Featuring Draco, Harry and a One on One Quidditch match that both are too stubborn to turn down.
Harry is seriously considering drowning himself in his soup.
He sips it wearily - itâs salty and warm and probably would taste better if his nose wasnât completely plugged up. He scowls, wiping his face miserably with the back of his hand.
He feels like hell. His throat burns and his legs ache and he canât go one bloody minute without coughing so hard he feels his lungs tearing. His arms are still bruised from the match against Hufflepuff yesterday, his back aching from the one against Ravenclaw 2 days before and his ribs are killing him from where Draco had knocked him off his broom on Saturday.
Harry stares moodily into his soup and wonders how much it would hurt if he face planted right into it.
âOkay,â Ron says, finally looking up from his plate; it still amazed Harry sometimes how fast his friend could eat. âJesus Christ let it go! Just take this match off alright?â
Harry tunes him out. The entire Gryffindor team had tried some variation of this argument in the last week or so; he had eventually gotten them to stop by flat out ignoring them.
â - And itâs not like we donât have a replacement - Ginny can easily sub in for Seeker and we have Dean as a Chaser if we need to - â
Harry idly pokes at a piece of noodle floating in his soup. He takes another sip, wincing as the liquid burnt his already tender throat.
â - Youâre just going to end up hurting yourself and if you do weâre screwed because we canât make it to finals...Harry?â Ron throws his hands up in exasperation. âFuck - youâre not even listening to me are you?â
âNope,â Harry says cheerfully, or as cheerful as he could get with an achy throat and a plugged nose. âI stopped listening right after âTake this match off,â because weâve had this conversation before and you know that Iâm not doing it.â
Ron swears, low and creatively. He turns to Katie, who immediately flips him off. âUh uh,â she grumbles. âI already tried.â
âFuck you,â Ron says. âHarry, please, you canât even fly right now. How the hell do you expect us to do well?â
âI can fly,â Harry says but even that sounds far fetched to him. He immediately breaks into a coughing fit, making Ron raise his eyebrows and Katie roll her eyes. âJesus Christ Iâm fine - â
Ron throws his hands up and storms off from his seat. Harry eyes his half-empty bowl and once again considers drowning himself.
âYou know - â Katie begins, but Harry cuts her off with a vicious glare. Katie rolls her eyes. âIf it was any one of us youâd threaten to chain us to our beds.â
âGood thing Iâm not one of you then.â
Katie gives up with an audible sigh. Harry stares back down at his soup, presses his fingers into his ankle and tries to hold back a groan. Heâs exhausted and running on empty but he canât give up the match tomorrow. It was Semis, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw and if they didnât win Harry would lose his last chance to win the Quidditch Cup again.
He rubs his ankle harder, trying to will the tension out of his leg.
Ron finally storms back into his seat, a smug look on his face. Harry nearly chokes on his soup. âWhat the fuck did you do - â
Ron grins. âFound the one person who will talk sense into you.â
Harry shakes his head. âOh no.â
He can practically feel Draco behind him, a solid entity of sarcasm and exasperation. He knows that if he turns around Draco would be staring at him, that infuriating smirk on his face and Harryâs not going to do it, heâs not going to look at that bastard -
âRon says youâre being a bullheaded dumbass.â
Harry refuses to turn around. âI say youâre being a thick-headed prick.â
He can practically see the smirk across Dracoâs face and has to grip the bench in order to stop himself from slapping it off. âYouâre too sick to play, Harry. Give it a break.â
Harry finally loses it, whirling around to glare at Draco, with his tousled blond hair and silver eyes and green robes that looked so good on him -
âDrop it for fuckâs sakes. Iâm playing. Youâre not going to change my mind.â
âFine,â he says. âLetâs go. One on one match. If you beat me, you can play. If not, you take tomorrow off.â
Draco shurgs, the corner of his mouth curving up. âWhy not? You claim youâre well enough to play.â
âAll youâll do is lose,â Harry coos back sweetly. Behind him, Ron makes a bunch of retching noises but he ignores him.
Dracoâs grin grows wider. âShouldnât be a problem then.â
Draco winks. âScared, Potter?â
âYou know what? Youâre going to be regretting your words later.â Harry gets to his feet, pausing only to yank his cloak from where it was flung over the back of his chair. Behind him, Ron lets out an indignant splutter.
âWhat the fuck?â he yells. âHow is making Harry play in the rain supposed to help Malfoy?â
Harry leaves Ron to his spluttering and Katie to her sniggering and follows Draco out to the field. Itâs raining, though not enough to be dangerous, and Harry grits his teeth at the sight.
He grunts as he manages to drag his broom out from the shed, swearing under his breath at the chills running over his body and the pain in his side and his arms. With a scowl he bends over to knot the laces of his boots together, shivering against the cold.
âOh,â Draco says, his voice sickly sweet. âYou donât look good Harry. Maybe you should go back inside. Take a break.â
Harry grinds his teeth together, so hard it hurts.âFuck you.â
Draco shrugs elegantly. âSure. Maybe tomorrow, when youâre taking the day off. A fix-it fuck.â
Harry flips him off even as his chest tightens at the words. God, Draco has no right to look as beautiful as he did now, leaning casually against his broom as the sky split around him.
