"
Lee: "You are truly comedic, Luna, did you know that?"
Luna: "Wisdom, cleverness and wit!"
Lee: "Sure, sure. Those too. But let's focus on today's event! Coming onto the court now we have Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. A match made in Heaven I'd say!"
Lee: "No, no. That can't be right. Nonetheless, we do have a truly gifted team representing America this year. Firstly, our beloved Harry Potter. The Chosen One as his fans like to call him! And do you know why, Luna?"
Luna: "He defeated the Dark Lord!"
Lee: "If by 'Dark Lord' you mean 'Tom Riddle' then that's absolutely correct! Potter, just before his eighteenth birthday he managed to overthrow the previous American favorite in a love game no less. This qualified him for not only a spot in the 2012 Olympics, but also a coveted position with his teammate. Tell us about, Hermione Granger, Luna?"
Luna: "The brightest witch of her age!"
Lee: "Phew! I do hope you weren't trying to make a slight at America's princess there! She is clever though, folks, there's certainly no doubt about it. Granger has managed to achieve what few athletes in tennis have ever achieved, and at such a young age too! Remarkable! For those of you who don't know, Granger succeeded in a Grand Slam. This means that she won the Australian Open, French Open, U.S. Open, and Wimbledon in a single calendar year, and now she's here at the Olympics! What a wonderful start to her career!"
Luna: "Gulping Plimpies!"
Hermione knocked twice on the physical training room and slid inside quickly when it opened. She immediately dropped her gym bag on the pretenses of maintaining her cover and then turned to eye the smug blond leaning perfunctorily against the counter.
His hair was swept back except for one stray piece that curled against his forehead. She pondered if its existence was a slight miscalculation of his normally painstaking precision in his outward appearance – as denoted by his casual but smart attire that highlighted his toned musculature – or if it was instead purposefully left to create an air of effortlessness in his demeanor – which she thought was marginally more plausible.
"Granger," he greeted, twisting his lips into a smirk.
"Malfoy," she replied as she kicked off her white training shoes and padded over to lock the door. "I saw your match today. Dolohov nearly had you there in the second set."
He unfolded his arms to lift his dry-fit shirt over his shoulders and tossed it to the side. "Hardly. His swing had little more dexterity than that of a toddler learning to color in between the lines, for one thing." He untied the drawstring of his grey shorts and moved to push them down past his hips but stopped abruptly to cross the room and help her with her dress.
She was still wearing the same white form-fitting dress she'd played in that afternoon. "Sorry, didn't have time to shower yet." She supplied. "I had to go to actual physical therapy after the match and only just got out."
His hands closed around the light material with his eyes flicking briefly over the star-spangled patterns of her sports bra visible through the translucent material. He didn't hesitate to rid her of that either.
"You need to work on your footing," she noted, stepping out of her spandex shorts. From the sparkling glint in his grey eyes, she suspected Malfoy liked the fact that she hadn't worn any knickers underneath them.
He tugged her toward him, tipping her chin up to press a rough kiss to her lips. His tongue slid over her bottom lip, parting them, and then moved to trail a pattern along her jawline. "My footing is perfect, Granger. Though, if we're going to be exchanging tips, then I suggest you learn to reign Potter's eccentric swings in or otherwise learn to complement them better."
She sighed as his lips moved down her neck. His hands, dutiful and exploratory, were giving ample attention to her breasts and now heightened nipples. "Harry is impossible to control once he's given in to his chaotic impulses. If he wasn't so damned naturally talented, then I would have tried to find a different teammate a long time ago." She admitted, digging her nails into the hardened muscles of his back.
"There's got to be someone better than Potter," Malfoy remarked. He let out a soft grunt as he brusquely lifted her and deposited her onto the physio table. The cushions were scarcely soft, but they were at least better than the tiled floor.
"Listen, I know you don't think he's the Chosen One but - " She cut herself off as a gasp escaped her lips.
"You were saying?" He taunted. His fingers had been encircling her cunt and had finally slipped in. He adjusted his grip in order to press his pads against her g-spot and continued pleasuring her. Meanwhile, she trailed her hands down his torso and smiled against his lips as he let out a little hiss as her fingers tugged at the waistband of his shorts and pants.
Hermione slid her hand under the soft material and took hold of his cock, flicking her thumb over the top of it. She reveled in the immediate satisfactory response he gave, sinking his teeth into her bottom lip and pulling at it crudely. She liked it when he was rough with her. When he knew just how much to push her because he knew how strong she was, how much she could handle, and more importantly what she liked.
