Five thirty arrived like a thunderclap. One minute Draco was dreaming pleasantly of accepting an award and the next a ringing bell was clattering him awake.
"Bloody hell, help!" He clapped his hands over his ears and bumped into another body in the bed. An arm slashed across his field of vision and the ringing ceased.
"Good morning," Harry's voice was gravelly and exhausted.
Oh right. The previous day's events came flooding back. He had kissed Harry. He had shagged Harry. He had sucked Harry. He had gone to bed with Harry. His first instinct was to panic. What was he doing? What was he doing with Potter? Had he gone mad?
"How long will it take before you stop tensing up every time you're with me?" Harry propped himself up on his elbow and caressed Draco's cheek with his thumb.
"How can you tell?" Draco fought not to tremble beneath Harry's intimate touch.
"Your eyes give you away," Harry smiled gently. "Every time."
"I can't help it," Draco looked away. "You make me feel," he paused, searching for the right word, "weak."
"Surely not weak," Harry frowned. "Vulnerable, maybe. But you've never been weak a day in your life."
"It feels like I've surrendered," Draco tried again.
"You haven't gotten out of the habit of feeling like we should fight," Harry scooted to the end of the bed and went to the chest of drawers. "Hopefully that will pass at some point."
"What exactly am I supposed to wear in the pool?" Draco demanded as Harry slipped a pair of Speedos over his arse.
"You should have something in your room," Harry said. "Mine were in this drawer when I got here."
Draco grumbled his way across the deserted hall and checked his chest of drawers. Sure enough there was a swimsuit waiting for him in there. He slipped it on and emerged again with just a hint of self consciousness. He stopped in the loo to relieve himself and inspected his appearance in the mirror. He was pretty pleased with his physique, he just wasn't sure he wanted it all on display. He looked like he was smuggling a Remembrall.
He scowled and made his way downstairs with a towel slung over his shoulder. He was the fifth one in the pool. Harry and Ginny were in lanes one and two, Zane and Vaishali were in lanes three and four. Magnus showed up a moment after Draco. True to his word, Franz showed up last and sat miserably on a chaise lounge while the others finished.
After twenty laps and a dash upstairs to change they all reconvened at the equipment shed and found their brooms. Draco noted appreciatively that they were all top of the line, brand new, and etched with their names. He hopped onto his and took off like a shot, overwhelmingly relieved to be back up in the air after more than two months of hiatus.
He circled the practice pitch at top speed, urging his new broom to its maximum. Since the others were still assembling he dove into a hairpin turn and blasted off towards the distant foothills. He heard a shout behind him but didn't slow. It had been a tumultuous twenty-four hours and he needed to clear his head. Grass and brush whipped by beneath him as he kept tight control of his trajectory. When the stone wall at the edge of the wooded foothills rose up before him he pulled hard into another turn and rocketed back towards the pitch.
The tiny goals grew larger as he approached at breakneck speed. He could see his teammates gathered together near the hoops, hands held aloft to shield their eyes from the morning glare. He grinned to himself and careened past them without stopping. He heard a snippet of a whoop and a cheer as he passed, but was out of range, over the rooftop, and closing in on the road in an instant. Another pivot and he was heading back towards the pitch. He hauled up hard on the handle as he neared the goals and spun to a stop right in front of the Keeper's position.
"What are you lot doing?" he shouted commandingly. "Are we going to play Quidditch or not?"
The seven chasers stared at him like he was mad. He let go of his broom handle and threw his arms out wide. "Come at me!" he yelled.
They let him have it. Suddenly there were Quaffles everywhere. He deflected and caught as many as he could, and got walloped in the head a few more times than he liked.
A sharp whistle pierced the air and the barrage ceased. Nigel was sailing up to meet them on his own broom with a dour expression on his face.
"Huddle up!" he called. Draco joined the seven Chasers in a semicircle around the coach. "Four on four, Keeper defends," he said. He sent Draco back to the goal with Zane, Antonio and Stella. Ginny, Harris, Vaishali and Levi faced them as opponents.
The Chasers were fast. They had clearly spent their summer working on offense and defense and had some coordinated strategic maneuvers at their disposal. Draco was alert and fielded anything that made it past his three teammates. He had never played a real game as Keeper; this was the closest he'd ever gotten. It was intense, and he realized quickly why he'd spent two months building his core muscles. The acrobatic demands on his body were exhausting and straining, and he knew he would be sore later.
