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Chapter Text

August

Scottish League One Table

8 — Pride of Portree - 5 - 1 - 1 - 3 - 4 - 7 - -3 - 4 pts

9 — Airth Athletic - 5 - 0 - 2 - 3 - 2 - 6 - -2 - 2 pts

10 — Montrose Magpies FC - 5 - 0 - 0 - 5 - 4 - 10 - -6 - 0 pts

Harry Potter stood on the touchline as the final whistle blew, his head hanging down in defeat. Disappointment didn't even begin to cover what he was feeling in the moment, knowing that his team, Montrose Magpies FC had lost a third straight game, which was the worst start in the club's history, and it was all done on the back of his tactics, his plays, his decisions.

Even worse, it wasn't like he had ended last season on a particular high note, either. He'd been brought in halfway through the season, a young, untested manager, but one who'd been an outstanding player and who understood the game inside and out. It hadn't been enough to save Montrose from a relegation fight, even if they'd managed to stay up after an amazing performance in the tournament, their position now was clear.

If they didn't start winning some games, it was clear that Harry Potter was going to be the man responsible for the team's relegation into League Two.

He stormed off into the dressing room, wondering what the hell he was going to say to the players. He wondered what the hell he was going to do.

Kicking the trash bin, Harry cursed Sirius. His godfather had always had too much money to blow, but buying a football club and putting his godson in charge of it was just a new level of irresponsibility. Now, if Harry failed, he was going to be the cause of great financial loss, too. He was sure Sirius would just laugh at him and promise that he had more where that came from, but it wouldn't make Harry feel any less guilty.

God, he was such a failure.

He needed to figure out a way to turn this season around. His team had been a shambles on the pitch, barely able to score one goal against a really poor Banchory side. The forwards needed something to help upfront, Higgs had the tendency to completely crumble at the first sign of pressure from the opposition's defense and Flint, their best playmaker, was too busy dropping back to try to shore up their defense to put anything together.

Harry knew he needed to do something. He just wasn't sure what, exactly.

Hermione Granger could already hear the podcast blaring when she walked down the empty corridors to Harry's office. She'd been trying to give him a bit of space after Ron texted her and told her how terrible the game had gone that day, but she knew that they needed to talk eventually.

Her friend had a tendency to wallow, unfortunately, and sometimes he just needed to be snapped out of it. And, well, that's what she was here to do, wasn't it? She'd swung by his favorite takeaway and decided that he just needed a little pep talk to get him out of his funk.

But, if he was already listening to the new episode of Two For Joy that had dropped a mere two hours after the game had ended, maybe she should have come sooner.

"No, no, listen, right? I know that Riddle did a real number on him, right? Like, we all agree that Potter got done dirty and if it weren't for that dickhead, Potter would probably still be playing in the Premier League, and all that —

"Riddle is the worst sort of cunt. You won't hear anything different from me, mate."

"Bet you wouldn't be saying that if he was playing for us, though."

Laughter peeled and made Hermione crack a smile. "Yeah, because then he'd be our cunt. And all the other teams would fucking hate him."

"Exactly. Alright, so like I was saying, we know Riddle did a number on him, but... are we sure that Potter isn't like legitimately brain damaged now?"

"Oh, mate, you can't say that."

"I'm only asking, right. I mean, he was so concussed that he can't play football anymore because one wrong header could like bash his brains in, right?"

"Like a little squash."

"So who's to say that didn't extend to his managerial work? Are we sure that he is functioning at the level that our club needs?"

Hermione stomped in to Harry's office, deciding that she'd heard enough. She pressed the button on the speaker to stop the grotesque musings of the podcast. She would never admit it, but she did listen every now and again, because they did make her laugh, but she normally never did after a loss, when they could be so cruel.

"You shouldn't listen to that drivel," she scolded Harry, pulling out a carton of fried rice. "It will rot your brain."

"You mean my already damaged brain?" Harry quipped back, giving her a wry smile, though she could see in his green eyes that he was hurt by the accusations. He rubbed his hand across his forward, over the jagged looking scar that had been left when he went up for a header at the same time as Tom Riddle in a Cup match.

"Harry, you don't have brain damage," Hermione said firmly. "Surely if you can't believe me telling you this, your friend for over a decade, then you would believe all the scans and cognitive testing that the doctors did for you?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I can't put together football strategy well enough to beat bloody Portree," he scoffed.

"I'm not so sure Gaz and Alexander from that podcast could, either," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "After all, they are the ones recording a podcast in a pub, more concerned with getting pissed than what it takes to run a football club."

"You are only saying that because I'm your friend," he said darkly, before picking through the cartons until he found the little steamed potstickers that he loved. "How is work?"

"Alright," Hermione said with a shrug. She had a day job, working in public health for the City of Montrose, but she also helped out Harry where she could, when she was able. Her eyes narrowed at Harry, who was looking far too innocent for his own good. "Why?"

"I'm going to need to bring someone in —"

"Harry, it will be fine. It's just been a rough start, but you'll figure it out, I swear it," she whined.

"Higgs just can't keep up. He wilts, like a little flower," Harry continued. "I need a striker. A really good striker to get this team scoring some goals or else I can practically guarantee relegation. And that I'll be sacked."

"Do you have someone in mind?" Hermione wondered, knowing that the transfer window was rapidly coming to a close, so he would need to get a move on.

"Not yet, but I am going to find someone," Harry swore. "Even if I have to blow the rest of my budget on him. And that means, I am going to need your help, getting them settled."

Hermione tried not to groan, knowing that Harry was at a low point. "Alright, fine," she agreed after a moment. Last season, she'd helped Harry as a sort of unofficial... player liaison. Helping some of the new players he'd brought in adjust to their new team. "But you owe me."

"Oh yeah? What do you want?" Harry asked with a smirk, leaning back in his chair.

"I know that you are going on a team holiday this year and I want in," she said smartly. "I don't want to do any of the teambuilding nonsense, but... a paid holiday. With a spa package!"

"Done, I'll make sure to pencil it in," Harry said smiling. "What would I do without you, Hermione?"

"Completely rot your brain with terrible podcasts?"

Harry laughed. "Speaking of, I think it's time that I finish the episode," he said, pointing his little remote control at the speaker and starting up the audio feed again.

"Speaking of, we have a question here from listener MagsFC76, who asks, If you had to get one body part smashed by Tom Riddle, which would it be and why?"

Montrose was a small sort of town where you couldn't really get away with being anonymous as a regular person and you certainly couldn't get away with being anonymous when you were the football manager of the local club. Or, if you were a famous former professional footballer, Harry Potter.

That was why Harry liked Luna's cafe, the Dirigible Plum. Luna was a very odd sort of bird, but she didn't treat him any differently from anyone else when he came in for breakfast. She didn't fall for Sirius's flirting, either, when his godfather joined him. And, she didn't bother them too much when they holed up in one of the back booths to talk about strategy over Full Scottish breakfasts, which Harry knew he really shouldn't indulge in as much as he did.

"Are you really sure that he's the one that you want?" Sirius asked, looking at the picture of the striker Harry had selected through painstaking work. "He looks a bit poncy."

Harry rolled his eyes at his godfather. "You look a bit poncy," he fired back, annoyed that he was being questioned. Only, that wasn't really fair. He was annoyed at the whole situation, the season, the pressure that he was under.

"Yeah, but he's a true blue ponce. I can tell," Sirius said, barking out a laugh. "He'll cost enough."

"He'll cost everything we have left in the coffers for this season," Harry explained with a wince. It was a gamble, but it was one that he knew that he had to make.

Sirius whistled low. "Harry, when I bought this club, there was no one else I would even dream about taking the lead job," he said, after a moment. "If you think that this Italian striker is going to be the one to turn things around, I'll make the calls."

"He's actually British," Harry said, though Malfoy had been playing in Italy long enough for the country to make an impression on him. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Are you sure he's going to want to come down to our level?" Sirius asked, not nearly as certain as Harry was that this was all going to go to plan.

"It's just a year long loan. I know that we are... well, at least two levels down from where he is currently at, his current club was relegated last season anyway, and rumor has it he doesn't get on with the new manager," Harry explained. If he did, Harry was certain this loan spell would never work. "Just explain how much this will pad his stats. He'll be a goal scoring machine and once he's back here in the UK, the bigger clubs might give him a new look."

"Done," Sirius said, pushing his fried tomato around his plate. "Hopefully he can settle in quickly. Higgs has been abysmal this year, hasn't he?"

"Mm," Harry said in agreement. He wasn't looking forward to telling his player that he was about to do a long time on the bench now that they were bringing some new blood in. But, being the manager meant that you had to be a bit ruthless sometimes if you wanted to win.

And Harry, well, he wanted to win badly.

Once the contracts were signed and all the medicals were cleared, Harry Potter sat in his office watching highlight reels of Malfoy scoring in his last three years at Serpeverde, even though he didn't need to. Harry and Malfoy had come up together at Hogwarts Academy, the pair of them joining as thirteen year old lads. They'd hated each other from the beginning, each gunning for a call up to the higher levels of football.

Back then, Malfoy had started as a central defensive midfielder, before the under 17s manager got a look at him and decided that he might make a good striker as well. Malfoy had flourished there, giving Harry a run for his money. Despite his drive to practice and practice until he could run plays in his sleep, Malfoy never had the natural ability Harry did.

But, here he was, still playing, while Harry couldn't head a ball if he wanted to keep his brain. One wrong knock would send him back to hospital.

Malfoy's time as a CDM was evident in his highlight videos. His pace was insane, even though he was nearing thirty, and his acceleration was even better. Sometimes he'd get past defenders before they even registered it. He was left-footed, but no slouch with his right, either, and God, his crossing ability was...

He was going to be an absolute menace in their league, Harry thought, with a grin on his face.

"Watching old videos of yourself, again?" Hermione asked, snagging his attention from his doorway. He'd invited her there, because he knew that keeping Malfoy happy at the club was down to Hermione, as well.

"Not me," he said, restarting the video and leaning back so that Hermione could get a look at him. "That's our new striker, Malfoy. He will be arriving in a couple of days."

Hermione didn't know Draco Malfoy, had none of the history that Harry did, but she took one look at his smirking face after he'd tricked a Keeper with a penalty shot to know that she didn't like him. "What's so special about him?" she asked.

"Aside from being a first rate striker?" Harry asked, with a scoff. "We are punching well above our weight class with him. Honestly, we shouldn't have even been able to get him. Montrose is a big step down from where he should be."

"How did you get him, then?" Hermione asked, sounding uncertain. There was a catch — there had to be.

"Spent all the rest of my funds on him," Harry said, looking at her like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Harry, you didn't!" she scolded, wondering what had gotten into her friend. "What if you have injuries? What if he doesn't suit our style of play?"

"Oh, we will make our style of play suit him," her old friend reassured her. "And injuries will be tricky... we will have to manage things very carefully, but I think if we are responsible, we can get through the season without any issues."

"It seems like you are leaving a lot of things up to fate," Hermione said, feeling cross. Of course, when left up to fate, a lot of things had seemed to work out in Harry's favor. Until they didn't. Until he'd gone up for the wrong ball and come down without a career any more.

