Draco was eleven when he tried to talk Marcus Flint into letting him join the Quidditch team. Harry Potter was allowed to play Quidditch, but Flint laughed at him for merely asking for a tryout.
"First years don't make the team," Flint stated, still breathless from laughing loud enough for the entire castle to hear him. All eyes in the common room were already directed at Draco. He tried not to look like it bothered him.
"But Harry Potter is Gryffindor's new Seeker and he's in his –"
Flint cut him off with a gesture. He was huge like a troll, a living package of muscles, and frightening enough to successfully shut Draco up. "No free spots."
"But I –"
"Try it next year." Flint turned back to the chimney place and stared pointedly at the dancing flames. "Now stop wasting my time, Princess."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "Princess?" He spat the word out with all the disgust it deserved. Flint might be terrifyingly huge, but that did not give him the right to call Draco that. "How dare you call me that? I will not… It's not… Hey!"
Flint watched full of fascination how a few large dust flakes danced in the dim light of the common room. He pretended to ignore Draco, but no one could ignore Draco Malfoy. Flint would learn that soon enough.
Draco made the Quidditch team when he was twelve. A year of constant whining and catching dust flakes in front of Marcus Flint's eyes had helped him to achieve his dream. His father had been so proud that he bought the newest broomsticks for the entire team. Had he done that the year before, Draco might have been better trained and able to catch the Snitch in his first match.
"Are you saying it's my fault that you can't catch the bloody Snitch when it's dancing around right in front of your nose?" Flint was screaming at him for what felt like an eternity, and Draco got smaller with every word.
"It was my first match," he snapped with more confidence than he actually had after the disgraceful game against Gryffindor. "I was nervous. I couldn't deal with everyone looking at me."
"The only thing you can do is draw attention to you. Don't you dare lie to me. Next time, you'll catch that fucking snitch or I'll shove it up your arse!"
Draco's eyes widened at the rude language. He was speechless and pretty sure that he was blushing.
Flint's blush of anger disappeared slowly. He took a deep breath. "You're not going to cry now, are you?"
"No!" Draco was highly offended. He was not some stupid girl who started crying at every bagatelle. He might whine a bit to get what he wanted, but that was not comparable to crying.
Flint did not look like he believed him. "Damn it, that's why I don't like children in my team."
"I'm not crying!"
Flint put an arm around him. At first, Draco thought he wanted to strangle him, but the tight grip seemed to be Flint's way to offer comfort.
"Listen, Princess." He leant down to whisper into Draco's ear, his grip breathtakingly tight. "You will catch the Snitch next time, or I swear that I'll make you cry."
Marcus Flint was definitely not good at comfort. Draco was determined not to disappoint him again, but the misfortune of someone trying to kill every Mudblood in the school thwarted his plan.
In his third year, Draco caught the Snitch twice in a row. He made Diggory show around his sad smile and brought shiny tears into Chang's eyes. It was wonderful. Even Flint's reaction was surprisingly enthusiastic after the second victory.
He hugged Draco. More precisely, he squeezed all air out of his lungs and almost broke Draco's ribs. The rest of the team and the entire house was celebrating in the common room and did not care at all about Draco's bones.
"That thing with your arm… I so wanted to kill you, resurrect you and kill you again for pulling that shit," Flint said, as if Draco did not remember the crude rhapsody that haunted him in his nightmares. He did not tell anyone that his Quidditch captain chased him in his dreams, especially since he was riding on that monstrous Hippogriff.
"But it totally worked out! You demoralised our enemies."
Draco was not surprised that the only intelligent sounding word Marcus Flint knew was demoralisation. He was pretty good at that.
"We're so close. There's merely a Knut between us and the Quidditch Cup. Wood will eat his broomstick if we snatch the Cup from under his nose in our final year. Then he would've never won that thing."
Draco stopped struggling to free himself from Flint's grasp. "What?"
Flint was too stupid to understand what bothered Draco. "Eh?"
"Your final year?" It felt weird to think about Quidditch – about Hogwarts without Flint's grumpy face. He had repeated a year before. Draco thought Flint was capable to repeat another one, or just another three years.
"Yeah. Definitely." Flint laughed into Draco's saddening face. "I'm too old to waste even more time with annoying children. You know how I feel about those midgets, Princess."
Draco tried for a smirk. He did not know why it bothered him to face a year without Flint screaming at him to "get that fucking Snitch". It already felt weird that Flint let go of him to scream at Bletchley how it was even possible to let one goal of Hufflepuff's incompetent players in.
"Draco!" Montague waved at him with a bottle of Butterbeer. "Want one?"
Draco shook his head. He was not in the mood to celebrate anymore and headed for an empty seat near the fireplace.
In the following years, Quidditch started playing a less important role in Draco's life. He was sure that this had nothing to do with Marcus Flint's absence, because Montague was a much kinder captain without a stupid nickname for Draco.
In his sixth year, Draco was barely able to tell how his new captain looked and completely unable to pronounce his name. Urquhart did not care much about him either. Draco did not remember one time he was shouted at for his lack of interest.
He missed Marcus.
When the Quidditch pitch was destroyed during the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco paid it a last visit. He sat down on what once was a meadow and let his gaze travel over the scarred ground. Maybe he could help rebuilding the pitch… but no one wanted him to help, and Harry Potter would never let him touch his beloved Quidditch pitch.
"Hey, Princess."
Draco turned around. He had not heard anyone coming, and he had not expected to see his first captain.
"You survived," Marcus said and slumped on the ground next to Draco.
Draco shrugged. "Somehow." He sized Marcus quickly up. Although he could still overpower Draco easily, he did not look as huge as Draco remembered him. Maybe it was perspective or the fact that Draco had grown over the last years. "You, too."
"Never was in danger," Marcus muttered.
Draco had wondered why he never saw Marcus in the rows of the Dark Lord. He thought muscles without brains were the best frontline infantry.
"My poor pitch," Marcus continued. "Looks like they raped it and left it here to die."
Draco smiled. He might have blushed at this language a couple of years ago.
"How are we going to fix it?"
"Err…" Draco looked from Marcus to the pitch and back. "I don't think I care anymore."
"What?" Marcus jumped to his feet. He glared down at Draco and looked frighteningly similar to the troll-like figure that had haunted Draco in his nightmares. "How dare you say something like that? This pitch was part of your life. I screamed at you there, there and over there. That's the spot where I chased you with Bole's bat, and there you hid behind Pucey, whom I hit straight across the face. And right here, just six feet higher, you caught your first Snitch. You really don't care about that?"
Draco shrugged. Marcus snorted like an angry Hippogriff. He grabbed Draco by the collar and pulled him to his feet.
"Here." Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled a golden ball out. He showed Draco the Snitch. "Get your bloody broomstick and catch the fucking Snitch. I don't care if anyone sees you and thinks you're crazy. You catch it, and then you try telling me you don't love Quidditch anymore."
Draco felt like a twelve year-old again, desperate to prove himself. He felt young and energetic, as if Marcus screamed him back into a better past.
He had missed Marcus, his bossy attitude, and how his eyes gleamed when he was able to scream at someone.
Draco stepped forward, framed Marcus's face and pulled him into a kiss.
The Snitch escaped Marcus's hand and tried to get attention by flying around their heads. Draco was pleased to realise that Marcus rather kissed him back than command him to get that fucking Snitch.