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 - it’s salty and warm and probably would taste better if his nose wasn’t 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 can’t 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.
“Okay,” Ron says, finally looking up from his plate; it still amazed Harry sometimes how fast his friend could eat. “Jesus Christ let it go! Just take this match off alright?”
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.
“ - And it’s not like we don’t have a replacement - Ginny can easily sub in for Seeker and we have Dean as a Chaser if we need to - “
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.
“ - You’re just going to end up hurting yourself and if you do we’re screwed because we can’t make it to finals...Harry?” Ron throws his hands up in exasperation. “Fuck - you’re not even listening to me are you?”
“Nope,” Harry says cheerfully, or as cheerful as he could get with an achy throat and a plugged nose. “I stopped listening right after ‘Take this match off,’ because we’ve had this conversation before and you know that I’m not doing it.”
Ron swears, low and creatively. He turns to Katie, who immediately flips him off. “Uh uh,” she grumbles. “I already tried.”
“Fuck you,” Ron says. “Harry, please, you can’t even fly right now. How the hell do you expect us to do well?”
“I can fly,” 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. “Jesus Christ I’m fine - “
Ron throws his hands up and storms off from his seat. Harry eyes his half-empty bowl and once again considers drowning himself.
“You know - “ Katie begins, but Harry cuts her off with a vicious glare. Katie rolls her eyes. “If it was any one of us you’d threaten to chain us to our beds.”
“Good thing I’m not one of you then.”
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. He’s exhausted and running on empty but he can’t give up the match tomorrow. It was Semis, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw and if they didn’t 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. “What the fuck did you do - “
Ron grins. “Found the one person who will talk sense into you.”
Harry shakes his head. “Oh no.”
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 Harry’s not going to do it, he’s not going to look at that bastard -
“Ron says you’re being a bullheaded dumbass.”
Harry refuses to turn around. “I say you’re being a thick-headed prick.”
He can practically see the smirk across Draco’s face and has to grip the bench in order to stop himself from slapping it off. “You’re too sick to play, Harry. Give it a break.”
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 -
“Drop it for fuck’s sakes. I’m playing. You’re not going to change my mind.”
“Fine,” he says. “Let’s go. One on one match. If you beat me, you can play. If not, you take tomorrow off.”
Draco shurgs, the corner of his mouth curving up. “Why not? You claim you’re well enough to play.“
“All you’ll do is lose,” Harry coos back sweetly. Behind him, Ron makes a bunch of retching noises but he ignores him.
Draco’s grin grows wider. “Shouldn’t be a problem then.”
Draco winks. “Scared, Potter?”
“You know what? You’re going to be regretting your words later.” 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.
“What the fuck?” he yells. “How is making Harry play in the rain supposed to help Malfoy?”
Harry leaves Ron to his spluttering and Katie to her sniggering and follows Draco out to the field. It’s 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.
“Oh,” Draco says, his voice sickly sweet. “You don’t look good Harry. Maybe you should go back inside. Take a break.”
Harry grinds his teeth together, so hard it hurts.“Fuck you.”
Draco shrugs elegantly. “Sure. Maybe tomorrow, when you’re taking the day off. A fix-it fuck.”
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.
“So,” he says. “What 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.”
Draco grins. He’s 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.
“I was thinking, I’m rather tired tonight. You’re the one who’s always bragging about your skills. Why don’t you chase the Snitch around?”
Harry blinks. “So what? I catch the Snitch while you jack off down here?”
“Nah,” Draco says. “I’m gonna hit balls at you.”
Harry stares at him. “The fuck?”
Draco shrugs. “It’ll be fun. Unless you’d rather admit defeat and go inside?”
“Fine,” Harry spits. “You can’t be that good anyways. You’re a Seeker, not a Beater.”
He doesn’t like the grin that splits over Draco’s face.
“Why don’t you start?” Draco says. “I’ll grab the bats.”
Harry flips him off and kicks off from the ground.
Instantly he regrets it. He’s 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 -
“Harry!” Harry stops his circling and looks down, trying hard to control his rapid breaths. Draco’s got the Bludger underneath his arm; Harry wrenches his eyes away from the muscles showing through Draco’s robes as he held the straining ball down. “I’m letting the Snitch out!”
“Whatever,” Harry tosses back, letting himself slowly drift higher up into the rain clouds. “I’ll catch it anyways.”
Draco lets out a long chuckle and then something bright and golden’s 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 he’s 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. He’s 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.
“What the fuck?” Harry yells, hoping his voice would carry across the rain. “When did you become a beater?”
“Jack of all trades,” Draco yells back, the smirk in his face audible even from so far away. “You still want to do this? You’re going to get your ass kicked. You can barely even fly.”
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.
“Draco,” he calls out; Draco lifts his head, twirling the bat around in his hand.
“Fuck you,” Harry says, and then he’s 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. “Are you trying to fucking kill me?”
“Oh no,” Draco pouts. “Getting slow Potter? Maybe you’re too sick to play after all.”
Harry grits his teeth. He sees the Snitch fluttering around the goalposts; with a jerk of his broom he’s accelerating, presses close to the wood to be a smaller target. The Bludger comes close again - Harry curses as he’s 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 Harry’s 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; it’s 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 Harry’s 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.
It’s the most fun Harry’s had in ages.
He spins the broom around, looking Draco straight in the eyes. “Try harder, will you?”
Draco sends the Bludger straight at him; Harry laughs through the burning in his arms, rolling around to the side.
“You haven’t caught anything yet!” Draco yells back, eyes shining even in the darkness. “Looks like I’m winning!”
“Not for long,” Harry replies. “You’re about to get your ass kicked.”
“I’d rather get my ass eaten.”
Harry laughs, then drops down as the Bludger whistles over his head. “You’re so fucked.”
“Bold words from the loser.”
Harry grits his teeth, focuses on the Snitch and chases after it.