"So you understand then — I need Malfoy to do well here," he said, his green eyes pleading with her for an unasked favor. "And more so, I need him to be happy here in Montrose, so he will help pluck this team out of the relegation fight we are currently in for."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, again. "What do you need from me?" she asked.

"You know that you are the best player liaison that I could have ever asked for," he responded, buttering her up a little too much. "You've managed to help Flint and Pucey. Dean still can't stop talking about how easily you made his transition here. There isn't anyone else I would trust to help Malfoy settle in here."

"Uh-huh," Hermione said, not impressed for a second.

"After all, he's been living in Italy for the last couple of years," Harry went on. "He'll need to find a flat — a good flat, mind you — and he'll need help around town, figuring out where everything is. He might need a bit of help with paperwork and the like."

"I am not a personal assistant," she reminded him. She wasn't going to be running off after some stupid footballer who couldn't figure out how to go grocery shopping, just because Harry thought he was going to score marginally more goals than Higgs could.

"I doubt that he will even bother you after the first couple of weeks!" Harry lied. He remembered what a pain in the arse Malfoy could be during the best of times, but he wasn't above using Hermione's friendship to get what he wanted. Just one fucking win.

"Fine," Hermione said, her ire coming through loud and clear. "But only because you are my oldest friend, Harry. And only for a couple of weeks, while he gets settled."

"And, Hermione?" Harry said, knowing that he was pushing it even though she was agreeing to help. "I really need things to go smoothly with Malfoy, so do you think you could... you know, use your special skills to just make sure that everything is really perfect?"

He could see the little muscle in her jaw twitching, that she was trying not to snap back at him for being quite so impertinent when she'd already agreed to do him a massive favor. "Harry," she warned, before taking a deep breath to calm herself. "You know what? Okay, I will. Because that means he will settle in quicker and I will have less to deal with."

"Thanks Hermione!" Harry said, brightly. "Listen, when we go on holiday, I will make sure you get a suite with a massive bed and... and a great view!"

"You better," she cautioned. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find a flat to lease, because I'm certain the club hasn't done that yet."

She was striding out of his office and down the hall faster than she could wiggle her nose. Harry let out a sigh of relief, until he looked down, eager to resume watching the tape, only to find that his mouse had mysteriously vanished.

"Welcome to Two for Joy, I'm your host Gaz and with me I have Alexander and Nigel. How you doing today boys?"

"Alright, alright."

"Big news out of the Park, then today, isn't that right? We've had an announcement that the Club has signed a striker from Serpeverde in Serie B today."

"To be fair to Serpeverde, they were in Serie A until they were relegated at the end of the last season."

"How good could this geezer be, then?"

"Don't want to get the stink of relegation on us, do we? We have enough of that on our own, thank you very much."

"I'll tell you, I've seen some highlights of him. He's called Draco Malfoy and he looks — well, let's just say, I'm wondering how in the world we've signed him. He looks the absolute mustard, doesn't he?"

"He's a bit pretty for my tastes, but yeah, I saw a compilation of his free kicks and it's something else, isn't it?"

"Let's fucking go!"

Chapter Text

Draco stared down the line of cars from his spot at arrivals at the Aberdeen International airport, determined to hate everything about this, which, truthfully, would not be that difficult to do. After all, what could there be to like about this insane loan that he'd been cajoled into agreeing to?

When he'd left sunny Italy, it had been a balmy 29 degrees and now he was in dreary Scotland and it was maybe 15 degrees if he was being really generous. In addition to that, he was no longer going to be playing for a top flight club in Serie A, but now he was going to be playing in the bloody Scottish League, which was such a step down he couldn't even be sure that he would be considered a big fish in a small pond. More like a pothole, maybe...

And, to top it all off, he was coming here alone. He didn't know why he was kidding himself, thinking that she would move with him when they'd only been together for a few months, especially considering that Montrose had none of the amenities that Italy had, namely beaches, gorgeous coastal villages, wine, trips to Milano or Roma and partying with beautiful people — brushing shoulders on a night out with British Formula 1 racers.

He supposed, if he was being honest with himself, he had thought that Astoria actually liked him, not just the lifestyle that he provided. It was embarrassing to have the truth shoved into his face.

Draco had barely spoken to his new manager — Harry bloody Potter, whom he was too familiar with — but he'd been assured that he would be well taken care of at Montrose. Starting with his ride from the airport, which was done by a chatting young man called Colin who wouldn't shut the fuck up, even when Draco told him he was tired from the plane ride.

But, it had only extended when he was dropped off outside a flat and forced to buzz up to the flat that was presumably his now. Grumbling about being forced to carry his own bags, Draco walked up the three flights of stairs and knocked on the door.

The woman who opened it was pretty enough, with a warm smile, freckles across the bridge of her nose, and brown eyes that drank him in readily enough. Most notable was her wild, brown hair. "You must be Malfoy," she said, her smile tightening, like she wasn't actually pleased to be meeting him.

"Yes," he said. "And you are...?"

"Oh, sorry, I'm Hermione Granger. Come in, come in," she said, stepping aside and giving him room to walk in, making no move to help him with his baggage. "I'm the player liaison for Montrose."

He snorted, unable to help himself. "I didn't know a club of Montrose's size warranted a player liaison," he said with a sneer.

"Yes, well, you'd be surprised," she said, back. "Sometimes rude strikers join the Club and have a demands list a mile long, so Harry thinks it's useful."

Draco was taken aback. He got the distinct impression that Granger didn't like him one bit. "If the Club can't meet my needs, then maybe this partnership won't work out," he countered, unwilling to balk. They needed him after all. They should be rolling out the red carpet to make him happy.

"I'm sure that I've gotten absolutely everything you need," she answered tightly. "Since you sent your belongings ahead, we took the liberty of unpacking. This flat is one of the best in Montrose. There is a lovely view of the bay."

"But it's not the best, then?" he asked with a sneer, barely stopping to look out of the massive window in the living room area that did have a pretty view of the water. Only, the water wasn't the sparkling blue-green of the Mediterranean and so he hated it.

He opened the fridge, pleased to see that there was some food inside, already waiting for him. That was good, because he didn't want to step a foot outside of this flat before he had to.

"It was the best available, Malfoy," she answered, tersely. "If you want the best, you'd have to purchase and I didn't think that you would be interested in remaining here for the long term. After all, this is only a loan move."

Draco grunted. She was right about that. He was going to put in his ten months and then get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. Maybe get picked up by one of the Prem teams on a permanent deal, if Serpeverde didn't work out — he didn't fancy playing in Serie B forever either. And, he wasn't sure they'd be able to pull themselves out of that hole without his goal scoring, either.

"I took the liberty of printing off your practice schedule and game schedule for you," Granger said, pointing to the piece of paper on the dining room table. "And, it's been added to your phone calendar as well, of course. Do you think you'll need any help getting to the training grounds?"

"I think I'll manage," he said, looking out the window again. Montrose was fucking tiny. He was sure that he'd be able to figure it out on his own, without some horrible, nosy player liaison holding his hand.

"If you change your mind, I've written my number on top of the calendar. Feel free to text," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, unconsciously bringing his attention to it. "Do you think you need anything else today or would you like to just... settle in?"

Settling in sounded like the worst thing in the world. Draco wasn't going to settle in to Montrose. He was going to bloody well hate every minute of it, crossing off the days until he was free of this loan once and for all. But, he didn't want Granger lingering any longer than necessary.

"You may go," he said, after a moment's consideration.

"Well, if you need anything else, you can text me. I'm here to just make sure you have what you need so you can put all your energy into playing well," she said after a beat. "Though, I fail to see how you could need anything else after I completed your extensive to-do list."

"Next time, make sure you actually read the list properly," he said, wanting to rub her face in the one small mistake that he'd noticed. He wasn't going to like Montrose and he certainly wasn't going to like this annoying glorified PA that Potter had stuck him with.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her voice going a bit shrill.

"I specifically said that I like green apples," he drawled, knowing that he had done no such thing. He'd just asked for apples and there they were, sitting in his fridge crisper. "Not red ones."

He watched something like fury come over her face, her nose twitching while she tried to keep her outburst in. Granger took a deep breath and replaced the anger with something more serene. Odd sort of anger management maneuver, Draco thought meanly.

"I think you should look again," she said sweetly. "Because the apples are definitely green. Granny smith. I picked them up myself." She tried, and failed, to hide a triumphant smirk. "Anyways, I'll be by on Saturday morning to take you to the home game. You won't be playing yet, but do try to look presentable."

Granger didn't wait for him to dismiss her before she was flouncing out of his new flat, leaving him behind with a slam of the door. He barely waited for her to get down the first flight of stairs before he was ripping open his fridge, finding perfect green apples waiting for him there — Granny smith, just as she'd said.

What the hell was going on, he thought, dismally, before deciding that he must really be tired from his flight.

Draco looked around at the screaming crowd wondering just what the fuck he'd gotten himself into as the kick off happened for his first game as a Magpie. Not that he was playing today. No, he was just on the bench, next to an enthusiastic looking Harry Potter, who talked to him about style of play while his green eyes were focused on the pitch. It lasted only a moment or two before he was up on his feet, shouting instructions at his hapless players.

He scowled, seeing the current striker, Higgs, get absolutely demolished by a midfield player for Rumford Hearts. There was no reason he shouldn't be out on that pitch right now. A feint to the right would have sent that midfielder off into another dimension, leaving Draco to score easily.

But, he was sat on the bench in plain clothes today, meant to take in his new team, his new club. What he saw only made him stew. He couldn't believe that he — Draco Malfoy — was meant to play on a team as abysmal as this. They could barely string two passes together, let alone score any goals. It was ridiculous.

Looking down the bench, he found Hermione Granger, hands tucked in her Magpies official jacket, while she joked around with Sirius Black, the owner of the Club. That seemed to be all the explanation he needed for her being involved with the Club, when she clearly cared so little about the game being played in front of her.

A rumble rippled through the crowd in the 72 minute when Pucey managed to score a goal off of a free kick, the supporters banging their hands on the metal flashing in time with the song that they had for the midfielder. Try as he might not to smile, their jubilance was infectious and when he looked down his hands were clapping, if only it meant that they had a chance to actually win the game.

He looked around the stadium and took a deep breath. It was a tiny stadium, compared to some of the ones that he'd played in before, but it was clear that the supporters were devoted and they loved their club. He would rather play in front of 3,000 serious fans than 50,000 who spent the whole game on their phones, only coming to a match because it was a tourist attraction.

Maybe... maybe playing for Montrose wouldn't be totally horrible.

Draco's optimism was short-lived. Not even five minutes later, Banchory was roaring back to life, scoring an equalizer from open play when the left back got burned by his man. After that, the good mood of the team completely crumbled and they couldn't claw their way out of it. The match ended in a draw.

"You've got to be kidding me," Malfoy whispered to himself, looking disdainfully at the men who he was now unfortunate enough to have as his teammates. He was furious. He never should have agreed to this loan spell, no matter how good the weekly wages were.

