Title: Lumos
Warning: Slash content
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: T+
Remarks: This was written as a response to Cymru na Alethaira's fic challenge to me. I was supposed to write a fic based around the word "seduction" and I was not include any sort of intentional direct physical contact. As you can see, I treaded on the line a tad bit.
Quidditch season. The crowds that packed themselves among the stands rippled up and down in excitement as they settled in their seats. Golden and red banners, silver and green; the lion salient and the serpent sejant, shifting back and forth in the gentle, soaring wind. Draco watched the stands fill up above him, and he felt that rush of pre-match adrenaline that he had not felt in a while. He found it absolutely terrible that it was the millionth time they were against Gryffindor; he hadn't fought a match against any of the other houses in a while.
Of course, he couldn't deceive himself for too long; he knew that it wasn't the idea of Gryffindor that was troubling him. Lately, he had been seeing Harry around the grounds of Hogwarts for a little too often and for some strange reason, he had been in discomfort. He wasn't exactly sure what nudged at his insides each time he saw Harry; it was hate, but it was hate with a powerful, inexplicable feeling at its core, one that threatened to fill him and obsess him. Draco was unable to identify it as hate any more, but for the purposes of keeping himself sane he had to psyche himself into believing merely pure detest.
A loud whistle interrupted his thoughts, and the surging crescendo of cheers around him sent his body into auto-pilot. He kicked himself off the ground, and ascended slowly towards the side of the field so he could watch out for the Snitch the moment it was released. There was a second whistle as all the players settled into their positions – Draco thought he saw Harry on the other side of the field – and the case was opened. There was a humming whizz as a thin streak of faint gold arched up into the air and vanished into the open blue sky. Draco stopped and watched for a moment as the rest of the players rose up before him, the Quaffle bouncing back and forth between them.
Something glinted off from a spot in the distance and Draco bent forward as his broom sailed forward towards the origin of the light. He heard a humming grow louder and he turned in a hyperbola towards the stands holding the Gryffindor supporters as he traced the moving glint of light at the corner of his eye.
And then, he stalled. There was nothing wrong with his broom; Draco knew it very well. His concentration was getting broken as he realised that the figure of Harry Potter, clad in red and gold, glided past next to him. Harry turned around, and gave a smile.
Draco completely stopped in mid-air. That smile had caught him off-guard, and he wasn't sure why. His focus was now completely lost as he pondered the meaning of the smile: had it been a sardonic smile? Was it merely out of friendliness, or was Potter merely trying to distract him?
"Malfoy, what the hell are you doing –"
A shout from the Slytherin stand shook Draco out of his thoughts, and he caught himself as he tried to steer himself towards the direction that Harry was heading. He had no time to wonder about his enemy now –
Red and gold, red and gold, red and gold. Black. Green.
Draco found himself speeding neck-to-neck with Harry, straight towards a spot of gold and white hovering over the Slytherin stand. He thought he could smell Harry's perspiration, and as Harry tilted his head, perhaps in an attempt to see the Snitch more clearly, Draco couldn't help noticing the black hair, streaming and rippling over Harry's head like a profound sea of –
There was a violent tug at Draco's leg as the tails of their brooms twisted themselves around each other. Harry gave a gasp as he swerved in a semi-circle downwards, and barely managed to catch his balance. At the same time, Draco was nearly thrown off his broom, towards the direction of Harry: he managed, however, to grab hold of his broom in time. Hanging from the broom, however, he felt Harry's neck brush past his face as he broke away, soaring upwards towards a humming noise above them. At once, Draco's nose was deluged by a surging gush of fantastic smells, and the sight of the sheen of perspiration on Harry's neck seemed to be seared into Draco's mind ...
There was a loud bell that struck him out of his thoughts, and he found himself staring at the Slytherin stand again. He heard loud swearing from the stand as a voice boomed out into the air: "GRYFFINDOR!"
There was, of course, no congratulatory pat on the back in the locker-room. He found himself sitting alone, facing into the evening darkness that slowly gathered around him. He didn't know what was wrong with him: he couldn't stop thinking about the match; he couldn't stop thinking about the Snitch; he couldn't stop thinking about the hair; he couldn't stop thinking about the green eyes that pierced into some strange yearning place inside him –
"Draco."
The voice that rang about the darkening locker-room sounded like a thick, bittersweet chocolate. It was like the darkness around it, but far more seductive. And then Draco felt a warm, intoxicating breath on his neck that sent his nerves into a mad frenzy. He turned round slowly, and the depthless, fascinating eyes of an impossibly beautiful green took him into their caress.
"Harry ... ?"
Draco felt a strong tug at the sash holding his Quidditch robe up. It loosened itself gently and fell softly, gathering around his hips. He trembled in a warm, yearning sweat as he heard Harry utter in a soft, rumbling voice:
"Lumos."
-END-