Disclaimer: As always, the Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling and this is just my spin.
Author's Note: I so appreciate all the wonderful feedback I've been getting—thank you to everyone, I'm thrilled you all like it. Here is another installment, uploaded much sooner than last time, so I hope you all take a moment to applaud my excellence. Just kidding—but I would love to hear your thoughts in a review. Thanks.
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In Which It Went Over
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Ultimately, Draco couldn't sleep that night for a few reasons. All right, one reason. Harry-bloody-Potter. His face was swimming in Draco's mind's eye, a big stupid grin plastered in place, his green eyes sparkling. Draco rolled and covered his face with his pillow, falling into a restless sleep.
The next morning as the Owl Post came, Draco slid down so far in his bench seat that his nose was level with the top of the breakfast table. Pansy was staunchly ignoring him, un-pursing her mouth only to insert forkfuls of food angrily. She scraped her fork against her teeth and spun to glare at Draco.
"I hope you know," she hissed viciously, "that I am very unhappy with you."
"Oh really? I couldn't tell," Draco hissed back, ducking under the table completely in hopes of avoiding the inevitable as he saw his own owl soaring toward him, an envelope clutched in his talons. The owl dropped the letter beneath the table, cocking his head at Draco. "All right, all right. Thanks, you stupid bird," Draco muttered and took the letter, ripping into it the way one rips a band-aid—quickly, and with one's eyes shut tightly.
Someone dropped their fork and it clattered beside Draco's left hand. Egg hit his thumb. A girl suddenly appeared beneath the table, reaching for her fork. She shrieked when she saw Draco.
"Professor!" she howled, hastily rising out from beneath the tabletop. "There's a boy underneath the table looking up my skirt!"
"No, I'm—" Draco began indignantly, but had to admit it did rather look as if that were his plan. Snape had stormed over to the table and lifted Draco out from underneath it, gripping him hard by the back of his collar, much as a mother cat grips her kittens by the scruff of their neck.
"Detention," Snape snarled into Draco's ear, "for inappropriate conduct beneath the breakfast table. My office at seven." He released Draco with a jerk. "For now, you are to see Professor McGonagall immediately." He gave Draco's shoulder a push in McGonagall's direction. Her mouth was non-existent, it was flattened into such a thin line. She cocked an eyebrow.
"Mister Malfoy, even I had thought better of you."
"I wasn't—it's not what—I was just looking at—" Draco stammered.
"I know perfectly well what you were looking at, Mister Malfoy. We shall have a talk about appropriate behavior of students at the end of breakfast. You may wait in the hall."
Draco slunk out to the hall and rested his back against the stone walls. He opened his letter.
Dear Draco,
Pansy has told me everything. You should let Potter in on your Quidditch practise; it offers ample opportunity to learn his weaknesses, which can in turn be reported to…well, you know who I mean… Your father agrees whole-heartedly. We are looking forward to hearing from you.
Lovingly,
Mum
P.S. I'm so happy to hear you've accepted your marriage with Pansy so enthusiastically. She said you were "unable to shut up about it" in her letter. It's wonderful you won't be a disappointment to your father and me.
Draco gulped and crumpled the letter in his fist. That devious little cow! Making sure he couldn't back out of their marriage. What a little—what a little—what a little witch! Perhaps she was rather cleverer than he had given her credit for.
Students began flooding into the hall—clearly breakfast had come to a close. Pansy was headed toward him. He noted she was not wearing The Shoes, but rather more sensible flats.
"Draco," she said coldly.
"Pansy," he said just as coldly. "I see you wrote my mum." He thrust the letter at her. She took it and read it slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"Don't think I don't know how to play you and your family, Draco—we've known each other far too long for me to be truly ignorant of your ways. I know they are the only people on this earth whose good graces you care to remain in. And marrying me will certainly keep you there." She shoved the crumpled letter into his chest and left him standing in the hall as she made her way to class.
"Potter," Draco snarled as the black-haired boy passed. He grabbed his arm and Harry swung around to face him. "I've been thinking about your offer to help out with practise. Be there at five today."
Harry looked taken aback for a moment. "Okay," he said slowly. "If you're planning on ambushing me, though, it won't work. Gryffindors are coming to watch."
"Fine, bring your Gryffindork friends—I don't care. You'll be playing Chaser."
At five that evening, Harry made his way to the Quidditch pitch to see the Slytherin team already grouped on the field, waiting.
"Where're your little friends?" Malfoy called, looking around. "Thought you said they were coming?"
"Ugh," Harry said, "they had homework." He cast a dark glance toward the castle.
"Mm," Draco said, in a fashion that clearly portrayed he thought Hedge and Weasel must've lied. "Get on your brooms, then, everyone."
Everyone lifted into the air. It felt strange to Harry to be soaring above the pitch with the Slytherins of all people. He tried to keep his eye on the Quaffle, but it was so strange to be playing Chaser as opposed to Seeker. A half hour into the game, he saw the Snitch flash out of the corner of his eye and reflex caused him to spur his broom, shooting forth toward the small winged sphere. Draco had seen it as well, but he had not seen Harry. They both reached for the Snitch at the same precise moment, the velocity of their brooms causing them to smash into one another.
Harry vaguely registered Draco's scream as their brooms gave way and they began to fall. Incidentally, in his panic, Draco grappled at Harry's robes, looking to clutch anything, perhaps in the hopes it would stop his fall.
"Gerroff," Harry mumbled, trying to peel Malfoy's fingers from his collar to no avail.
They were spinning, only a few more feet until they crashed, surely. Draco, wide-eyed with panic, stared straight into Harry's anxious green eyes and yelled wordlessly, going red in the face. He would later recall this indignity and masterfully alter it in any retelling of the incident.
They smashed into the ground with bone jarring velocity, rolling across the pitch, tangled in one another, until they came to a final, breathless, standstill. Harry was beneath Draco, panting and wheezing, his glasses broken, his lip bloody.
"Oh God, oh my God," Draco wheezed breathlessly. "Oh my God…I'm alive."
Harry had placed his hand on Draco's chest and Draco experienced an instantaneous and involuntary flush of heat. Harry shoved him, hard.
"Gerroff," Harry wheezed. "Can't breathe."
Draco looked straight into Harry's eyes once more—"Your lip is bleeding," he said quietly. He almost leaned in—almost, almost—kissed him. Harry looked uneasy all at once and Draco remembered where he was—Bloody Quidditch pitch, for God's sake—and rolled off Harry to lie on his back, wheezing up at the sky. They lay there, panting, as the rest of the team hurried over to them.
"All right, Malfoy? Potter?" one of them asked. Harry didn't know his name.
Harry groaned something that sounded like, "All right." He raised a shaky hand to touch his glasses, grimacing when he felt how smashed they were. "Knew there was a reason I couldn't see properly," he muttered.
Draco, painful though it was, burst into laughter at the other boy's words. Oh God…he thought…is this infatuation?