8 — Pride of Portree - 6 - 2 - 1 - 3 - 6 - 8 - -4 - 7 pts

9 — Airth Athletic - 6 - 0 - 2 - 4 - 3 - 8 - -5 - 2 pts

10 — Montrose Magpies FC - 6 - 0 - 1 - 5 - 5 - 11 - -6 - 1 pts

He resisted calling Hermione, but eventually he asked for her help with dry cleaning. He was capable of doing his own laundry, seeing as he'd been more or less on his own since he joined his youth academy, living far away from his parents, but his wardrobe held numerous items that he would only trust with a skilled dry cleaner.

She had been too happy to provide the name of a place, not a far walk from his flat.

Draco, determined to make this as difficult as possible on Montrose, informed her that she would have to come by, pick up his clothes, seeing as he had training to go into. He could practically imagine the furious look on her face over the phone, just from hearing her tone!

When the clothes were ready two days later, he bumped into her at the training grounds and asked her to pick them up and put them away in his flat, seeing as she still had a key. "I'm not a personal assistant, Malfoy," she snapped. "I'm here to help you if you have trouble sorting anything while you get settled, not pick up your laundry."

"This will help me get settled," he countered, knowing he was acting spoiled.

"Fine," she agreed, tartly. "But only this once."

Later, when he returned home, he found that Hermione was still at his flat, sorting through his mail for him, while a television show played in the background. "Oh, I was just about to leave. I put away your laundry for you, too, just to be nice," she said. "But, don't get used to it."

"Hmm," he said, walking into his room to take a look. There, she had neatly put away his undershirts, socks, jumpers, jeans. The socks were all folded over, neat little pairs clustered together perfectly in rows.

He threw down his gym bag and returned to the living room where she was about to leave. "Just for future reference, Granger, I prefer my socks rolled together," he said, a smirk on his face, knowing he was about to ruin her afternoon. "Just makes sure that I have a pair every time."

Draco didn't know what to make of the smirk that came over her face, but he was suspicious. "Harry must have really put you through your paces today, Malfoy," she said, humor in her voice, her nose twitching a bit while she laughed. "Because that is exactly how I've done your socks. Don't believe me? Go check."

He did just that, stomping back to his room, ripping open his sock drawer and looking inside, only to find the once neat rows replaced with socks rolled together, wondering how he'd gotten it so wrong.

The next Saturday, Malfoy was finally going to be playing in his first game, after more than a week of getting integrated with the team during trainings. And, it couldn't come soon enough, Hermione thought to herself. The sooner he was playing regularly, the sooner she could be done helping him get "settled" in.

She hadn't known him long, and she knew that Harry was pinning all his hopes for the season on him, but Hermione thought that Malfoy was more than a bit of an arsehole. He'd been pretty rude about Montrose since the first day that she met him (despite them being the reason he had a job...) and she could tell that he was interested in messing with her, finding little things to nitpick about the tasks she did for him.

At least she enjoyed messing with him just as much. He didn't know about her secret... well, power. How could he? No one actually thought that witches were real. But they were. And Hermione was one of them.

It was trivial to transfigure perfectly acceptable red delicious apples into green Granny smiths and all it took was a wiggle of her nose and Malfoy was none the wiser. Her special set of skills were why she was so effective in this odd player liaison role that Harry had carved out for her and she was more than happy to use it to make Malfoy feel like he was losing his mind around her, until he moved on to other targets once he realized he simply couldn't make her miserable.

"How do you think he'll do?" Harry asked, coming to sit next to her while they watched Malfoy walk through some warm ups.

"He better smash them to bits, for how big of a game he talks," Hermione said, her eyes on the good looking striker. She didn't want to acknowledge the fact that he was very attractive, but it was hard not to when she was so close to him, his grey eyes focused on the pitch and not a hair out of place.

Harry laughed. "I hope he isn't causing you too much trouble," Harry said, knocking his shoulder into hers.

"He's nothing I can't handle," Hermione said, primly. She wasn't going to let Draco Malfoy get one over on her, no matter what. "He can't be worse than Marcus last year."

"Good," Harry said, nodding. "Let me know if he gives you a hard time."

There wasn't any additional time to talk because the teams were lining up to kick off, with Malfoy walking to the center of the pitch. Hermione found that she was actually holding her breath, wondering what sort of player that they had decided to go all in on. Even if she didn't like Malfoy, she really, really hoped that this was going to work out for Harry.

In the end, she shouldn't have bothered. The whistle had barely gone before Malfoy was taking off on a tear, dribbling the ball as easily as if it wasn't there. He didn't even need to outsmart the center backs, who were almost too stunned to do anything. When he got to the edge of the box, he took his shot.

It hit the back of the net in the upper left corner.

The crowd went wild for Malfoy scoring his first goal in under a minute at Montrose.

8 — Pride of Portree - 7 - 2 - 2 - 3 - 8 - 10 - -2 - 4 pts

9 — Montrose FC - 7 - 1 - 1 - 5 - 9 - 12 - -3 - 4 pts

10 — Airth Athletic - 7 - 0 - 3 - 4 - 4 - 9 - -5 - 3 pts

After his second game with Montrose, Draco had more than cemented his place on the starting line up. He'd scored a hat trick in his first game easily enough. His second game was harder fought, against one of the better teams in their league, but he'd ground out a goal himself and he'd had an assist for Marcus Flint as well.

When the game was over, the team retreated to the dressing room, everyone feeling buoyant after their second win in as many games. Draco knew that it was all down to him — that he had brought joy to this sad little club.

For the first time since he'd joined the Club, Draco let himself just get lost in the football and enjoy it. Here there was no dressing room politics, no arguments with the new manager that they'd brought in, the one who'd taken one look at him and decided that he didn't fit the system. He could just do what he did best — win games.

The rest of the team was laughing and excited, still chattering away about how great it was to hand it to Pride of Portree for the first time in several seasons, that they almost didn't notice him pulling his jumper over his head and trying to slip out of the dressing room.

"Oi, Malfoy!" shouted one of the Weasley twins. He could hardly tell the team's two center backs apart and to be perfectly honest, he didn't really care if it was Fred or George on the left or the right. Though... he supposed whoever it was on the right did not have the best chemistry with their right back, Montague, so maybe he should care.

"Yes?" he asked, turning around.

"We usually go to the pub to celebrate a win," the other twin said.

"Or to commiserate in a loss," the first quipped, a dangerous smile on his face.

"You should join us," the second suggested, looking at him pointedly.

Draco looked up at the big, gangly ginger and thought that he would rather fold his own socks under the close watch of Hermione Granger than grab a pint with these louts. "Another time, perhaps," he said, giving them a tight smile. Just because he wanted nothing to do with them didn't mean that he should vex his teammates unnecessarily.

"Are you sure? Pretty much everyone else will be there," grumbled the massive Marcus Flint, who had barely stopped arguing with Keeper Oliver Wood long enough to hear the offer being made.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he repeated, not waiting for anyone else to join the pile on. He turned and walked out of the dressing room, ready to return to the solitude of his flat.

6 — Pride of Portree - 8 - 2 - 2 - 3 - 8 - 10 - -2 - 8 pts

7 — Montrose Magpies FC - 8 - 2 - 1 - 5 - 11 - 12 - -1 - 7 pts

8 — Rumford Hearts - 8 - 1 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 9 - -7 - 7 pts

"Welcome back to Two for Joy. It's Gazza and today we have with us Evan from Farnell and James. Boys, how fucking brilliant was that game last night?"

"We are so fucking back!"

"I cannot remember the last time that I actually enjoyed myself at a Mags game. Usually its just anxiety and misery."

"And, it's all come down to our new signing, isn't it, Malfoy?"

"I was skeptical of him at first — I mean, his old manager didn't want him, right? So why would we want him?"

"Well, that's just because you're uncultured."

"I'm not uncultured! But for real, Malfoy's work-rate was a bit...uninspired the last few years. It's been a downward trend for sure."

"But not here, baby!"

"Seriously, five goals in two games? He is just an absolute animal, isn't he?"

Chapter Text

It was strange, to find himself missing Italy, now that he was tucked away in this tiny corner of Scotland that he was determined to detest. The whole time he'd been playing in Italy, he'd longed for any chance to return to British soil, feeling like he was never quite settled or at home, no matter how much he tried to assimilate.

Now, though, he was missing the amazing cappuccino he'd have for breakfast at the little bar around the corner from his flat, the effusive commentary of the sportswriters covering his team, candlelit dinners with Astoria. He missed the warm Italian sunshine and the golden tinge that the landscape seemed to have. He wanted to be able to slip away mid-week to one of the gorgeous beaches and spend his day getting too much sun.

Not this.

Montrose seemed too green, too grey, too dismal. It was cold, windy and wet. The people were friendly, but brusque, and Draco didn't find himself enjoying talking to his grocer or his barman.

He knew that it would take time for him to settle in, as everyone kept suggesting, to grow used to his new environment, but another stubborn part of him hoped that he never would. He didn't want to stick around Montrose any longer than he had to and hopefully at the end of this blasted season, he'd be headed back to Serpeverde, or maybe even something grander at home in England.

Still, he knew that he had to get adjusted to this new place for the next couple of months, finish out his loan spell. It wouldn't do to fuck up so badly that he got released from Montrose of all places, if he wanted to continue his career as a footballer. People might think there was something wrong with him and then he'd never get a shot back in the Premier League or even back in Serie A.

It would help if he had a little bit of home to help with the transition. He wondered when home had become Serpeverde, but he supposed sometime over the last few years, he'd grown more comfortable there than he ever had been in Wiltshire.

What he wouldn't give to be able to watch the Serie A games here at his flat, while he ate dinner, or read over the columns of the old newspaper he used to get to improve his Italian! Flicking through the channels, he suddenly got the idea that he could have that if he wanted. His weekly wages would more than cover this kind of frivolous spending. He knew that he could probably figure out how to get it himself if he wanted, but then he remembered that Montrose had provided him with someone for this exact purpose.

He pulled out his mobile and sent Granger a text before he could reconsider it, demanding that she come over.

Then, he forgot about it, instead focussing on making himself a breakfast that would fuel him through his practice later that day — a massive egg white omelet with a bit of mozzarella and green peppers. Which reminded him, he needed to figure out if these eggs were pasture-raised and organic fed. He was an athlete, after all, and he deserved the best.

He had just sat down to eat when he was startled by a pounding on his door. "God, have a bit of patience! I'm coming!" he shouted. He opened the door, only to find a rather annoyed looking Hermione Granger on the other side.

"Don't you ever check your mobile, you jerk?" she demanded, hands pressed to her hips, making her look like a bossy child. "I've been waiting downstairs for five minutes already!"

"I have better things to do, Granger, than be glued to my mobile," he said, giving her a smirk and a sweeping wave of his hand towards the counter where his breakfast was waiting for him.

"But you sent me an SOS message," she seethed, realizing that it wasn't a drop everything emergency like she'd clearly been imagining.