Rita: "Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen! Our favorites played an excellent opening match yesterday and took the win. The first set was brilliant, with Parkinson all-but taking the victory on her own, and although the second set was a bit rockier, Malfoy did manage to swoop in and save the match."
Gilderoy: "I'll save the day!"
Rita: "Ambitious albeit unlikely, Gilderoy. However, there is a lot to be said about Malfoy and his relations with the American princess, Hermione Granger. There were rumors coming from the coach's tent that both had scheduled an extra session of physical therapy at the same time. Do you think it's possible that their mutual need for physical attention could be more than simply innocent and therapeutic in nature?"
Gilderoy: "She has an incredible physique."
Rita: "Yes, well she is an adequate athlete so it's only realistic that her… physique resembles such. Anyway, her and her teammate, the young mess of a boy with a haunted past, did also manage to win their first match so we aren't quite rid of them yet. Perhaps if we're lucky the alleged rumor revolving around Granger and Malfoy will resolve itself before the end of the Olympics."
Gilderoy: "Is that your real hair?"
Rita: "Don't touch me."
Rita: "What my co-host is trying to say, or what I'm going to presume he should say, is that our lovely Parkinson and Malfoy have quite the odds in their favor to take home the gold. Parkinson is a force of nature and Malfoy is cunning. Together, they stand strong against many of the other teams in the competition. The only other team that has a chance, though in my professional opinion I would say it's still a slim one, at beating them is the Americans."
Rita: "Is there anything of substance you would like to contribute to this broadcast, Gilderoy?"
Gilderoy: "My smile is incredibly charming. In fact, it's scientifically proven to be the most charming. Ever. In all of - "
Rita: "As I suspected. Well, ladies and gentlemen, it looks like our match is just about over as Parkinson dominated the Polish opponents in the first two sets, leaving Malfoy to work his usual magic in the last one. What a quick game, today. But of course, Great Britain is delighted with the fast, unquestionable victory."
Gilderoy: "We are the champions!"
Rita: "Not yet, Gilderoy."
Gilderoy: "Killer queen!"
Rita: "Please don't say that. It's highly unpatriotic and possibly even treasonous."
Gilderoy: "Find me somebody to love!"
Gilderoy: "Ooh, you're quite right. I do love myself."
"Do you think that was enough to sway the papers?" Draco said the minute the door shut, and the lock clicked behind them. Her hands wound themselves around his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers. He inhaled the sweet scent of roses and gardenias that was so her.
"Oh, yes. I'm quite certain." She tugged at the collar of his shirt, then broke away from his arms in order to rid herself of her own polo, untucking it from her pleated skirt. "The comment about my hair was genius."
"You don't think it was a bit much?" He asked, searching for any sign of hidden animosity at his earlier commentary (from his general experience with women he knew it was best not to presume they were not upset or angry despite their insistence to be otherwise; i.e. I'm fine does not actually mean I'm fine).
She shimmied out of her skirt and the rest of her clothing, then spun to turn the showers on. "Well, yes, it was, but that's precisely the kind of thing those absurd magazines eat up. Besides, we have to smother those locker room rumors somehow."
Granger stepped into the scalding liquid and let out a heavy sigh. He stripped his clothing, tossing it onto the bench and stepping in after her, taking her in his arms and pressing her against the tile as he moved under the water.
It was boiling, but he shivered despite the heat as her lips found his and her hands ran through his wet hair. Draco knew that water was a terrible lubricant, so he made sure to take his time with the foreplay – though he always took his time – and thus dropped to his knees. The scalding water hit his sore shoulders which was rewarding for him, but doubly rewarding in shielding Granger from the water, effectively keeping her wet in other terms.
His tongue flicked over the lips of her cunt, then slipped in between them. He nudged her legs apart and lifted one so that it draped over his shoulder. She moaned. He quickened his pace. His fingers buried themselves in her, hooking to meet her clitoris and teasing it relentlessly while his mouth continued its work on her inner lips.
Draco tasted the sweet, salty victory of her orgasm and smiled into her thigh, nipping at the skin. He rose to his feet, swept the slick curls away from her face, and kissed her roughly as he dug his fingers into her hips. He was already hard, throbbing against her thigh.
