A/N: Well, well, the plotbunnies finally got me. I think I really scared my mother. She was semi-seriously talking about actually having me committed (and she doesn't even know what the heck a plot bunny is). I didn't have any Plotbunny-Away Spray on hand, so, well, this is what happened. Thankfully, it isn't very long, or very squinchy at all. My first attempt at slash, so go easy on me. There is probably going to be a follow-up fic to this (I refuse to call it a sequel… one reason being because no one can SPELL sequel… "sequal," honestly…). I actually sort of liked writing this… it's something DIFFERENT… and I'm really sick of making Hermione be in love with… well… ANYONE… Draco, Ron, Harry, you name it. Draco not as much as Harry and Ron, though. So, anyways, that's the end of my ramblings for this fic. (And of course, I disclaimer Harry, Quidditch, Harry's Firebolt, Draco, and Hogwarts.)
And MUCHAS GRACIAS to Draca for thinking up my title! Also, I think my plotbunny is the offspring of one of yours… thanks for that, too!
Quidditch Quandaries
(AKA The Plotbunny Fic)
Harry Potter was alone on the Quidditch field, the only person crazy enough to brave the subzero temperatures for an evening flight. His Firebolt gracefully carried him through the air, obeying his every command. Harry was at one with his beloved racing broom, and completely focused on his flying. So focused that, at first, he didn't even notice Draco Malfoy sneering at him from the snow-covered ground.
"Potter, did I ever tell you that your posture is all wrong?" the pale boy shouted upwards to Harry.
Harry paused and hovered in midair. "What's wrong with my posture?" he said, looking down at the silvery tresses on the top of Draco's head.
Draco laughed, tossing his head backwards. "Do you expect me to actually answer you? Potter, if I were to tell you what you're doing wrong, that would be helping you. Can't go doing that, now, can I?"
Damned Slytherin, Harry thought. If it weren't for his pride, Draco probably would have answered him. Or maybe he couldn't answer. "Well, if you can't tell me what I'm actually doing that's so wrong, maybe then I'm not actually doing anything wrong at all."
"Trust me, you are," Draco coldly replied.
Harry's emerald eyes flashed. "Trust you? I don't think so," he said, remembering all the reasons Draco had given him never to trust him. There was, of course, the time when Draco had tricked Harry and Ron into showing up for a duel that was never to take place, and then there was the time when Draco lied about the hippogriff attacking him, which was an incident that demonstrated how much of the truth that Draco Malfoy was capable of telling. No, Harry assured himself, Draco was not a person to be trusted.
"Alright," Draco shrugged, "if you don't want my help…" He then turned on his heel and took a few steps towards the school.
Furrowing his brow, Harry leaned forward and pushed his broom ahead, and came down in front of Draco, forcing him to a half. With a little edge in his voice, Harry demanded, "It's obvious you didn't come here to help me, or to practice for yourself, because you don't have your broom, so what are you doing here?"
Draco narrowed his grey eyes and coolly articulated without regard to Harry's question, "Potter, get out of my way, or I'll have to do what I came here to do."
Harry glared at Draco and reached discreetly into his robes for his wand. If Draco wanted to put some sort of curse on Harry, he would be ready to counteract it right away. He didn't move an inch from where he was hovering in front of Draco, on the same level, eye to eye.
"So, you've made your decision," Draco said, and quickly stepped forward to press his thin lips firmly against Harry's. He put one of his hands on the back of Harry's neck for just a moment, and at the same time, Harry's wand fell into the crisp snow below.
When Draco pulled away, Harry had a look of complete shock on his face, even though he trying to cover it up. Draco then bent down to retrieve Harry's wand from the snow, and flashed an odd and rare smile, revealing almost perfectly straight teeth. He tossed the slender stick of holly wood up to the black-haired statue, saying, "I think you dropped this," and then he turned and walked away, taking a route back to the school with no Quidditch players obstructing his path.