"So? It's not like you have anything better to do," he accused. Since he'd seen her talking to Sirius Black, he'd been pretty certain that the only reason she had this job was to justify paying the owner's girlfriend a wage. Though, he could admit that she had gotten things done.

"Nothing better to— I do have a job, Malfoy," she sneered at him. "I can't just be dropping everything for you if it's not serious."

"That's not what Potter implied," he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"What do you need, Malfoy?" Granger demanded, growing more and more irritable by the moment.

Now that she was standing here in his flat, his ask did seem a little bit petty and childish, but he wasn't going to back down now. He forced himself to walk back over to his kitchen, opening the fridge so he could pour himself a glass of orange juice. "I want to be able to remain connected to Italy," he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Just sort out a Sky Italia subscription for the tele and then La Gazzetta for the paper."

He gave her an expectant look, as if he wanted her to just magic the tele to work right away, before returning to his breakfast, juice in hand. From his vantage, he could see her standing there, looking at him like he was the biggest jerk in the entire world. He knew it made him an awful person, but there was something so satisfying about irking her.

"This isn't what I'm supposed to be helping you with," she said, rolling her eyes. But then, a little part of her softened. "But, I can understand that you are homesick and so I will figure this out for you."

"Cheers," he said, cheekily, raising his glass to take a drink of his juice. Granger twitched her nose in annoyance and he smirked, knowing that he'd won this round.

Only to find that his glass was empty. God, was he really such a glutton that he'd drank all that juice so quickly? He'd have to watch that — juice was incredibly sugary and he had his physique to worry about. Feeling strangely bereft, he stood to pour a glass of water instead.

"Well, this won't sort itself in a few minutes," she said, looking strangely pleased. "I'll have an update for you by the time that you return from practice this afternoon."

"Keeping track of my schedule, are you?" he teased, unable to help himself.

"I'm the one who programmed it into your mobile, remember?" she reminded him, rolling her eyes. "So, if there is nothing else, I'll be on my way to my real job."

Draco didn't have anything else to ask her for, to his disappointment. He watched her leave, wishing that he would have found another reason for her to stay. He wasn't ready for the free entertainment to leave.

Draco had transformed Montrose's frontline into an unstoppable force and it had left the rest of League Two scrambling. He was pleased to see his opponents' faces — which had been smug and unbothered when he first started — look nervous and uncertain when he stepped up for kick off.

There was no question that at the end of the season, Draco was going to be the top goal scorer, even though he missed the first couple of games. In fact, he was confident enough in his own abilities to predict that he might become the single season top goal scorer! He was finding the net at least once a game.

And, that wasn't all he was doing. His presence on the pitch changed the calculus of the game immediately. The center backs tracked him, knowing that to leave him undefended was a risk that they just could not take, which allowed the midfield and wingers to sweep up opportunities, too.

Just take this game against the Eastriggs Rangers — Draco easily drew all of the attention to the left side of the pitch, giving Cedric Diggory the opportunity to pass the ball to Adrian Pucey at the last moment, and he scored easily. Then, at the beginning of the second half, a bit of fancy footwork on Draco's part had earned them a well-timed corner. He crossed the ball into the box, allowing Fred Weasley —the tall bastard — to score on a header.

He'd shrugged out of the jubilant hug that Weasley had tried to pull him into, but couldn't stop from smiling when he heard the crowds begin to chant.

The joy was short-lived. They'd given up a goal almost immediately, with Marcus Flint and Wood, the Keeper, arguing about how far out the centre backs should play. There was too much space and it was just too easy for the Rangers' front line to slip in. Draco was furious. It was such an obvious breakdown of play.

Draco played best when he was mad. He would just get deep in the zone and focus, letting all of the crowd noise fall away. And that's what he did, dribbling the ball past three separate defenders, before putting it in the net on a rather selfish play. Diggory had been open and arguably had a better shot, but who cared how selfish it was when he was scoring goals? Who cared that he took the shot instead of the pass when they were winning?

To compound the matter, Potter — in his infinite fucking wisdom — had called for him to be subbed off around the seventieth minute! He could feel his jaw working as he tried not to sneer, weakly clapping up towards the fans as he walked off the pitch, before sitting down on the far side of the bench, well away from Potter. He was feeling surly enough that he would give his former teammate one hell of a talking to if he got too close.

Draco was helpless to watch as their lead of 3-1 soon became 3-2 and he held onto the bench with white knuckles until the final whistle was blown. He let himself feel a glimmer of relief, before his anger got the better of him. He grabbed a ball from the equipment manager, a stringy boy called Nigel who must not even have been twenty, and jogged out onto the pitch, ignoring the rest of his team who filed back into the dressing room.

He ignored the shouts from the crowds who were streaming out of the stadium, ready to pour into one of the handful of local bars and drink pints to celebrate the win. All Draco cared about was the connection of his foot with the ball, of the swoosh of the net when he placed it just where he wanted it to go. Then he jogged to retrieve the ball so he could do it again. And again.

"You go ahead, Oliver," he heard Potter shout. "I'll be right there."

Draco ignored him, even though he could see Potter standing there, watching him.

"You've improved since Hogwarts," Potter said with a fond sort of look on his face. "I know who to give the ball to if we have a penalty shoot out now."

The blond couldn't help but scoff. "As if you have any alternative," he groused.

Potter was silent for a moment. "Look, I know that you aren't really enthused about playing here. I know that Montrose would not have been your first choice," he said, quietly. "But, I think that you need to try to forge some connection here — help you settle and find your way. Serpeverde wasn't working, but there's no reason why you can't excel here, even if it's just for a season."

"I am excelling here, Potter," Draco sneered. "You are the one subbing me off for no good reason."

"You know there is more to life than just football," he countered. "A lot of the guys go out to the pub after a win. Many go out when there's a loss, too. You should join us. Get out of your own head for the night."

Draco stopped and turned to face the green-eyed git that he'd been competing against as a teenager. "I'll pass," he said, giving it approximately no consideration at all.

Potter looked disappointed, but didn't press the matter. "Well, the offer still stands if you change your mind," he said, before leaving Draco to his own devices.

5 — Wigtown Wanderers - 9 - 3 - 3 - 3 - 13 - 17 - -4 - 12 pts

6 — Montrose Magpies FC - 9 - 3 - 1 - 5 - 14 - 14 - 0 - 10 pts

7 — Pride of Portree - 9 - 2 - 3 - 3 - 9 - 11 - -2 - 9 pts

"Welcome back to Two For Joy. I'm Gazza and with me as always is Alexander and James. Another win in the books, eh boys?"

"It's ridiculous how much our fortunes changed in just a month. We actually look like a competent football club."

"I was getting nervous at the start of the season, but it does seem like we've found our rhythm now."

"And I don't think it's any secret to how we've found the rhythm. Draco Malfoy."

"Draco fucking Malfoy."

"He is, without a doubt, the best player I've seen wearing a Montrose shirt. We're only one game into October and already I am dreading when his loan is over at the end of the season. I get the feeling that he could be a club legend. Any chance you think that we could convince him to stay?"

"You never know what Potter's got up his sleeves. And, of course, we know that under Black's ownership, we've got deep pockets. Maybe there is an avenue there."

"We've got a question here from Jimmy324568. Would you let Draco Malfoy shag your mum if it meant that we would advance to the Championship?"

"I think he could help us get there without shagging my mum, but if that was what he needed to get the job done, well, I guess... mum's just going to have to take one for the team!"

"Really?"

"You know she's a hardcore Mag. Besides, it's not like it's much hardship. Have you seen the bloke?"

Even with another two weeks in the City, Draco was not feeling any more settled than he had before. Hermione had sorted him with his Italian television and his Italian newspaper, but it didn't ease the odd sort of homesickness that clung to him like a pall. He moved through the days on autopilot, barely thinking about anything but counting down the days until his ridiculous loan spell was up.

Except when he was playing football, of course.

When he was out on the pitch, it was like everything else faded away, except his heart pumping away in his chest, his lungs screaming for air when he broke away from a centre back, the sound of the ball hitting the back of the net when he scored. He sometimes wondered if it was the only thing that had kept him going this long.

Another week, another game. This time, their opponents were the Bluebells of Rumbling Bridge. Not a very fear inspiring name, if he was honest, but he knew the table as well as anyone at this point. They were in the top two. It was a bit depressing, but the 'Bells were actual competition in this League, despite their silly name.

And, they had done their homework on him, it seemed. There was a scrappy CDM called Boot who made it his mission to trail Draco around the pitch, nearly man to man coverage. It was frustrating to say the least, having him hovering around like a gnat. No matter how hard he tried, it just couldn't lose the geezer and even more embarrassingly, it meant that Draco's contribution to the current 1-0 score line hadn't even been in the lead up.

He could feel himself growing angrier and angrier when the 'Bells equalized quickly after half-time. He wasn't going to let these puffed up blue shirts get away with it.

It was somewhere around the sixty-fifth minute when Boot cut off a pass meant for Draco that his anger just boiled over. He couldn't hear anything but the rush of his blood in his ears. He was going to show Boot that he wasn't shite. Before he could think of it, he ran at Boot, sliding in with a bit of a reckless tackle, knocking him off of his feet and sending him sprawling.

Draco stood up, unable to stop the smirk on his face when Boot rolled around on the ground in feigned pain. The ref immediately whistled and was already reaching into his pocket for the yellow card. "Come on!" Draco huffed, pointing at the other player on the ground. "He was diving! He's just playing it up for you."

"Yellow, Malfoy!" the ref responded sternly, not backing down, even when Marcus ran in to make Draco's case for him.

But, the sideline ref was also whistling then and Draco looked over, dismayed to see that Potter was subbing him off again. He threw his hands up in the air but walked to the sideline, swearing up a storm as Terrance Higgs jogged past him, a grin on his face.

"Why the fuck would you take me out?" Draco demanded, standing in front of Potter. "I could have made it to the end."

Potter looked past him, towards the players running around on the pitch. "Take a seat, Malfoy," he ordered, practically barking.

He kicked a water bottle, sending it flying towards the stands before he sat down with a huff. He glared at his other teammates who looked like they might have something to say to him and crossed his arms over his chest. He hoped they fucking lose — just more proof of Potter's atrocious managing.

"You needed to come out, Malfoy," Hermione Granger's voice spoke up from a bit further down the bench. "Anyone with eyes could see things were getting out of control. Better to take you out now, before you do something really stupid and you end up with a red card."

"What do you know about red cards anyway, Granger?" he sneered, not wanting to admit that she was right. Boot stared at him, giving him a smirk as he ran around on his perfectly healthy ankles (now).

"I know enough to know that you are acting like a real jerk," she said, not backing down. "All of us have been really accommodating to you, Malfoy. Maybe it's time to acknowledge that you are the one with the problem."

Chastised, Draco snapped his mouth shut before he said something really awful to her, knowing that she was right. Boot had gotten in his head.

When the Rumbling Bridge Bluebells equalized in the ninetieth minute, Draco no longer wished that they would win. In fact, he was feeling pretty disappointed that he had contributed to the draw, instead of helping his team pull out a win.