She gasped as he lifted her. Draco lowered her onto him, hissing as he filled her. She felt so good; she always felt so damn good. The way she fit around him so perfectly was incredible, and from the moans she tried to bury in his neck, he knew she enjoyed the feel of him just as much. It was no wonder they couldn't keep their hands off of each other whenever they were in the same space, same competition.
The physical attraction and chemistry between them were impossible to resist.
Lee: "Welcome back folks to another glorious day at the 2012 Olympics! It was no surprise that Granger and Potter were able to succeed in their first round of the competition, but let's see how their match today goes, eh? We're hopeful it will go well, aren't we, Luna?"
Luna: "The tea leaves were promising!"
Lee: "How about that! Anyway, let's take a closer look at our beloved team, shall we? They've just stepped onto the court to face off the lovely Delacour and Macaron from France. They look determined and – Oh! There they go – Granger lines up to serve and – IT'S AN ACE – Beautiful serve, great point."
Luna: "Swish and flick!"
Lee: "I don't think that would be a formidable stroke, Luna, but... Oh, look at that! Potter took Delacour's backspin and smashed it! Into the crowd it goes. Macaron serves next but Granger sends it back in a return ace! Another point for our Americans! This is an extremely exciting match. I mean just look at Potter and Granger are sending the French running back and forth the court!"
Luna: "Fleur is a Veela!"
Lee: "She's very talented, yes. Quite unique. But unfortunately, her skill is no match for our Granger, and it looks like America takes the win this match. Wow! What a remarkable game. I can hardly wait to see how well they do the rest of the competition! It would be incredible if they were to go all the way to gold and dethrone the Brits, this Olympics, don't you think?"
Lee: "What she said! I'm not entirely sure what it means, folks, but she seems excited about it and therefore I am too! Thank you as always for tuning, in and until next time…"
Luna: "Always sleep with your shoes on!"
Lee: "Wait – What? Never mind. Have a good evening and see you next time when Granger and Potter advance to the semi-finals!"
Hermione lifted her leg up onto the bench and leaned forward to stretch out her tired muscles. They were aching from the vigorous matches as well as from sex with Malfoy. Though, she wasn't complaining. She enjoyed pushing her body to its limits and seeing just how much she could handle.
"Is it your calf again?" Malfoy asked.
They were in the gymnasts training room this time, though it had been abandoned as of yesterday when the little French girl (Hermione thought her name was Gabrielle, but she wasn't entirely sure since she knew both the Delacour sisters were Olympic athletes) took home the gold medal.
"Yes," she grimaced. He placed her leg in his lap and began massaging at her tight muscle. "You don't have to do that," she told him. He arched a single blond brow at her. "I'm thankful, of course, but I do have athletic trainers that were hired for this exact reason."
He shrugged, digging his knuckles into her. "Does it make you feel better? When I do this?" As he asked her the latter question, he rolled her muscle over his knee and worked out one of the knots in her gastrocnemius.
"Yes," she moaned, chewing on her lip and trying not to flush at his teasing smirk. It was bad enough that she was attracted to him, she hardly needed to be dependent on him. "Still." She went on. "I don't need you to do this for me."
"I like doing it for you," he informed her.
Hermione bit back a whimper as he undid yet another knot. "Well, don't get too carried away. It doesn't change our arrangement. This is still purely physical. No strings."
Malfoy shifted her leg, returning to his gentle massage with his knuckles. "This is physical," he replied. When he successfully rid her calf of its tightness, he moved to her foot, bending the arch and rolling her ankle like her physio would. Much to her dismay, he was better at it. "Isn't it?"
"You know why your calf get all tight, don't you?" He asked her.
She nodded, "I'm very educated, Malfoy, I know exactly what causes tense muscles and subsequent pain." She had hoped that would be sufficient to shut him up on the subject. Her tone was final enough.
"It's your stance," Malfoy stated, then added, "When you serve."
"My stance is textbook." Hermione protested. She kicked her foot out of his grasp, stopping his massage and shifting to straddle him instead. "In fact, it's one of my strong suits. I happen to have an extremely skilled serve, thank you very much."
"I'm not saying your serve isn't textbook or that it isn't effective." He replied, pulling at the straps of her sports bra and placing kisses along her exposed clavicle. "I'm simply pointing out that it is the origin of your pain. It's because of your hips," he said matter-of-factly. His mouth was hot against her skin, and his hands were flexed against her arse. "The stance was made to accommodate most men, with slender hips, and you need to adjust your pivot when you serve because of it."
