The stands were full at the Quidditch pitch that morning. A rainbow of green, silver, red, and gold painted the audience, who cheered loudly as the game was ready to begin. Zacharias Smith cleared his throat in preparation to commentate the events at hand, and the players all finished getting changed to line up on their brooms for starting. Harry peered through the curtain of the Gryffindor dressing room, searching for any sign of Malfoy. He'd decided avoiding the boy was out of the question; he'd have to quell his new mixed feelings until he at least had some answers. Regardless of last night's vision, Harry still couldn't erase the fact that Malfoy appeared to be following his father's foot steps.
Draco was already on the field, in position and awaiting the starting whistle from Madam Hooch. With a sharp inspiration, Harry walked onto the pitch to join him.
When all players were aligned, the sound of the whistle screeched and was followed by cheers from all Houses in the stands.
Harry immediately burst skyward, hoping to get an aerial view of the Snitch. He searched visually about the other players weaving amongst each other but caught no sign of the fluttering gold. He heard muffled cries, "boo's" and "rahs" as Slytherin made the first goal. He made way across the stadium, scanning for the snitch at all possible locations. What he wasn't looking for, not even in the slightest, was Draco Malfoy.
Draco flew wildly across the pitch at Madam Hooch's signal. Potter, he happened to notice, had gone upward, so he figured he'd begin by looking low. He brushed his finger along the grass as he searched vigilantly, pushing Potter from his mind. He was here to play Quidditch. He was Malfoy, the Slytherin Seeker. He could do this.
With no such luck at finding the Snitch, he flew slightly upward, dodging the opposing players as they raced for the quaffle. He barely ducked a wayward bludger that zoomed violently in his direction but was thankfully beaten afterward by Nott. Composing himself, he weaved throughout the sea of red and green robes before deciding to give a glance around for Potter. Just in case he had already eyed the snitch, that was all. He most certainly wasn't hoping to see those green irises...or that captivating smile he'd sworn he saw this morning...
"Watch it, Malfoy!" Flint swooped past him, narrowly missing Draco's right shoulder. Fuck, all of this Potter thinking had almost gotten him plundered. Shaking his head, Draco tilted his broom back and soared upward. He spotted the black haired boy almost immediately and began to study him to determine if the Snitch was nearby. Potter was looking absentmindedly around the pitch, indicating that he, too, had failed to spot it. He hovered in place momentarily, eyes fixated on Potter, when another bludger found itself passing rapidly in front of his face. He jumped, startled, and reversed away from the bloody thing before it became the goddamned death of him. He blamed Potter for his head not being in he game before taking off in the opposite direction. That's when he saw it, glittering against the glaring sun: the snitch. Draco sped up hastily, traveling towards the ball that was several meters away. The game continued on below him, Gryffindor winning 110-70.
Having spotted Draco's sudden change in focus, Harry headed in the same direction. Barreling toward the snitch, both boys were closing the distance between winning the match and, incidentally, between their own bodies. Draco tried to keep a safe distance from Harry, all while focusing on the quickly disappearing snitch at hand. Trying to gain speed, Harry tilted forward and accidentally swayed sideways, brushing against Draco's right humerus with his own shoulder. The touch was electrical; shockwaves radiated between the two like static. Draco dared a glance at Harry, who returned the look, knowing...
They had both felt it. Draco returned his gaze to the Snitch, pulse thudding within his throat. Before, he probably would have pushed Harry, creating himself an easy victory. Or maybe he would've commented snidely on the brute's clumsiness. But now, there were no words as Draco reached forward, closing in on the Snitch.
Just as he flexed his fingers, hoping to catch it, the Snitch turned abruptly and switched directions, heading lower and behind them. A bit off balanced, Draco fixed his posture and headed toward it, slightly behind Potter now.
As they raced ahead, Draco's thoughts wandered back to Potter's touch earlier, accidental but meaningful. He continued on at Harry's tail as they descended to playing level. Slytherin had tied the game, apparently, each side hoping their team's seeker would pull through.
Normally, Draco's confidence would have fueled him faster and closer to the win. Today, however, was different. He could still feel the sparks from his opponent's touch lingering on his arm. It left him open and uneasy. So uneasy, in fact, that he didn't notice another bludger heading straight toward him.
