Draco had been in the Common Room, but the bustle of lower forms and incessant questions from fifth years about Quidditch try-outs had tried his nerves enough that he wanted to escape. They had gotten him thinking, though - and he couldn't remember the last time he'd been on a broom and enjoyed it. He wondered if he could still enjoy it, or if the creeping and fading sense of deja-vu would haunt him even on the Pitch.
There was only one way to find out.
To be fair, he didn't really notice her until he'd almost passed in front her her on his way across to the far side of the Pitch, and by the time he had - well, he wasn't going to be run off by a Hufflepuff (was that what she was, he couldn't actually place her, so he assumed) after already running himself off from his own house.
"You do realize this isn't a library, don't you?" He snapped, towering over her.