"How do you know that?" Her trainers and coaches hadn't even so much as suspected that her pivot was subsequently causing her calf to knot and tense.
"I like watching you play," he smirked.
She pressed her lips firmly together, a bit put-out that he was able to riddle her out so effortlessly. "Stalker, much?"
"You're my competition." He peeled the sports bra further down, exposing both of her breasts to his wanting mouth. "My rival." She bit back a sigh as his tongue flicked mercilessly over her nipple. His fingers dug into her backside, slipping under the material of her shorts and stretching the spandex. Her own nails leaving marks on his biceps. "Of course, I am watching you… and your every move."
The move that he was currently watching was her subconscious gyrating of her hips against his, creating a friction between their groins that built a pressure low in her abdomen. She would never admit as much out loud, but she enjoyed watching him, too. Hermione liked watching him play, but she also liked studying his movements in situations like this.
"Watch this, then," she smirked, taunting him.
In a single, swift movement she freed his pulsing cock from his pants, and in another motion slid her tiny shorts aside. Then she slid onto him with ease, and both of them let out a unanimous sigh of content.
Rita: "It's hard to believe we are already at the semi-finals, ladies and gentlemen, but here we are! Per usual, the Daily Prophet featured an article this morning regarding the screaming match between Draco Malfoy and the American athlete, Miss Hermione Granger. If there was any speculation that the two were involved romantically, they have been swiftly put to rest."
Rita: "Yes… I am a tad bit unconvinced, to be honest, though I am thoroughly relieved that the rumors are just that, rumors."
Gilderoy: "Did you say something?"
Rita: "Anyway… It's a wonderful day, and the stands are teeming with excited fans! This particular match does happen to have quite a bit of controversy."
Rita: "It isn't entirely out of the question, actually. For those of you who don't know, our beloved Brits will take on the bold and powerful Irish. The controversy is largely due to the proximity of Ireland to Great Britain and thus their constant appearance in regional competitions. It has been said that Malfoy has berated Finnigan on numerous occasions."
Gilderoy: "Oh my!"
Rita: "Yes, well it is rumor. As a proud English woman, I have to believe that our Draco Malfoy was perhaps misinterpreted and pegged as the bad guy. Nonetheless, it will be an interesting match, and the increased security are here to keep a careful eye on the crowd to make sure no rival onlookers do more than shout at one another."
Gilderoy: "What did he say?"
Rita: "Oh, Gilderoy, I'm surprised you haven't heard it by now. I will most definitely not be repeating it, anyhow. Our Parkinson and Malfoy have just made their way onto the field, now – Oh and look at that – He's sporting quite the red welt. It looks as if the rivalry has progressed into physical confrontation, now! But the referees don't seem to be stopping the competition."
Gilderoy: "Allegations! Allegations!"
Rita: "That may be the first intelligent thing you've said all day, Gilderoy. The match is on, it looks like, and Parkinson opens with her trademark serve, sending Finnigan stumbling across the court after the ball. Is it just me, ladies and gentlemen, or does the young Irishman appear to have a limp?"
Gilderoy: "I'll mend it!"
Rita: "No. Just… No."
"What the hell were you thinking?" Pansy barked at him. Draco winced, gritting his teeth at her shrill tone. He had already waved away the attending doctors, trainers, and even his coaches at what appeared to be a feeble attempt to get some solitude.
The match had gone as horrible as expected, with the intensity of the crowd being immensely hard to ignore. Pansy had enviably kept a level-head the entire time and had done her usual best. She'd pulled practically all the stops in an attempt to better the Irish team.
Finnigan was hardly actual competition for them (yes, he was a skilled player, but he was still no match for Draco and Pansy) however his female counterpart, a petite little ginger with twice as much fire as Pansy, did give them a run for their money.
In the end, Draco and Pansy had won. They always did. They were a talented and phenomenally compatible tennis team if nothing else.
"He deserved it," Draco muttered.
"I don't care," Pansy seethed, following him into the lounge area where the other remaining teams milled about. He ducked into a side room, hoping to at least get some privacy if she was going to continue to scold him. "I don't care if he fucking asked for it, Draco! You could have gotten us disqualified. Did that ever occur to you?"
