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YEAR ONE:
BOWLING
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"Malfoy, stop tossing your balls in the gutter!”
“I can’t help it,” Draco argued. “They’re heavier than a Bludger, and the weight’s too much for my wrist!”
Granger shook her head and put her hands on her waist. “Because you won’t hold them like I showed you. Honestly, how do you expect to make a perfect strike, if you won’t even hold your balls correctly? It’s all in the positioning and the toss, I keep telling you!”
Draco turned his nose up at her. “I’m not holding my balls like that. I refuse. It looks too…girly.”
She threw her hands up in the air. “Honestly, you’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met, Draco Malfoy! Why won’t you listen to reason?”
He poked a finger into her shoulder. "Because you’re not the boss of me. Besides, you’re the biggest cheat I know, Granger. How light are your balls, anyway? Bet they’re half the weight of mine."
“Well, of course they are! My ideal ball weight is eleven.” She held up her ball, and on its side was etched ‘11’ in big gold numbers. “Your ideal ball weight is a fourteen.” She reached out and cupped his ball in her hand, turning it so the black tattooed ‘16’ was facing him. “See the problem?”
He stubbornly shook his head. “Weight isn’t the issue. It’s that pansy foot action you want me to do just before I release that bollockses me up.”
“Where you place your feet is critical to aligning your body properly, so you’ll make a strike every time you release,” she insisted.
Scowling, Draco turned towards the alley. “Just let me do it my way, Granger. You’ll see. I can score just fine without your help, thank you very much.”
He stepped forward, swung his arm back, and let his ball fly.
It bounced twice…before landing in the gutter.
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YEAR TWO:
TENNIS
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"Why are these balls fuzzy?"
Granger, of course, had an answer, even though the question was asked rhetorically.
"The downy fluff surrounding the balls allows for better contact," she informed him.
Draco juggled his neon-yellow balls around in his hands. "Contact by what?"
"By one's racket, of course." She twirled hers around in her palm in demonstration (and to show it off a bit, he was sure, as it was a Head—made of an innovative light-weight material said to allow for 'optimal weight distribution and enhanced power').
Man, he bet the grip she had on that racket was amazing, as the handle was said to be slightly curved for better manoeuverability!
Despondently, he looked down at his own Wilson and sighed. If only he had his family's vast wealth back, he might be able to purchase a better racket – a top of the line model, even! Instead, he was stuck envying Granger's Head.
"Also, the fuzz keeps the ball from travelling too fast and bouncing too high when it's given a good slap," she droned on with the lecture, "and it gives the ball a good spin, too. Plus, it's just more aesthetically pleasing to have fuzz on your balls. Many people prefer the woolly texture over the smooth feel of a bare ball."
"Huh, who'd have guessed?" He turned to her and tossed her one of his balls with a naughty smirk. "You ready for another go?"
Her feral grin matched his. "Ready when you are, you snake! Oh, and Malfoy, this time, no crying 'love' out of turn."
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YEAR THREE:
CRICKET
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"You bent your back when banging it in that time," Granger noted.
Draco shrugged. "At least I didn't attempt a beamer."
He gave her a pointed look that let her know he was on to her. Granger was an unrepentant cheater when she was beaten to the bottom by someone with greater skill.
Apparently, she didn't like to submit, either. "You touched my boundary," she countered. "I had no choice but to take a bite and commit to the bodyline."
He clucked her under the chin. "Face it, luv, in this game you're entirely too enamoured of holding onto the red cherry to give it a good whack when it needs it."
"And you're a ferret who likes the slog, the slash, and the rough a little too much," she accused and turned away.
He smacked her bum with his bat – twice. "And you're in lust with the pull, the popper, and the googly."
She whirled around, indignant. "I am not! How dare you! You take that back this instant, Draco Malfoy!"
He began to taunt her then, ducking out of her range, keeping an arm's distance between them, just in case. "You love a wrong'un, and you know it, Granger," he sing-songed. "Admit to your perversion!"
She chased him around the field for an hour, and they both ignored the summer rain showering them and turning the pitch into a sticky wicket.
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YEAR FOUR:
DARTS
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"See that there – a bag of nuts!" Draco proudly proclaimed.
Granger narrowed her eyes, clearly irritated with him for beating her soundly...again.
"Bah! Any chucker can hit the bed with enough buckshot," she argued. "Beginner's luck."
"Is not."
"Is so."
"Face it, I'm a conquistador of the cork, Granger," he drunkenly bragged, taking another swig off his pint. "The hottest toddy around. The top banana. A regular Robin Hood, my shaft always flies straight and true. Easy-in, baby."
She snorted. "You're full of scud, and you know it. You're all spray and pray."
"I never fail to hit the target, though – you can't argue that," he pointed out, giving her a nasty smirk.
"If you splash enough, you'll hit anything," she threw back at him.
"Care to wager on the next round then, luv? A Champagne breakfast or bust."
Granger seemed intrigued. "Game on, Baz."
He lifted his dart high and let fly.
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YEAR FIVE:
POOL
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Having spent the last two weeks reading up on all there was to know about the Muggle game of pool, Draco took the lead this time.
He purposefully brought his body into intimate contact with Granger's as he showed her how to properly take a shot. "You grab the stick like this." He guided her hands along the wood, back pressed firmly into hers, mouth angled right over the shell of her ear. "Not too firm, not too loose. Feel that?"
She took a shaky breath and nodded. "H-h-how much force should I use...to touch the balls together, I mean?"
"Not much. Give it a natural English kiss with a smooth twist of your wrist."
Her first attempt ended in a reverse English instead. Balls scattered every which way across the table.
Draco patiently directed her movements, assuring their bodies were pressed tightly together in a long, continuous line from spine to heels as he explained the game this time. "You have to own the shaft, Hermione. Let it glide between your fingers, but direct the stroke with a solid hold on the butt."
Her next shot was an abysmal failure as well.
"A scratch!" she cried as her ball was jawed and then pocketed. "I'm terrible at this game!"
Draco chuckled. "You just need to discover, then practice your technique. I'm sure you'll get the hang of it eventually. You always do." He pressed a small kiss to her pulse point. When she didn't resist, he continued to press his mouth and the lightest bit of teeth against her skin. "I have a better idea right now: let's Snooker and call 'free ball'," he suggested.
She melted into his embrace.
"Is this what they call a Blind Draw?" she asked, a little breathlessly as he nibbled on her in all the right ways.
Wanting to ratchet things up a notch, he turned her in his arms, tossing aside her pool stick, and pulled her in close. "Hardly," he replied, nipping at her bottom lip. "This is definitely a case of four-years of successive fouls, power positioning, and cueing up leading to one hell of an opening break."
"A win-win, then," she agreed and gave herself over to the most challenging, but worthwhile game of her life.