6 — Pride of Portree - 10 - 3 - 3 - 3 - 10 - 11 - -1 - 12 pts

7 — Montrose Magpies FC - 10 - 3 - 2 - 5 - 15 - 15 - 0 - 11 pts

8 — Rumford Hearts - 10 - 1 - 4 - 5 - 4 - 13 - -9 - 7 pts

Hermione was half tempted to ignore Malfoy's most recent SOS text that he sent her. It was after a particularly brutal practice (Harry had told her that he would be running them hard after their last draw against the Bells) and she wouldn't put it past him to be asking for something stupid like a back massage or for to rub his feet.

Barf.

She'd been his liaison for almost two months now, but he was doing absolutely everything that he could to make her life miserable — pushing the envelope of what he could get her to do because he knew that Harry needed this loan transfer to work. He treated her like he was her personal assistant, which she supposed had a certain grain of truth. But every other footballer that she'd worked with had only needed her assistance with a few things and then they were good! And no one had needed her to put away their bloody laundry except Malfoy.

She did get a little bit of joy out of messing with him, too, though. God, she still laughed when she thought of his distressed look when she vanished his orange juice (probably organic, hand squeezed by orphans and fucking delicious). She thought about how it might mess with his carefully calculated macros and if he'd ever realize that these little things that popped up always seemed to happen around her.

Well, that was one thing that couldn't happen. No one should know that she was a witch. Well, Harry knew, but that was only because his mum, Lily, was a witch, too, even though he hadn't inherited any of her magic, on account of Lily marrying a mortal.

But, Hermione did like imagining how freaked out Malfoy would probably be if he did discover her secret.

So, that was probably the only reason that she gave his SOS message another look, after the last time he'd abused it. Her phone dinged again and another message came through.

You need to drop everything and get here right away.

And bring a bottle of Scotch.

Nothing younger than 15 years. Maybe a Macallan. Or a Lagavulin.

A Talisker 18. You can handle that right? I mean, it's Scotland, isn't it?

Fuck, just get whatever, but get over here.

Hermione dropped her head back and sighed, but her mind was already up. She supposed that she did want to see what he was crashing out over, even if it meant stopping at the store to find him a Balvenie 21, which was always a favorite of hers and if she was going to get it for him, she was sure as hell going to try to get a dram of it herself.

She let herself into his building, having made a duplicate of his keys to avoid him not buzzing her in as was his custom. When she got to his door, she knocked and was surprised when he swung the door open not a second later.

"Here," she said, pressing the paper bag into his hand. "Now what is the emergency?"

He waved over at the paper that was spread open at his kitchen island. "Take a look for yourself," he ordered, pulling out the bottle from its protective canister without even bothering to look at the label.

Hermione was surprised to see that it was open to the entertainment section rather than the sports, as she was sure that was all that he read. "Listen, Malfoy, this is the paper you told me to get you," she hedged, unsure of what he was upset about, even as she looked over the grainy photographs. "We can cancel the subscription if you don't like it."

"It's not that," he said, pointing at a picture of a pretty woman with tousled brown hair, on the beach with a good looking bloke.

"Astoria Greengrass?" Hermione read the caption, still not really understanding what the issue was.

"She's my ex-girlfriend," he revealed, his voice sounding more like a whine. "And, look at her. She's all over him! We've only been broken up for a few weeks now! And... and him?"

Hermione winced, putting two and two together. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. That is rough," she said, with a frown. "She didn't want to come here with you?"

Malfoy scoffed. "No. And it's becoming abundantly clear that she was only interested in the lifestyle to begin with," he explained, blowing his hair out of his face. "It's... it's a betrayal that I didn't know she was capable of."

"I mean this very gently, but if you are broken up, how could it be a betrayal?" she wondered, unable to wrap her mind around it. She understood that the breakup hadn't really been Malfoy's idea, but that didn't mean that Astoria wasn't ready to move on.

"Because that is Theo Nott!" Malfoy said, looking at her expectantly. "He was my teammate and I suppose he was my best friend for years. Not exactly sure if I still would say that now. He didn't even bother to text me."

"Oh," Hermione said, sitting down at the breakfast bar. Malfoy hadn't offered her any of the Scotch, but she wasn't going to wait on him to do so. She grabbed her own glass and poured herself a finger. "Well, that doesn't exactly sound like best friend behavior, Malfoy."

"I guess I just thought... things would be different with me gone," he said, sounding absolutely glum. "But, now I'm gone and life has moved on like nothing has changed. Have they really all forgotten me so easily?"

Hermione wasn't entirely sure what to say about that. Drunk wallowing wasn't exactly her forte and she'd never been great at knowing what to say. She still remembered how mad Ron's girlfriend Lavender had got when Hermione had said the wrong thing about her pet rabbit dying.

"People can be selfish," Hermione said, after a few beats and a swig of Scotch. "But, the best revenge is living well. Why don't you just show them how well you are getting along here, without them? Like, you haven't even wondered what's going on in Italy for a second?"

"Oh who would believe that, Granger?" he demanded with a snarl. "This sad little backwater with its sad little football club. Potter is going to run this club into the ground and my reputation will go down with it! Is he allergic to winning? Is that it?"

"That's not very nice, Malfoy. Harry has given you a great opportunity," she argued.

"Opportunity? Don't make me laugh," he said, with a condescending look. "This club is so far beneath me. I'm better than all of this!"

Hermione could feel her nostrils flaring and knew that she had to leave before she did something stupid. "If that's how you are going to be, then I am going to leave you to your miserable self," she said, smartly. "Enjoy your bloody Scotch. Don't text me for something this stupid again."

"Granger, wait!" he called after her retreating form.

But she wasn't going to sit around and listen to how horrible her home and football club was. She slammed the door behind her, before retreating to her own flat.

The last game of the month was against Banchory — their first game against them this season. Ever since he'd learned about Theo and Astoria, Draco had been in a funk that even football couldn't cure. Despite being certain that he was the best player on the pitch, he felt like he had two left feet the whole time that he was running.

He missed two shots in the first half, which was not the impression that he wanted to make, seeing as Banchory were in the top half of the table and Montrose was still in the bottom half. They were tied with one goal a piece at half time and he was desperate to get another win under the belts, even if he wasn't the one to score the goal.

Draco spent most of the second half in Banchory's half of the pitch, trying to make some sort of a play happen, only to be rebuffed again and again. And, when Banchory did manage to get on the counter attack, he watched in horror as Flint spent his time barking orders at the center backs, while Oliver Wood did the same.

He could concede that the Weasley twins had two good minds between them, but having two senior players give conflicting orders was more than they could handle reasonably. Draco watched in horror as the two twins got out of sync, each one listening to a different captain. He couldn't even watch when Banchory's striker got a shot off, so the only way that he knew it had gone wide was the sharp pinging sound of the ball going off the post.

Somehow, that close call had been enough to get their arses in gear. Flint was a man possessed in the midfield and before long, he had found the net to put Montrose up 2-1, a lead that Draco was absolutely positive they were going to blow until the final whistle.

But they didn't. They held on and all the lads were absolutely buzzing with the hard fought win. Draco couldn't get out of his own head long enough to enjoy it. He had a chip on his shoulder about not contributing to a single goal in the game, even though he had tried. Maybe he wasn't actually good enough for Montrose either.

Ever the perceptive, Potter clocked his foul mood immediately and pulled him aside as the rest of the team was pouring into the dressing room, discussions of celebrations the only thing on their mind.

"This can't go on, Draco," Potter said, looking suitably concerned. It was enough to put Draco's hackles up, being called Draco, like he was on a first name basis with the gaffer. "You need to find a way to make things work here. I'm getting worried."

"So I had a down game. I think you will recall that I am working, when you don't pull me from games prematurely," he answered.

"I don't even mean about the football. Hermione told me that you spend most of your free time at your flat watching Italian television and reading Italian newspapers," Potter revealed, which only made Draco feel like absolute shite. So she'd been reporting on him, had she? "You need to be around people. You can't keep going through this year isolating yourself from everyone. It's untenable."

Draco couldn't help but sneer at the clueless Potter. "No, you know what's untenable? Having two captains on the pitch at one point because you can't risk hurting the feelings of the other. It's going to cost you games because the rest of the players have no fucking clue who to listen to," he seethed, thinking of how quickly the game could have gone the other way. "Maybe you need to learn how to manage a football team, rather than trying to make sure that all your players are your friends, Potter."

He had a snap of momentary glee when he saw Potter's face crumble and fall. But, it quickly twisted into something sour and he knew that he needed to get away from Potter and away from the stadium and back to his own flat — to his own reminder of how much his life had crumbled underneath him in just a few short weeks.

5 — Wigtown Wanderers - 11 - 4 - 4 - 3 - 18 - 20 - -2 - 16 pts

6 — Montrose Magpies FC - 11 - 4 - 2 - 5 - 17 - 16 - 1 - 14 pts

7 — Pride of Portree - 11 - 3 - 3 - 4 - 12 - 15 - -3 - 12 pts

Chapter Text

By the time that November rolled around, it had grown to be quite cold, even for Hermione's tastes. It was always about this time that she dreamed about sneaking away for some kind of brilliant beach holiday in the sun. With all the extras going on this season, at the very least, she would get that holiday. There was a two week break in January and she knew Harry had decided to use this time well and signed them up for some sort of friendly tournament that would take place in Spain and she would be going along.

And she was intent on getting that promised spa package.

Even with the cold, she couldn't be kept away from the football pitch on the sunny Saturday afternoons when the Mags played. She had a good coat to keep her warm and if she ever got too cold, she always had her magic to put a warming charm over her.

Once she'd tried to do the same to Harry, seeing his cold breath in the air, but it had startled him so much that he made her promise never to do it again. Besides, he'd explained, he paced enough up and down the touchline to keep himself warm.

She was usually roped into sitting with the rest of the team, down on the far end of the benches, with Sirius to keep her company. And he was good company, offering her little nips of too expensive Scotch from his little beat up flask, the one that he had picked up on a night out in Czechoslovakia with James ("it was before the fall, Hermione, it was definitely still called Czechoslovakia").

Even though she said she didn't like football, she knew that there was nowhere else she would rather be than supporting Harry, her best friend for over a decade now. And, hell, even some of the players had rubbed off on her a little bit, how could they not? She wanted to see them — see Harry — win for once. They all tried so hard and had the talent they just needed... something. She wasn't entirely sure what that was though.

This afternoon, Montrose was up against Beeswing again. They had already played them in August and lost 2-1, but Hermione could just sense that today was going to go well. If they beat them, they'd even be level on them with points! And, she was sure they could win, if only Draco bloody Malfoy could get his act together.

He'd ordered some new boots, but hadn't bothered to break them in before wearing them in a game and it was really coming to bite him in the arse. They had garish pink laces that could not stop coming undone. Already, his boot had flown off of his foot when he took a shot on goal, and he'd had to stop to tie them twice. When she saw him kneeling down again to fix the laces, she couldn't help herself anymore.