"Obviously, it occurred to me," he retorted. "That's why I backed off of him and told him to keep his fucking mouth shut and settle it on the court."
Pansy threw her racket on the ground, breaking it in two. "You imbecile." She kicked at the pieces on the ground, then looked at him with a somewhat softer expression. "You know how much I care about you. You've been my friend, and my teammate, for years. Practically since we were children." He tried not to avert his eyes, keeping them steadily on hers. "But don't fuck this up for us."
Then she left him and grumbled something about having to string a new racket in time for the next match. He slumped against the counter of the small room and poked through a few drawers until he found what he was looking for: an ice pack.
"Let me," came a soft, feminine voice behind him.
Draco spun to see none other than Hermione Granger standing in the doorway. She quickly closed the door and shut the blinds. "Aren't you worried someone will see us?" He asked her. She took the gel pack from his hands and snapped it, releasing the chemicals and making it effective.
"I'm checking up on another athlete," she replied, shrugging her toned shoulders. She moved to press the cold pack to his orbital. "A friend." From how close she stood to him, Draco could see the array of freckles on her tanned skin, just where the thin strap of her dress touched her shoulders.
"The papers would love that." He mocked. "The firm believers that we're lovers will no-doubt put it in their column." She laughed at that and he felt something clench in his chest, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.
"I don't think they're winning," she added. "Surely, there's more evidence that we're archnemeses."
"You really shouldn't let Finnigan get to you." Granger suggested, still holding the ice pack to his eye.
"He doesn't get to me," he corrected. She pursed her lips at him, and Draco explained. "I don't know why everyone thinks I start everything. He started mouthing off and I just gave it back to him. It wasn't even my best work, to be honest, but it got to him. He hit first."
Much to his surprise, her face didn't soften. "Then, you had to go and practically shatter his ankle?"
He shook his head, taking the ice pack from her hand and setting it on the counter behind him. It had gone warm, and besides, it would be in the way shortly. "I didn't touch his ankle." Her dubious expression returned, and this time her hands found their way bossily to her hips. He smirked, "I hit his calf. Snapped his soleus."
Granger's face managed to stay appropriately reprimanding for approximately ten seconds, and then she couldn't help but bite her lip and stifle a chuckle.
"I can't believe you," she said, rolling her eyes.
His smirk only grew. Draco reached out and wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her close to him. He bent his head just enough to place a kiss on her forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment before pulling away and sauntering toward the exit.
"See you 'round, Granger."
Lee: "It's a fabulous day, folks! Welcome back to our broadcast, and in case you haven't heard, our young Americans, Granger and Potter, have just advanced to the finals! They will now face off the reigning champions, Parkinson and Malfoy, in the final match of the competition for the gold medal!"
Luna: "Into the maze, they go!"
Lee: "It will be puzzling, indeed! Good insight, Luna! Potter was all over the court earlier, per his usual style of mania, and sent several balls flying in every direction. The other team was out of breath just trying to keep up with him, and to no avail much to our pleasure!"
Luna: "Curiouser and curiouser!"
Lee: "Meanwhile, our Granger seemed to be much more in control of herself this match. She spent half of the sets just hanging out in one corner and nothing got past her. It's safe to say those two know how to play to their strengths. What do you think, Luna?"
Luna: "Brave and bold!"
Lee: "Without question, without question! We have to agree with her, folks, don't we? There's going to be so much to look forward to in the next coming days as our dream team prepares to go for gold! Among many of the hot topics to discuss, though, is my personal favorite – the indication that for Malfoy and Granger there may be more going on than just your average Olympic rivalry."
Luna: "Enemies to lovers!"
Lee: "I wouldn't rule that out, that's for sure. It's intriguing enough having to sort through all of the rumors and alleged stories from the other athletes as to what is true and what is false when it comes to those two. Do you think they are risking it all – the reputation, the medals, the fame, the money – all for each other?"
Luna: "The prophecy doesn't say… Have you tried divination?"
Lee: "Not today, but nevertheless! Let's take a look at some old footage from our tennis superstars, Hermione Granger the Golden Girl and Harry Potter the Chosen One, shall we?"
Hermione paced the length of her hotel room, chewing nervously at her lip. By the time Harry finally walked through her door, her lip was swollen and sensitive.
"Where have you been?" She shot at him, swinging her racket wildly over her head. "I texted you hours ago! I was in the middle of having a very real, emotional breakdown and needed to talk to you."