He probably looked like a mess, with his aching throat and bruised legs. Harry glares at the rain and drags himself out, shivering as the water saturated his clothes.
âSo,â he says. âWhat is this? Who can catch the Snitch the fastest? Because in that case, you might as well save both of us the trouble and go back inside.â
Draco grins. Heâs sitting on the ball crate, one leg propped up by his chest, his broom against his lap and Harry has to take a deep breath to stop the roaring in his head.
âI was thinking, Iâm rather tired tonight. Youâre the one whoâs always bragging about your skills. Why donât you chase the Snitch around?â
Harry blinks. âSo what? I catch the Snitch while you jack off down here?â
âNah,â Draco says. âIâm gonna hit balls at you.â
Harry stares at him. âThe fuck?â
Draco shrugs. âItâll be fun. Unless youâd rather admit defeat and go inside?â
âFine,â Harry spits. âYou canât be that good anyways. Youâre a Seeker, not a Beater.â
He doesnât like the grin that splits over Dracoâs face.
âWhy donât you start?â Draco says. âIâll grab the bats.â
Harry flips him off and kicks off from the ground.
Instantly he regrets it. Heâs still sore from the matches, his legs tired and aching, his panting breaths rattling in his chest. Each drop of rain is ice cold against his skin - he wonders dimly if he has a fever, his fingers going numb against the handle.
Fuck you Malfoy, he thinks as he starts a set of blistering circles around the pitch, each turn of the broom sending needles stabbing into his skull. Fuck you and your ego and your beautful, perfect ass -
âHarry!â Harry stops his circling and looks down, trying hard to control his rapid breaths. Dracoâs got the Bludger underneath his arm; Harry wrenches his eyes away from the muscles showing through Dracoâs robes as he held the straining ball down. âIâm letting the Snitch out!â
âWhatever,â Harry tosses back, letting himself slowly drift higher up into the rain clouds. âIâll catch it anyways.â
Draco lets out a long chuckle and then something bright and goldenâs zipping through the air.
Harry immediately chases after it, his fingers numb on the handle of the broom. He grits his teeth against he pounding in his head, the chills wracking his body, focuses on just catching that damn Snitch so he can get inside -
He knows heâs screwed up when he sees Draco.
Even in the heavy gear of a Beater Draco looks dangerous, lean and powerful, all long limbs and calculating looks. Harry sees the bar he carries and swallows hard. Heâs only ever seen Zabini handle that bat, polished metal with a leather grip, and Blaise was a giant. Draco was probably only half his weight and yet he still carried the bag with ease, dangling loose in his hand, the Bludger underneath the other arm.
âWhat the fuck?â Harry yells, hoping his voice would carry across the rain. âWhen did you become a beater?â
âJack of all trades,â Draco yells back, the smirk in his face audible even from so far away. âYou still want to do this? Youâre going to get your ass kicked. You can barely even fly.â
Harry wants to yell back but his throat is too painful. He settles for flipping Draco off. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the Snitch, golden against the greyness of the clouds.
âDraco,â he calls out; Draco lifts his head, twirling the bat around in his hand.
âFuck you,â Harry says, and then heâs diving, arm stretched out, the Snitch so close -
He yells, yanking his hand back and rolling; he actually feels the wind whistling against his ear as he Bludger passes mere inches away from his head. Harry grits his teeth, jerking his broom up; Draco meets his glare with a shit-eating grin. âAre you trying to fucking kill me?â
âOh no,â Draco pouts. âGetting slow Potter? Maybe youâre too sick to play after all.â
Harry grits his teeth. He sees the Snitch fluttering around the goalposts; with a jerk of his broom heâs accelerating, presses close to the wood to be a smaller target. The Bludger comes close again - Harry curses as heâs forced to roll, those precious seconds losing him the Snitch once again.
He steals a look at Draco; the usual grin is gone, replaced by a bone-deep intensity. It sends chills down Harryâs spine - he tightens his grip on the broom and sprints after the Snitch once again.
This time the Bludger actually hits him, jarring his shoulder and making him hiss through his teeth. Harry flexes his fingers tentatively; itâs bruised but not broken and he bares his teeth at Draco, who gives him a wild grin back. Draco thought like he did, like a Seeker, tracking the Snitch through the rain, plotting out Harryâs movements and sending the Bludger to intercept him. It was the sort of skill that could only come from knowing someone so well, from being able to read them with just a glance.
Itâs the most fun Harryâs had in ages.
He spins the broom around, looking Draco straight in the eyes. âTry harder, will you?â
Draco sends the Bludger straight at him; Harry laughs through the burning in his arms, rolling around to the side.
âYou havenât caught anything yet!â Draco yells back, eyes shining even in the darkness. âLooks like Iâm winning!â
âNot for long,â Harry replies. âYouâre about to get your ass kicked.â
âIâd rather get my ass eaten.â
Harry laughs, then drops down as the Bludger whistles over his head. âYouâre so fucked.â
âBold words from the loser.â
Harry grits his teeth, focuses on the Snitch and chases after it.