"Motherfucking Malfoy," she hissed under her breath, before rolling her eyes and giving her nose a little twitch. With satisfaction, she knew that those laces were not going to come untied again. Meanly, she almost hoped that he wouldn't be able to get them off at the end of the day!

Sirius barked out a laugh at her outburst. "How's it going with him anyway?" he asked, putting an affectionate arm around her shoulders.

"He's a complete pain in the arse," she said, with a frown, before remembering how upset he'd been just the week prior when he found out his ex-girlfriend had moved on with his (former?) best friend. "But... I am starting to feel a little bit bad for him. I don't think that he's having an easy time adjusting to living here."

"Well, I am sure that you are doing everything you can to help him," Sirius said, wanting to reassure you. "You always do a fabulous job."

"Yeah, I've done everything that he's asked," she said, breathing into her cold hands. "He isn't really making the effort to settle in, though. He mostly wants everything like it was a Sepreverde."

Sirius made a little noise in the back of his throat, momentarily distracted by the play on the pitch. Fred had won a clever challenge from Beeswing's left winger and slotted it across to Pucey, who'd gone on a tear up the side of the pitch. Hermione held her breath as he caught sight of Malfoy, who was in open space. A sharp pass across the middle and Draco found the back of the net.

She stood up and let out a whoop, pleased that they had scored finally. Sirius stood beside her, wrapping her up in a tight hug as they celebrated together. When the excitement was over, they sat back down on the bench together, each taking a pull from Sirius's flask. "Cheers," she said, brightly.

Sirius was quiet for a moment, eyes on the kickoff, before he knocked shoulders with her again. "You know, Malfoy has to want to assimilate here," he said, softly. "It can't be all on you to do the work. So, don't worry about him so much."

"Tell that to Harry," she said, feeling a familiar twist of failure in her belly.

In the blink of an eye, the game was over and they had actually managed to beat Rovers, the score a reversal from August. Hermione was feeling buoyant, watching the guys holler on the way back to the dressing room, before Harry caught her eye. "A word in my office?" he asked.

Hermione followed him dutifully, wondering if Sirius had already managed to sneak in and tell him that she was pushing herself too far with the Malfoy stuff. He was a bit of a busybody. "You wanted to see me, gaffer?" she teased, sitting heavily in the chair across from Harry's desk, ready for a scolding about spreading herself too thin.

Instead, Harry tapped the side of his nose. "I thought that you said you wouldn't use that during a sporting event. That it's cheating," he said.

She bit her lower lip. "I didn't use it to affect the outcome of the game. I used it to keep Malfoy's boots on his fucking feet," she said, annoyed that he was upset about this. It wasn't as if she'd tripped the other team's keeper or untied someone else's laces.

"Still, I'd rather not cross the line," he said, still looking uneasy. For a boy with a witch for a mother, he certainly got twitchy about these kinds of things, but she supposed that Harry had always had a strong opinion about doing things right.

"Fine," she agreed, rolling her eyes. "Next time I'll let him trip and break his ankle so he can be out for the rest of the season."

"Good," Harry said, giving her a nod, her sarcastic reply going right over his head. Or had it? "See you at the pub later?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Hermione said, brightly, before leaving her friend alone so he could join the rest of the team in the dressing room.

3 — Banchory - 12 - 5 - 5 - 3 - 23 - 15 - 8 - 19 pts

4 — Montrose Magpies FC - 12 - 5 - 5 - 3 - 19 - 17 - 2 - 17 pts

5 — Beeswing Rovers - 12 - 4 - 4 - 3 - 9 - 10 - -1 - 17 pts

"Welcome back to another episode of Two for Joy, I'm your host Gaz and today I am joined by Evan from Farnell and James. Doing alright boys?"

"Alright, alright, got to be honest though Gaz, I don't know how to handle all of this winning!"

"Don't complain about it!"

"I'm not complaining, just I was so used to hating going to watch the football on a Saturday and now, it's all I can think about all week. I am absolutely buzzing when I go into the office on Monday."

"And you've got that one Blueball coworker don't you?"

"You should see him, he is really sweating now. They did win the first against them and then we drew the next, but I just know we are going to smash them to bits when we play them again in the new year."

"It has been great climbing up the table, hasn't it? Miraculously, we are in the top half of the table, just ahead of Wanderers thanks to the goal differential."

"It's been what... a few seasons since we were actually making a run for promotion rather than just fighting off relegation, hasn't it?"

"It has and we all know that it's pretty much down to our brilliant new signing of Draco Malfoy. And, I don't really want to talk about it, boys, but does it sort of feel like the wheels could just fall off at any time? Jamie, what do you think?"

"Yeah, you don't really want to chat shite about a player that has completely reinvigorated our offense the way that he has, but everything does feel a little bit precarious at the moment, doesn't it? Like, he is such a nasty little hothead. It feels like he could get a red at any moment."

"And sometimes you want that, you know, a player that will do anything for the shirt. A player that will bleed for the team. But at the same time, it's like... I don't know how we would cope with a match ban. Ev, what do you make of it?"

"I agree with James. Something just feels a bit off. Like, our play is amazing, don't get me wrong, but it does seem a bit like something isn't gelling right."

"Malfoy does have a tendency for some selfish play, doesn't he? Not that I want Higgs back in — Higgs couldn't score even if the ball was gently placed in front of him, let alone do some of the things Malfoy has achieved. But, I do sometimes wonder if we wouldn't have won some of those games we drew if Malfoy had... worked more with his teammates."

"I do sometimes wonder if he doesn't think he's a bit better than the rest of them."

"Of course he does, he was just in Serie A!"

"That's only Italian football though. Not like it's the Prem."

"Okay, Evan, it is still a top European League, though. Like, there is no denying that. He's played at the top levels. And, as much as I love Montrose, we are not in the top level."

"And what was up with Malfoy's boots in the last game? He could barely keep them on his feet."

"Yeah, there is something odd going on, that's for sure."

Montrose was due to play Angus FC and Draco woke up wanting that win more than anything in a long time. Angus was currently a comfortable first in the league, leaving all the other teams in the dust. Hell, they hadn't even had a single loss all season. The first time Montrose had played Angus (back in August, before Draco arrived), they had won 3-1.

Draco wanted that win. He needed to hand Angus their first loss of the season.

To his surprise, the urge only got more intense when he saw Angus's keeper — some brawny fucker with dirty blond hair called McLaggen — trying to chat up Granger on the side line, doing all sorts of stretches and kicks to draw her attention. His dazzling white smile almost hurt to look at when he laughed at something she said back to him.

What the fuck was McLaggen thinking, trying to chat up Granger? She was his player liaison, after all.

He remembered Hermione's repeated insistence that she had a life outside of keeping him happy and wondered if this was what she meant? Did she like getting bent over by some smarmy git like Cormac McLaggen?

Seeing her march back to the team benches, towards a laughing Sirius Black, he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. She was probably getting it from Black if she was getting it from anyone, he reminded himself darkly. He was positive that the only reason she was even working at the club was because she was the owner's girlfriend.

He was still going to wipe the smirk off McLaggen's face, though.

Draco was feeling completely focused once the game was underway, all the cheers from the crowd fading away into nothing, until all he could hear were the steady breaths he took as he ran up and down the pitch. For once, Wood was remaining in the box and focussing on keeping the ball out, rather than trying to bark orders at the back line.

Marcus reigned near the center, effortlessly cutting the ball through the opposition with Pucey and Diggory. They had some good chances from the start, including a curling free kick from Davies that would have gone in if McLaggen hadn't gotten a finger on it.

That didn't mean that Angus weren't formidable opponents. Every time that they slipped up, Angus was there to scoop up the ball on the counter attack. They had their chances, too. Their forward is quick — almost as quick as Draco — and he's found his way past both Weasley twins more than a few times. But so far, things are pretty evenly matched.

But, Draco watched the game film from the last time Angus played Montrose more than once. He had taken a fucking magnifying glass to their defense and tried to figure out ways to break it apart, whatever it took. He knew that their left center back had a weak left ankle and it didn't take that big of a feint to trick him. Draco could practically taste the back of the net when he watched O'Flaherty go down. All that was left between him and victory was McLaggen and his stupid smirk.

Only, out of nowhere, hot, lancing pain shot up his leg and the ground came up to meet him. He was laid out flat on his back, the breath stolen from his belly. He blinked up at the crisp blue sky, wondering what the fuck had just happened.

"Malfoy? Mate, are you okay?" It was Davies hovering next to him, looking at his leg.

Draco sat up, wondering what the hell had happened. "I'm fine, nothing broken," he promised, wiggling and flexing his foot. There was a twinge of pain, but he knew he could play on.

"Good," Davies said, visibly relieved. "That prick Rickett tried to take you out."

The outraged yells of the crowd slowly filtered back in and Draco turned his head. He could see big Marcus Flint arguing with Rickett and his team captain, the ref stuck in the middle. Finally, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a red card, whistling for a penalty.

Draco knew that it was his turn. He hopped up onto his feet, which only made the Angus team jeer harder that maybe he'd just been diving after all. "I want it," he said firmly to Flint, taking the ball away from him.

"Are you sure? You were just laid out flat. We wouldn't think any less of you," Flint said, sounding surprisingly sincere.

"I'm sure," Draco confirmed. There was no fucking way that he was going to let anyone else take the penalty that he had won by getting clattered to the ground.

He took a deep breath and stared down McLaggen, who was jumping side to side, waving his arms wide, doing anything he could to try and rattle him. But, full fucking offense to McLaggen, he'd played in Serie A. He'd seen absolutely every kind of shithousery that a Keeper could attempt and there was nothing he could do that was going to stop Draco from scoring. He could feel it in his bones.

Another deep breath in. A short run up. One dribble and then he was striking the ball low and to the left, until it found the back of the net.

Draco cheered wildly, running along the side of the pitch so he could celebrate with the fans that had come out. One by one, he felt the excited hugs as his teammates came to join him, Flint even picking him up and carrying him a few feet. The feeling was unreal. He didn't think he would ever get tired of scoring goals.

He was floating on air the rest of the game, though he could feel that little niggle in his ankle from where Rickett's cleats had found him. By the time the final whistle went, cementing their 1-0 win, Draco didn't even notice it.

And when they were walking back into the dressing room, Flint wrapped his arm around Draco's shoulders. "Malfoy —drinks tonight?" he asked. "We usually go to the Thistledown on High Street."

A refusal was already on his lips, but there was something about the way that Marcus Flint had gone to bat for him that gave him pause. Something in the way that the team had celebrated with him. He didn't think he was going to be able to find friendships like he had at Serpeverde at Montrose. It wouldn't be Theo or Blaise. But, maybe he didn't want those kinds of friendships anymore. Really, how good could they have been? Blaise hadn't texted him in weeks and Theo... well.

Maybe he could be a part of something here at Montrose if he just let himself... open up a bit.

"Yeah, alright," he found himself agreeing, hoping that Potter wasn't going to be too insufferable about it.