He blinked, dumbly opening and closing his mouth without saying anything as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the door behind him. A moment later, Theo Nott walked in with a handful or takeout Chinese and a bottle of wine.
"Where do you want - " He stopped abruptly at the sight of a frazzled Hermione standing before him, flashing daggers at Harry before regaining control of her outward appearance. "This isn't – Harry is this the right room?"
"We have to make a detour," Harry replied nonchalantly. "I'm sure I mentioned it."
"Perhaps you did. It's entirely plausible that I wasn't listening to what you were saying… well, at any given time, really." Theo shrugged. Then, he dimpled. "Hey, Granger."
"Nott," she smiled, then cleared her throat with a polite cough. "Would you mind if I borrowed Harry for a sec? Make yourself at home, of course." He nodded to her.
Hermione sighed, wrapping a possessive arm around Harry and dragging him toward the bathroom of her suite while Theo busied himself in another room. She grimaced at the large portions of fried rice, lo mien, and egg rolls. "You know," she called out to the English aristocrat in her kitchenette. "It's really not a good idea for Harry to be eating food with such high concentrations of MSG before a big match… Or, to be drinking anything that will result in dehydration for that matter."
Nott smirked at her, "Oh, this isn't for Harry. He already ate." Then proceeded to uncork his bottle of Pinot.
Well, alright then, she mused internally.
"Harry!" She whisper-yelled once they were alone. "What the hell?"
"What?" He furrowed. "I told you Nott would be coming if we qualified for the finals."
She groaned and began pacing again. "Yes, I know that. I didn't think it meant you would be bringing him here."
"Hermione, I don't understand. What does that have to do with…" He trailed off, gesturing unsubtly to her current state of existence: frizzed curls that sprung wildly out of her plait, crazed and widened eyes, and overall lack of composure.
"Nott happens to be best friends with Malfoy," she informed him bossily.
Harry sighed, "Yes. I'm well aware." He arched a brow as if to add, I also know that you know this, so what's the point? Why does it matter?
"Malfoy is the crisis I am currently struggling with," she sighed. At that, Harry did seem shocked. She interrupted his slow reply (probably some form of "What?" or "Huh?") and went on. "We've been sleeping together." She confessed.
Harry's eyed bulged. "You what?"
"Yes, yes. I know. Listen, I don't need a lecture on how unprofessional that is. How grossly out of conduct for the Olympics." She reminded him. "What I do need, is your advice."
He scoffed and muttered several incomplete sentences before succumbing to simply blinking at her without saying anything. Hermione wondered if she had in fact just broken the Chosen One and ruined her chance at winning gold but cast that thought aside quickly.
"What – I – You – How long?"
Hermione nodded, appreciative that he had finally settled on a definitive question. "Nearly… Ooh, two years now?"
He sputtered again, choking on his inhalation. "What? WHAT?"
"It started when I first ran into him at Wimbledon, you know, when I first moved up to the professional level and started competing internationally? Yeah, basically since then. It was supposed to be a one-night stand. Then, it was supposed to be only physical and only whenever we were in the same city for a tournament or something. Except now I don't know anymore…"
Hermione continued ranting aloud to Harry, who remained perpetually confounded and thus thoroughly unhelpful in her navigating her muddle of thoughts and emotions toward the one thing in her life that was supposed to be fun, no strings attached, and just easy.
Rita: "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the final match of the London 2012 Olympic Mixed Doubles Tennis! Today our beloved Brits and reigning champions, Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy, will be competing against the newly Olympic American team of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter for the victory and gold medalist position. Here with us today is a very intriguing guest. BBC Sports welcomes Theodore Nott, Jr. to give his input on the match."
Rita: "Mr. Nott - "
Theo: "Theo, please, Rita."
Rita: "Right, ok then. Theo, you are a talented tennis player yourself. In fact, you took gold yourself last year in both the men's singles and the men's doubles. Given your current romantic relations with Mr. Potter, would you say that your allegiances have changed?"
Rita: "Would you say, Theo, that you no longer find yourself rooting for your home country – for your nation? Is that why you no longer are competing in the Olympics? Why you haven't so much as picked up a racket in – Oh, what is it? – eighteen months?"
Theo: "Wait a second - "
Rita: "It's my belief that one would want to support their partner and see them succeed, do you find this to be an important trait, Theo?"
Theo: "Err… Yes?"
