Draco Malfoy was still deeply unconvinced. In fact, after Madam Hooch returned and got the lesson back on track, he was the first to look at Harry.
"Come on, let's have a match." He stood face-to-face with Harry.
Harry rested one foot across his broomstick while the other dangled loosely, looking completely relaxed. He looked at Draco Malfoy, then nodded helplessly. "All right, if you insist."
What Harry had not expected, however, was that Draco Malfoy was actually a fairly good flyer. His boasting had not been entirely empty.
But when Harry left Draco Malfoy behind with a string of sharp turns and bursts of speed, Draco Malfoy's face turned even paler than usual.
It nearly broke him.
Family background, reputation, ability—even his favorite flying broomstick skills had been utterly crushed.
When Madam Hooch announced that class was over, he turned and left in a daze.
Crabbe and Goyle did not catch up with him until they reached the underground passage. Both were panting heavily from the run.
"Draco, what's wrong?" Crabbe asked.
"No, nothing. Stop asking." Draco Malfoy's voice was quiet. He had no desire to say anything at all.
"Pureblood Supremacy," he recited dryly, then entered the Common Room. He found a sofa and dropped stiffly onto it, closing his eyes.
Before long, though, he heard some unusual conversation.
It was Field, the guy Potter had beaten senseless last Friday.
"I've had enough..."
"He has to be taught a lesson..."
Draco Malfoy opened his eyes. At the same time, Field noticed him and looked over.
"Malfoy, we're planning to have some fun with Potter. Interested?"
But the reaction they had expected never came.
He merely shook his head, then stood and returned to the dormitory.
Field frowned. Only after Draco Malfoy's figure disappeared did he turn to Crabbe