3 — Banchory - 13 - 5 - 6 - 3 - 25 - 17 - 8 - 20 pts

4 — Montrose Magpies FC - 13 - 6 - 2 - 5 - 20 - 17 - 3 - 20 pts

5 — Beeswing Rovers - 13 - 4 - 5 - 3 - 9 - 10 - -1 - 18 pts

He tried to talk himself out of going to the Thistledown, both in the dressing room and when he got himself ready back at his flat. He cursed himself for not having a single beer in the fridge — no, he was too health conscious for that — so he settled for a measure of Scotch to calm his nerves while he changed into an outfit he hadn't worn since he left Italy.

Draco hoped he didn't look like a total arsehole in his trousers and fitted button down shirt. He thought he looked good, brushing back his white-blond hair in the mirror, but he was aware that he had no idea what the fashion was in Montrose fucking Scotland.

The whole walk over he wished that he drank more, anything to ease the awkwardness of his arrival. But once he walked in through the front door of the Thistledown, all his worries were pushed from his mind.

Peregrine Derrick pressed a pint into his hand and Pucey had an arm around him and they guided Draco to one of the tables where the rest of the midfielders were sitting. Marcus looked genuinely pleased to see him out and commanded that he immediately chug the pint in his hand so that Marcus could take his measure.

Draco snorted, but he complied. It wasn't the first beer he chugged and he wasn't new to this kind of male friendship. And, he was happy for the alcohol, to loosen him up a little more. When he was done, he pushed his empty glass into the middle of the table with the rest.

"Aw, I really don't think she's going to come over here," Marcus said with a frown, making moon eyes at the barmaid. "Oi, Bell! Don't come round the bar, then, I'll bring them to you!"

Flint stood from the table and rounded up as many pint glasses as he could fit in his massive paws and trundled off towards the bar to buy another round.

"She's never going to give him the time of day," Peregrine said with a laugh, making the foam on the top of his beer slosh around.

"He's been after her for months," Adrian supplied, helping to explain. "I think he's better off trying to make her jealous with someone else."

"Maybe Hermione would do it," Graham Montague — the formidable left back mused.

Draco snorted. Peregrine had found another beer for him because it didn't seem like Marcus was coming back anytime soon. His hair flopped down onto his forehead. He sighed and ran his fingers through it, pushing it back.

"Hmm, I don't know. I think she is friendly with Katie," Adrian said.

Draco heard Hermione's laugh then. He looked across to the next table and found her with one of the Weasley twins — Fred, he thought — around her shoulders, laughing at something Oliver had said. Potter sat at their table as well, a bright smile on his face.

"Still, I think she could be game," Graham said, scratching his chin.

Unable to stop himself, Draco made another noise of derision. "Well, it's not like she has much better to do," he said meanly.

Pucey leaned back and looked at him. "I don't know, mate, it sounds like you keep her pretty busy yourself," he said, sounding amused. "Can't believe you made her pick up your laundry."

"Potter said she would help me settle in," he insisted, feeling his cheeks growing hot under the scrutiny. "I didn't know where the best dry cleaner was."

"Yeah, but, I think you've liked having her at your beck and call," Peregrine said with a dark grin.

Draco's hair flopped into his eyes again. He pushed it out of the way and stared at the woman in question. She was hanging on to the other Weasley's every word now. He shrugged his shoulders, feeling somewhat defensive. "So? It's not like she has anything better to do," he said, annoyed.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Pucey demanded.

"I just mean what is her purpose at the club? Player liaison, really?" he asked, amused. "I can read between the lines. I can tell she is close with Black. And Potter. If she wasn't, there isn't a chance in hell that she would have this job."

"If you can read between the lines, then maybe you should think twice about talking poorly about her," Adrian continued.

Goddamnit, his hair was on his forehead again. He pushed it out of the way. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"It means don't talk poorly about Hermione, especially not in front of Marcus," Adrian said, his gaze shifting to the Captain at the bar. "He is pretty much best friends with her, since she helped sort out his divorce last year."

Draco's eyes nearly popped out of his head! Was there anyone on this whole fucking team that wasn't under her spell. He looked at her again and saw her laughing, her nose doing that little twitch it sometimes did. He looked into his pint and his hair fell again.

"Listen, I like you, Malfoy," Pucey said, clapping his hand on his back. "But I like keeping my captain happy more. So, don't talk about Hermione with us like that, okay?"

"Jeez, okay," he said, finally holding his hands up in surrender. "I got the message."

Marcus rejoined the table, carrying a round of pints. "How'd it go, mate?" Peregrine asked, even though he already knew.

"Eh, next time," Marcus answered, giving the barmaid a lingering look. "What were you guys talking about then?"

"Just talking about the look on McLaggen's face when he missed Draco's goal today," Adrian said. "He got burned so hard."

Marcus laughed and knocked his glass against Draco's. "Well I can say cheers to that!" he said brightly. "I'm glad we have you on our side, mate."

And for the first time since he came to Scotland, Draco thought that he might be glad to be on Montrose's side, too.

Chapter Text

The League that Montrose was in had half the number of teams in it that Serie A had. Draco was still getting used to the idea of playing every team an ungodly four times over the course of the season. In some ways, it almost felt like they were in some sort of bizarre Groundhog's Day scenario, where they kept meeting the same foes again and again.

There were some, like their geographic rivals, Angus FC, who he was keen to play four times a season. He wanted to pound them into the dirt again and again, so it was clear that Montrose was the better team and that McLaggen had no chance against a striker like Draco Malfoy.

Then, there were others, like Rumford Hearts that he couldn't care less about playing again and again and again. Well, at least this was his first time going up against Hearts. Last time that they played Hearts, he'd been forced to watch from the bench as Higgs and the rest of the Magpies suffered a disappointing draw against one of the worst teams in the league.

Draco stepped out on the pitch feeling about ten feet tall, knowing that they were going to come away with the win against these pink-shirted pricks if he had anything to do about it.

Pucey was in rare form in the midfield that day. He always seemed to find Draco in space and by half time, he already had two goals under his belt. Diggory scored immediately after the start of the second half, but Draco still wanted that hat trick. He could practically taste it.

Something had changed since he'd gone out to the bar with the rest of the guys, because he sort of got the sense that everyone else wanted him to do well, too. His teammates were working with him — completely unselfish — to net that third goal. Hell, Diggory had a clear chance at a goal around the '80, but he passed it across the box to Draco's feet.

Only for Draco to kick it right over the crossbar of the net.

No, his hat trick finally came in the last gasps of the game, after they caught a chance at a corner kick. Draco didn't usually score too many goals off of a corner. He wasn't exactly the tallest bloke on the team, and usually it was those giant center backs that got their heads on the ball first. But this time, he could just tell from the angle that the ball was his. Pushing against the Hearts' player that was defending him, Draco leaped up effortlessly and felt the ball connect with his head.

The roar of the crowd was exhilarating when he realized that they had won, handing the defensive minded Hearts their worst loss of the season. And, he was the one that had put them down three additional goals.

Above everyone else, he could hear Granger cheering from the sideline. With a smirk on his face, he turned to look at her, only to see that she was wrapped up tight in a hug by none other than Sirius Black, who was spinning her round and round. What on Earth could she possibly see in him, he wondered?

Granger was — alright, he could admit that she was good looking. She wasn't his usual type, but there was no denying that she was very fit and she could even be beautiful (like when her cheeks went pink because she was annoyed with him). And, sure Black was attractive, too. But he was so much older than her. Was she really so easily swayed by money? He supposed that Black must be rich, rich. He did own a football club, after all. Maybe that was the leg up that he had?

Shaking his head, he was determined not to even think about Hermione now that he knew what high regard everyone held her in. There was no point in making an enemy of everyone at this damned club.

He barely registered the rest of the celebration, so he was taken aback when a wiry sort of lad ran up to him, a big toothy smile on his face. "Malfoy, that was brilliant," he said, rocking back on his heels. "Your second goal was so inspiring."

"Err — thanks," Draco said, trying to remember just who this was. He was wearing a full kit, but still had his warm ups on. He was pretty sure the young player was one of the players that Potter had brought on for 'development' though Montrose wasn't really a big enough club to have a development side. Still, Potter was insistent that this... Creevy! — that was it, Creevy — had what it took to be a first rate player. "Creevy, right?"

"You can call me Colin," he said, looking pointedly at Draco.

If he was waiting for Draco to suggest they be on a first name basis, he was going to be waiting a long time. There was no way that he was going to return the suggestion. "Right," he said.

"I sure wish I knew how to score a goal like that," Colin added, looking at Draco even more expectantly than before.

Draco couldn't help but smirk. "I'm sure that you do," he said, his smirk bordering on a sneer at this point. Draco's second goal had been a real thing of beauty — the sort of goal that you practiced again and again in training but never actually thought you would have the potential to score in real life. It was the sort of goal where everything had to come together perfectly.

"Maybe on Monday —"

The blond striker cut him off with a pat on his shoulder. "Listen, Colin, I've really got to hit the dressing room," he said, not wanting to be in this conversation any longer. "Good chat."

He didn't turn around to see the dejected sort of slump on Colin's shoulders as he walked away.

"You know what it is — welcome back to another episode of Two for Joy. I am your host, Evan from Farnell. Gazza is out today. He's absolutely fucked his voice after the weekend. I'm joined by Nigel and whoa, special guest here, Dr. Jekyll himself, Vincent Hyde."

"Whoa, whoa, no government names, mate."

"Sorry about that Vin, how are you?"

"I am walking around like — well, I've just got to be honest, mate. I'm the big dog."

"It does feel pretty invincible right now, to be supporting a club that is just smashing in teams left and right, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it's been great. I mean, it feels like we really deserve it. We've seen flashes of brilliance now for a few seasons, but things just never seemed to be going our way and now it feels like everything is just coming up Montrose."

"And a lot of that is down to our Draco Malfoy, who is of course, on loan."

"'Nother hat trick at the weekend."

"Alight. Just a cheeky little hat trick!"

"I don't think you'll hear any argument from me that Malfoy isn't helping immensely, but I've got to be honest with you boys, I am starting to get that feeling in the pit of my stomach that this can't last forever. Like, sooner or later our bad luck, as you said, Vin, has to come back."

"I won't go that far. There is no reason why we can't keep this up for the rest of the season. I mean, Malfoy really makes it look so fucking easy. I wonder if he's even breaking a sweat out there sometimes."

"Even so, if everything goes well and we get promoted to the Championship, Malfoy's loan is only for the season, so presumably, in May or June or whenever, he'll be gone. And then, what? We just flounder in the Championship and end right back up where we were before?"

"It would be tough to function right now if we just removed him from our starting eleven, you'll hear no argument from me there. But, presumably, Potter is looking for ways right now to kind of shore up the gap that will be left by Malfoy. I mean, say what you want about the guy, but it's not like he doesn't have a strategy."

"I just worry about the execution of the strategy. How much of the wage budget is Malfoy eating up?"

"He is expensive, but he seems to be worth every pound at the minute. I guess we just have to hope that this gamble pays off for us in the long run, even when Malfoy fucks off at the end of the season."

"And if they can't find anyone, I am sure James could just step in."

"What are you on about?"