"Malfoy! What are you doing?!" Flint's voice caused Draco to snap his head up, just in time to see the bludger barreling towards his face. He attempted to dodge it, but it was too late. There was pain, and then everything went black.
Harry raced forward with one goal in mind: the Snitch. It was just ahead, close enough to tease him as he competed closely for its catching. Draco was behind, but barely, and he was nearing with haste. Potter focused all of his energy on the match at hand, refusing to re-visit the tingling sensation that remained buzzing through his left shoulder from earlier's touch. He could feel Draco's presence tailing him, and he tried to envision the boy as he had in the past: arrogant, rude, and spiteful. He almost hoped that if he were to turn around, Malfoy would be there sneering, egging Potter on and attempting to slow him down. He feared, however, that if he actually did turn, he would no longer see Malfoy. He would see Draco, the charming young man that just happened to have a beautiful smile...
"Malfoy! What are you doing!?" Harry blinked and shook his head as he began to realize what was happening behind him. Coming to a halt on his broom, he swiveled just in time to see a bludger headed straight for Draco, whose face was pale with fear. Time seemed to slow indefinitely as Harry's heart did the opposite. He watched the bludger collide with Malfoy's head before continuing on its brutal course as if it was uninterrupted. He observed the blonde become unconscious, wobbling atop his broom and then losing himself over the edge. It was in that moment that a few things seemed to happen simultaneously. Firstly, Harry noticed the glitter of the golden snitch, flitting wildly in his peripheral vision. Then, he seemed to become fully aware of the situation, seeing Malfoy fall from his broom in slow motion. And, perhaps most unsettling of all the things occurring, was the pure instinct from within that told Harry to save Draco at all costs. Not like he'd rescued Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets, or even Ron during the Triwizard Cup; no, something from deep inside his being feared for Draco's life as if it was Harry's own. Acting upon his Gryffindor impulse, Harry followed the subconscious pull toward his tumbling body at full speed. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear muffled gasps from the audience and the swishing of the other players' broomsticks as they pivoted to see. Everything seemed to fade away, all sights and sounds clouded by the image of Draco falling. He pressed onward, diving down and out-stretching both of his arms to catch the boy mid-air. His broom trembled as he shifted the necessary weight forward, focus still stuck on Draco's limp physique. The audience was captivated, held by Harry's heroism for the boy they believed he hated. Even the other players had stopped to watch, Dean pausing with the quaffle in hand.
Harry's arms formed the curve of Malfoy's figure as the boy landed upon them with a thud. He tipped forward a bit, unsteady with Draco's added weight, but quickly found balance. Time was still sluggish, allowing him to appreciate the feeling of Draco coddled against him. The boy was still breathing, but at the corner of his pale face was a large purple bruise and a raised knot. Holding Draco closely (for absolutely no reason other than keeping him safe), Harry descended and dismounted his broom once he touched earth. He sat on the ground, cradling Draco, attempting feverishly to wake the him.
He began with little slaps on the face. "Malfoy! Wake up you bloody git! we have a quidditch match to finish!" His nonchalance masked the worry rooted within his subconscious. The other players touched ground and circled around the two, hovering to see what the verdict was. Finally, after most likely adding several other bruises to Draco's cheeks, Harry pulled out his wand and chanted, "Aquamenti!"
Water spewed from the holly and sprayed Malfoy's face. The boy remained still for a moment but soon began coughing and gagging as he inhaled some of the spell. His eyes opened, just enough for Harry to see slits of silver peeking through. He wavered, eyes fluttering back and forth uncontrollably. As Madam Hooch approached the group, Draco's eyes broke open into a wide stare that met Harry's. For several seconds, neither of them moved. Then, Madam Hooch intervened.
"Ok, ok, back it up here! Oh, good, Mr. Malfoy, you're awake. We need to take you to the infirmary at once." Then she turned to the rest of the players. "This game is cancelled! It will be considered a draw for now. Off, you go!"
This was followed by a series of groans from both sides.
"He can still play, can't you, Draco?" Flint interjected, trying to salvage his almost-victory.
"He most certainly cannot." Madam Hooch replied, and then turned to Harry. "Will you help me take him, Mr. Potter?"
Harry nodded. Draco, awake but drowsy, attempted to rise singularly only to stumble and fall. Harry caught him by the shoulders, steadying the blonde and helping him to stand.