Rita: "Then, would it be reasonable to presume that you would prefer that Mr. Potter wins this match as opposed to your best mate? Do you cheer for America or for Britain, Theo? Hm?"
Theo: "I - "
Gilderoy: "Answer the question!"
Theo: "No comment."
Lee: "- and the first set of the match is underway, folks! Parkinson begins by sending an extremely strong serve hailing toward Granger's end of the court. This is incredible. The absolute talent among these four young individuals, I mean – OH! Advantage to Parkinson and Malfoy. Well, looks like our Granger and Potter are going to need to step up their game! This is proving to be quite the match."
Lee: "Oh, good eye, Luna! The American tennis princess, Hermione Granger, took a bit of a beating after sending a backspin toward Malfoy's corner and nearly tripped! Oh, no! Looks like she's favoring her left leg, what do you make of that, Luna?"
Luna: "Where's her time-turner?"
Rita: "Well, Parkinson and Malfoy took the upper hand in the first set to put Great Britain in the lead ahead of the Unites States of America. It also appears that the young female for the American team has requested some medical assistance on the court!"
Gilderoy: "I CAN MEND IT!"
Rita: "Settle down, Gilderoy. No one is letting you near that woman. Oh… She's standing up again. Unfortunately – I mean – Apparently, she is fine to resume the match. Potter is probably feeling extremely lucky, I'd say."
Lee: "We have a special guest here with us, folks, for the second set of the match! I'd like to welcome, Mr. Theo Nott, former tennis legend and heartbreaker, to NBC! Hey there, Theo! So glad you could join us here this morning. I heard you just came from BBC Sports… How did that go?"
Theo: "It was… Well… Uh…?"
Luna: "Rita Skeeter is an unregistered animagus!"
Theo: "What does she mean by that?"
Lee: "I have no idea, Theo! I can't promise you it isn't absolutely insulting either. But, while I have you here, would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions?
Theo: "… Sure."
Lee: "I just wanted to say that I think it's fantastic that you have connections to both teams in the final match today! You are best friends with the British male player, Draco Malfoy, and you are also dating the American male player, Harry Potter. This must be a dream come true for you! Would it be safe to presume that no matter which team wins today, that you'll be extremely happy and proud of the men you came to support?"
Theo: "I – Yes? Yes, they're both exceptionally talented and have worked especially hard to get where they are today. All of them have."
Luna: "One cannot live while the other survives!
Lee: "GRANGER IS DOWN AGAIN, I REPEAT, GRANGER IS – OH AND POTTER SAVES THE DAY – HE WINS THE SET FOR THE AMERICANS! THIS IS INCREDIBLE, FOLKS!"
Rita: "Ladies and gentlemen, this just in: Miss Hermione Granger will be able to play in the final set of the match. The game is not over yet. It all comes down to this…"
Gilderoy: "What does?"
Rita: "This is it. The final moment. Granger is tasked with the impossible: Does she let Potter have the final serve or does she risk her injury and do it herself? Ooh, she's going to handle it herself. This is what the match comes down to – This is the moment Hermione Granger will remember for the rest of her life. If she manages to serve with the skill that we've seen her display all competition, then she could win it all right here. However, if her injury causes her to send the ball anywhere near Parkinson and Malfoy's clutches, then it could very well cost her the gold medal… The ball goes into Malfoy's corner of the court! He sends it flying back towards Potter, who dives to save it and – OH PARKINSON OVERHEADS IT AND WINS THE SET. GREAT BRITAIN WILL TAKE THE GOLD!"
Gilderoy: "WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!"
Rita: "Yes. Very good, Gilderoy."
Draco barely had time to catch Pansy as she leapt into his arms with a girlish shriek and a massive smile spread across her face. He knew deep down she would have preferred to smirk and walk off the court without so much as an acknowledgement as to what had just happened. Her reaction was for the benefit of the crowd, the sponsors, and every news article that would be written about their victory in the next coming days. (Women who were less than enthusiastic with their achievements were perceived negatively in the news and practically slandered for their so-called cold appearance or egotism; Unfairly, men were never perceived as such).
He let her down gently and waved to the British fans in the stands, reveling in his victory for a moment before the sight of Granger almost collapsing on the other side of the court caught his attention. It shattered his rose-colored glasses in an instant.