"Didn't you listen to the last episode? James reckons he could score ten goals easily on this team, with Pucey and Diggory behind him. He doesn't think Malfoy's job is all that hard."

"Oh what a load of utter bollocks! I just about want to call him right now. He's delusional."

Riding on the team bus was different now that Draco had crossed the invisible threshold of friendship with his teammates. Before, everyone had given him a pretty wide berth, but now it was like there was nothing holding back.

Colin Creavy had been assigned to help clean his boots, Draco learned. He approached Potter about it and his former rival looked at him with a sheepish sort of look. "Yeah, we do that, here. Gives the younger guys a sense of responsibility and well..." he trailed off. "Hopefully it gives you a chance to be a mentor of sorts."

Draco didn't want to be a mentor to Colin, but it seemed there was no shaking the younger player now. Creavy was on top of things. Draco was getting used to rejecting the boy's puppy dog eyes when he asked him to show some sort of technique or another. He deflected compliments on his in game play. But, his boots had never looked so good.

He even joked about it with Granger, suggesting that he might not even need her anymore. To his disappointment (not that he'd admit it was disappointment), she had not been heartbroken at the suggestion. Instead, she smiled brightly. "I'm glad you are feeling more at home, Draco."

It was not hard to realize that Adrian Pucey had decided to take him under his wing. Adrian was only a bit older than Draco and he played in the midfield, but they linked up together a lot in games, making an excellent goal scoring pairing when everything was working together. Now, Adrian was taking that role off the pitch and into their personal lives too.

He was quick to save a seat for Draco next to him on the bus, asked about his former friends at Serpeverde before realizing it was a difficult topic, and helped him seamlessly navigate the various social structures of the Club they both played for. The team almost had two factions, though they got along together well. Oliver Wood, the Weasley Twins, Dean Thomas, Diggory, Smith and Davies got along well. Marcus Flint, Adrian, Montague, Derrick and Higgs were tight, too (though things were now awkward with Higgs).

Draco was a more natural fit in this second clique of players, who typically posted up at the back of the bus.

Adrian was in his ear, effortlessly adding context when the other guys ribbed each other about different topics — Marcus's obsession with Katie Bell the barmaid, Graham's sexual misadventures, Derrick's slimmer physique, etc.

Adrian was learning different things about Draco, too. He was a good friend, but being a friend meant that he could be teased, too. They all mocked him for having Hermione help with his laundry. He didn't think that he was ever going to live that down.

And, of course, Adrian had seen when Draco's eyes found their way to the front of the team bus, where Hermione sat beside Harry Potter, talking animatedly about this or that. "Has anyone caught your eye lately?" Adrian asked, though he was staring at Hermione's curly head, too.

Draco knew that his cheeks were pink. He wasn't interested in Hermione Granger! He found her annoying. And, well, he liked annoying her back. Sure, she was pretty enough, fresh faced and pink, plump lips, but he didn't think of her that way. Besides, even if he was interested, it wasn't as if she was available. He was pretty sure swooping in and taking the Chairman's girl would mean the death of his career.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he said, fiercely denying the accusation.

Adrian didn't respond, but the look on his face told Draco all he needed to know.

Just a few weeks ago, going up against Eastrigg Rangers would have seemed a difficult task. That was when Montrose was still performing in the bottom of the table, not at all like their recent turn of form. Still, Hermione didn't have any illusions that this game would be easy. Sure, they might have three times as many losses as wins, but they were hungry for a victory, same as Montrose had always been.

Especially at their home grounds.

The team spilled out of the coach and into the dressing room and Hermione found herself towards the away benches, wanting to leave the guys to their own devices. No need to make things awkward by having a woman in the place where they got changed.

She was surprised to receive a message on her phone from Draco of all people, telling her that he needed her to come in immediately. Sighing deeply, she walked in, holding her hand over her eyes to avert her gaze while shouting about her presence (which got a raucous cheer from Fred, who sometimes tried it on with her as a joke and to make Ronald upset).

"What is it?" she demanded once she found Draco with a rather panicked sort of look on his face.

"I can't find my socks," he told her.

"What do you mean?"

"I can't find them. They aren't in my bag," he said, eyes wide. "I can't play without socks, Granger. I need you to sort this out before kick off."

"I mean that you didn't pack them," she accused, eyes narrowed at him.

"I—I might have assumed that Creavy was going to take care of it," he admitted, bouncing from foot to foot.

"Why would you assume that? He's not the kit man!" she said, wondering how he'd possibly made it so far in life when he was this helpless.

"He takes care of my boots," Malfoy said, shrugging his shoulders. He ran his fingers through his white-blond hair. "I suppose the alternative is that I just don't play and Potter plays Higgs instead."

"No!" Hermione said in a rush. She did want to win and she wasn't blind... their chances were much better with Draco up front. "Just give me a minute to figure this out."

The witch stormed away from him, grabbing Harry on her way out. "Just wondering, does your no magic in sport rule apply when your star striker has forgotten his socks?" she asked, waiting for his answer. She didn't fancy trying to find football socks at the shops in town if she didn't have to.

Harry winced at the absolute stupidity of Draco Malfoy, truly exasperated. "Do what you have to do," he agreed, giving her his stamp of approval.

With that handled, Hermione slipped back onto the team bus, happy to see that the driver had fucked off at some point. It would make this much less awkward. Hermione slumped into one of the seats, before pulling off her boots and socks. A quick wiggle of her nose back and forth had transformed her socks into football socks in a familiar charcoal gray of the Montrose Magpies. She put her boots back on and ran back to the dressing room, pleased that she'd made it before the teams were announced.

"Here," she said, pressing the socks into Draco's hands, with a triumphant flourish. "Don't do this again. I was looking forward to you not being so needy."

She could see his cheeks go pink, but he took the offered socks, pulling them over his feet and slipping his shin guards in place. "Yeah, well, if Creavy wasn't so useless," he grumbled.

"Maybe you just need to take some responsibility for yourself?" Hermione suggested. "Colin wants to learn from you, he doesn't actually want to be doing menial little tasks for you. Good luck in your game."

She left the dressing room before he could say anything else to irritate her. She might just be forced to use her magic against him. But, well, she did want Montrose to win. Hermione found her usual seat on the bench just as they started announcing the lineups and sat back to watch.

Rangers played well for themselves, but the Mags were just really starting to gel in a way that warmed her heart. Marcus and Ollie were usually at each other's throats, but ever since Harry had talked to Oliver about how having Marcus as Captain made more sense because he could move freely about the pitch, things had felt much more cooperative. Fred and George could focus on doing their job rather than dealing with competing instructions. In fact, Fred, Montague, Pucey and Malfoy had a really nice set up on the right side of the pitch that was extremely successful. And now, Marcus could focus on both playing the ball forward as well as being a defensive powerhouse. It was nice.

So nice, in fact, that they handled Rangers quite easily. Oliver had another clean sheet and Malfoy and Diggory were celebrated for their pair of goals all the way back to Montrose once the game was over.

His mother was going to visit him — in Montrose. Oh, there had never been anything so preposterous as the idea of Narcissa Malfoy stepping foot in this little Scottish backwater, so different from the home he'd grown up in in Wiltshire. She hadn't visited him once when he was living in Italy, though she always welcomed him when he was visiting the UK.

But, in their brief conversation, he got the idea that she was worried about him.

Only, who wouldn't be worried about him? Sure, he was playing extremely well, but it was no secret that Montrose Magpies FC was beneath him. What good was scoring so many goals if the league that you were playing in was basically one step up from Sunday League?

And now, well, if his mum was going to come all the way to Scotland, he supposed that he would need to find somewhere to take her. Even though he had made more of an effort lately, he still didn't know very much about the city he called (temporary) home. He couldn't very well take his mum to the Thistledown!

His mobile was in his hand before he realized it, pulling up Hermione's contact. He thought about texting her, but at the last minute, he decided to call. She picked up after only two rings.

"Hello?" she asked, sounding a tad bit concerned. "Malfoy, is everything alright."

"Yes, everything is fine," he scoffed, flopping back on his bed.

"Oh, are you just calling to thank me for sorting out your socks, then?" she asked, clearly teasing.

"Err, no," he said. "I mean, yes, thank you for sorting my socks. I have no idea how you managed to find another pair so quickly. It was like you pulled them out of thin air."

He could hear her chuckle on the other side of the line. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"You think I'm pretty, do you?" he asked, his stomach making a weird sort of swoop when he realized that he was flirting with Granger. Ugh, he didn't want to flirt with her... it was just... she was pretty much the only woman he had any contact with here.

"It's a turn of phrase," she answered with a huff. "So, did you call just to chat, or...?"

That's right. They did not have the sort of relationship where he could just call her up and chat about nothing on the phone. "Absolutely not," he insisted. "My mum is going to be visiting me and I was hoping that you could suggest somewhere for me to take her to dinner, maybe make a reservation on my behalf."

"Malfoy — that's not really what I do," she said, haltingly. "Besides, you know your mum way better than I would. Surely you will know the sort of place that she'd like to go."

"Just tell me where Black takes you out on dates," he said, running his hand through his hair. "He seems like the flash sort of bloke that would drop a ton of money just to impress you."

"Malfoy," she said, after a beat of silence.

"What? It's not a big deal. It wasn't hard for me to work out. I mean, how else would you have gotten the job that you have?" he asked, wading into dangerous waters.

"Excuse me? I'll have you know that being a player liaison isn't even my real job!"

"Of course it isn't," he answered. To be honest, he didn't really think it was much of a job to begin with. I mean, how often did Montrose even onboard new players? And how many of them needed help? Flint, surely, but like... it wasn't like it was rocket science to keep a football player happy. Just pay them a generous wage!

Hermione made an irritated noise. "I cannot believe you. Just when I think you are starting to be a decent human being — listen, Sirius and I are not together," she insisted.

Draco felt his heart stop. They weren't together? "What?"

"Yeah, you total arsehole! I didn't take this stupid role because I'm sleeping with the owner. I just do it as a favor for Harry because he's been my best friend since forever!" she hissed back. "And I resent the fact that you think I will just wait on you hand and foot. Sort out your own dinner!"

He wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. It sounded an awful lot like Hermione didn't want to help him anymore. "Does this mean that you won't make the reservation for me?" he found himself asking, his mouth working before his brain could catch up.

Again, she practically screamed in agitation. "Go fuck yourself, Malfoy," she hissed, all venom. And then, she hung up.

Huh, Draco thought to himself. That did not go how he was expecting it to at all. He was almost positive that Hermione and Black were sleeping together, but now he knew that wasn't the truth. Deep down inside of him, he could already feel the nascent stirrings of hope — for what, exactly, he didn't entirely know. It made him feel nervous, the anticipation of something happening. But mostly, he just felt dread. He was more than a little worried that he might have just made things a lot worse for himself. He ran his hand across his jaw, wondering if it would be a net benefit or loss to tell Adrian about how much he fucked up. Because he needed to mend things with Hermione, especially knowing that she wasn't getting it from Sirius Black.

Oh, and he needed to figure out a dinner reservation, too.