"Here, Draco. I'll help you," Harry offered sentimentally. He draped Draco's right arm across his own shoulders and slipped his left arm around Draco's waist for added support. Seeing him like this, almost drunken with injury, tugged at Harry's insides. He felt compelled- drawn, even- to protect him. Draco turned his head to the right, placing his face only inches from Harry's.
There it was again. That spark, or electricity, or whatever it was that Harry kept feeling, flowed through his veins like some new kind of magic. It was brief, as Madam Hooch expected them to move, but he was captivated by some foreign emotion held in Draco's eyes. Harry had never seen it there before, dotted across silver irises like a secret waiting to be unveiled. What did Draco know now, that he didn't know before?
They began the trek to the hospital wing, and Harry couldn't help but notice Malfoy's slender physique butting up against his own with every step. He'd never felt Draco this way, and it was somehow intimate even though they were out in the open. Draco said nothing, but kept that same air of mystery the entire way. He didn't object to the closeness between them;in fact, he held on to Harry tightly. Whether that was due to fondness or injury, Harry couldn't be sure. All he knew was that something in the last few weeks had changed everything he'd ever been trained to feel about Draco Malfoy.
Everything was black and fuzzy. Draco could hear voices, but he couldn't quite make out words. He knew that something was wrong, but he could also feel someone's arms wrapped tightly around his body. And that felt nice. He snuggled up to this mystery savior, enjoying the warmth of a body next to his. Draco wasn't used to such contact. To be honest, his mother had only hugged him a handful of times in his life, and his father rarely touched him at all. Draco was raised to "self-soothe" in the words of Lucius Malfoy. His body flopped down, and Draco realized how limp he was. They must've sat down.
"Draco! Wake up!..." this voice was getting clearer. And it sounded so familiar. It was a beautiful voice; where had he heard it? He contemplated this, but his thoughts weren't flowing fluidly. And then, there was pain across his right cheek. Did The Savior just slap him?
Again. And again. "Hey!" He wanted to call out, but his voice wouldn't work. He couldn't feel his lips or move his mouth to object. He attempted to scrunch his face, anything to wake his muscles. He wasn't sure why, but his head was pounding. He tried to shake it back and forth to no avail.
And then, he was wet. What the hell? Had The Savior...sprayed him with something?
It was cold. He tried to move again, but he accidentally breathed in the wet substance. His body responded with a cough that seemed to loosen his fascia, and movement began coming back slowly. He started with his eyes, barely cracking them to view a foggy figure towering above him. The Savior.
It was hard to tell, but Draco could see raven black hair falling upon a pale face. And were those...glasses?
And then his vision began to clear, and beneath those glasses Draco saw a pair of stunning emerald eyes searching his own. They were a deep shade, pools of green that tempted Draco to dive in. They were...beautiful. Where had he seen those eyes?
And emerald, that word rang a bell. Through the pounding, Draco began forming thoughts and memories. The color emerald...and raven black hair...he'd heard it from someone...Pansy? Yes, Pansy. It was her prophecy...
He tried to open his eyes a little wider, succeeding as his view came into full focus. The world was clear again, and though his head was still hurting, a realization came through the pain. Pansy. Emerald. Raven hair. The one Draco was meant to be with. It wasn't Pansy, not even close. If Pansy really did have the Sight as she claimed, then the one person that was meant for Draco was right above him. The blonde's eyes began to dilate as understanding completely settled over his expression. Time was flying, his heart was pounding; Draco wasn't sure how to process that the identity of the Savior above him was none other than Harry Potter.
Draco froze, a new awareness spreading down his limbs and through his fingertips. Their eyes were locked, emerald melting silver. Madam Hooch was approaching them, and Draco was informed that he'd have to see Madam Pomfrey.
Draco tried to stand, but failed miserably. He wasn't sure if it was the confusion or the injury that had him off balance, but Potter chimed in before he could decide.
"Here, Draco, I'll help you." He put his arm around the other seeker's waist. Draco tingled in the spot that Harry's hand rested, and he turned to face the boy upon hearing his own name. Draco. He'd been called Malfoy hundreds of times, whether they were dueling or bickering or competing, but never had Harry referred to him has Draco. Yes, something was different here, and it was far from one sided. The thing was, Draco wasn't sure he minded that. In fact, as they trekked to the infirmary side by side, he found himself not minding at all.