There were medics on top of her immediately, preparing to lift her and take her away on a stretcher. He knew what a scene that would be and how horribly the British press would react to her taking the attention away from its champions. Draco stood unhelpfully outside of the circle of medics and took Potter by the elbow.
"It's her calf." He explained with a frown. "It's been bothering her, like it always is, but…" He trailed off, glancing at his teammate and moving to follow her off the court and into the athletic lounge and training room.
Draco followed and tugged forcefully at Harry's shirt. "But what?" He demanded, eyes flickering back and forth between Potter's worried appearance and Granger's pained one.
"But it was giving her a different kind of hell just before the match."
He blinked, backing away momentarily, "Why didn't she call it off? Why risk further injuring herself?" Then, Potter looked at him with the most patronizing expression and Draco had to bite down a frustrating groan from escaping. He knew exactly why she hadn't called it off. Bloody hell.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the medics wheeling her into one of the side rooms for treatment. He bolted after them and stood in the door with Potter on his heel. A large man sneered down at the two of them, "What do you think you two are up to?"
"I'm going in there!" Draco roared.
The man glanced skeptically at the two of them, then pointedly eyed Draco up and down. No doubt noticing that Draco was clad in a red, white, and blue tennis uniform for an entirely different nation than that belonging to the woman being treated in the room behind him.
"Only one of you can accompany Miss Granger," he finally said.
Draco whipped around to threaten – or perhaps beg since that seemed equally likely at his current state of distress – to let him be the one to stand by her bedside. Potter was already giving him a stupid, crooked grin.
"I'll go find Nott before he gets into trouble," Potter said. "You stay with her. Make sure she lets them help her – like actually help her?"
He nodded and let out a sigh of relief as the messy-haired American boy traipsed off down the hall after his best mate. Maybe Potter wasn't so awful after all, Draco pondered. Luckily, that particular insane thought was halted by the more pressing matter at hand.
Granger was biting down on her bottom lip and clenching onto the foam table so much that her knuckles flushed white against her pink, angry skin. He slipped through the room full of medics and trainers to stand beside her head and take one of her hands in his.
"Hey," he murmured, jarring her eyes to open and stare bewildered at him.
She gasped as one of the women crowded around her leg pulled at the tension in the muscle, blinking back tears. Draco let her dig her nails into his palm without complaint, and he brushed her hair back from her face, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.
The small notion caused her to break from her concentration on the pain in her calf and stare wide-eyed at him again. "Malfoy," she hissed. "What are you doing? You can't – They'll see us - "
"It's fine," he assured her.
"No, it's not!" Granger protested. "They'll talk to the Committee, and you'll get your medal taken away!"
He shook his head. "They won't talk. They wouldn't do that to you. They just want you to get better, ok? So, let's focus on that."
"What – But – Why are you being so nice to me?"
He swallowed. Paused to stare into her large, brown eyes and grant himself one more second of blissful ignorance. Then, he owned up to his feelings, and opened himself up to her and a potential world full of pain.
"Because I like you, you beautiful idiot." Draco told her. "I've always liked you, I think, but now I'm sure. When Pansy and I won, and the crowd was cheering, and my anthem was blaring… All I could think about was you. How you felt, how much I wished I could share the victory with you, and how badly I wanted to hold you in my arms."
He took a deep breath.
"I don't want just physical, Granger. I don't want no-strings-attached. I want you. I want all of you, all the time, and in every way imaginable."
She inhaled sharply as they prodded and poked at her (most likely torn) calf muscle, and then exhaled a shaky breath. Her eyes never left his. His heart was beating a thousand beats per minute in his chest, and he wondered how much longer he could stand without hearing what she was thinking.
"Granger," he pleaded. "Say something."
"I - " She swallowed and a single tear slid out of the corner of her eye. He was swift to wipe it away, caressing her cheek as he did so. "I want that too."
"Yes," she choked, her breath catching on something between a giggle and a gasp. "I want it. I want everything you just said. I want you, however I can have you."
Draco smiled and leaned down to brush his lips against hers, tasting the salt on them as her tears – from both pain and pleasure – coated them. He pulled away just enough to nudge the tip of her nose with his.
"There's just one thing," she whispered against his lips.
"What's that, Granger?" He asked.
She sighed, "How exactly do you plan on going about this to the Committee? I still don't want either of us to lose any medals we earned here, and in any other competitions we were together at."
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he covered their intertwined hands with his free one.
"Well…" He told her. "I have a theory."