Ginny was especially hard on him. Every time he turned around she was aiming a Quaffle directly at his face. Not a hoop, his face. At first he thought it was poor aim. But after the third time he knew she was intentionally aiming at him.
"Piss off, Weasley!" he shouted as another ball glanced off of his shoulder. "Get your head on straight!"
"You're the Keeper, Malfoy!" she yelled back. "If you can't handle it, step down!"
"Ginny," Harris reached out to stop her as she hurled the Quaffle at Draco's face again. "Are you trying to foul out?"
She whirled around and yanked her arm out of his grasp. "Get off of me," she snapped.
Nigel's whistle pierced the air as he sailed over to investigate. He pointed sharply at Ginny and then at the ground. She cursed and descended quickly. Draco saw Tex sitting on the back patio, and as Ginny landed he waved her over. He hoped she would be true to her word and wouldn't tell him about last night's intrusion.
He turned and located Harry by the other goal hoops. He was watching her carefully, too. They exchanged a glance across the pitch and then returned to their exercises.
"Draco, on the ground," Nigel called after several minutes of intense volley. "Go see Tex about the image consultant. Chasers, you're with me. We'll run some offense formations."
Draco descended gratefully. He was exhausted from the barrage of Quaffles and needed a break. He stowed his broom and headed for the patio as Ginny ascended to rejoin her teammates.
"Have a seat, Blondie," Tex indicated the vacated wicker chair.
"Do you have to call me that, sir?" Draco winced as he flopped down onto the cushion.
"Don't have to," the man eyed him appraisingly. "But I want to."
"For the record, I'm not a fan." A house elf appeared at Draco's elbow with a large glass of water, which he accepted gracefully.
"Draco, let me ask you something," Tex's twangy accent evaporated, as it had during their last private meeting. "Would you have signed with us if Harry Potter had passed on our offer?"
"I don't know, sir," Draco replied.
"I'll bet you have an idea," Tex squinted at the distant goal hoops where Harry was dodging Bludgers.
"Probably not," Draco admitted. "Not Keeper, anyway. Maybe Seeker."
"And why's that?" Tex asked.
"Because he was offered a Seeker position on another team," Draco said. "I've always enjoyed playing against him."
Tex nodded as though he had come to that conclusion already. "And why do you think he took this contract over the other one?" he asked. "The Catapults offered him three years. We offered ya'll one."
"I don't know," Draco shook his head. He was suspicious of the man's casual tone.
"You know what I think? I think it was because of you," Tex said with a nod. "He weighed three years with the Catapults, a top-notch established team, against a year with you. He didn't know for sure you'd get an offer, but he took a chance. He didn't choose the team, he chose you."
Draco's stomach was tense. What did any of this matter? Why had he thought about this at all? How was it important to anything? What had Ginny said to him?
"I know you Brits don't think much of us Yankee wizards," Tex's accent returned to full strength. "Ya'll think we're just barely a step above your muggles." He eyed Draco sharply, "I know how ya'll value blood purity."
"Not any more, sir," Draco said flatly. "Not since the war."
"Oh I know how it goes," Tex peered off across the garden. "Your folks were ideologues, and you got an earful growing up. I talked to your mama before you got here. Got a lecture on purity without even asking. I'll bet you got a lot of that when you were a tyke."
"Yes sir," Draco set his glass down and leaned on his elbow. He was very curious to know where Tex was going with this.
"I'm a civilian born wizard myself," Tex said. "One of five kids, never had enough to go around when I was growing up. Tested into the wizarding academy when I was eleven. Had some natural talents, you could say." He eyed Draco again. "You wanna take a guess at my particular area of specialty?"
"I wouldn't know, sir," Draco was getting annoyed.
"Oh come on, you can figure it out. Poor kid becomes a wealthy investor. What do you think?"
"Divination," Draco guessed.
"You got it," Tex smiled. "I can smell a deal a mile away. I can sense when it's gonna go belly up. Makes me a wise investor. And it's made me rich enough to make even your mama think twice about us mudbloods."
"So?" Draco snapped. "What's your point?"
"My point is," Tex dropped the accent again. "There's something about you and Specs that's got me a bit confounded."
"Meaning what, exactly?"
"There's something between you," Tex shook his head. "Something I can't quite hone in on. I can see significance, but not whether it's in a good way or a bad way."
"Significance in Quidditch?" Draco didn't like divination. It always made his hair stand on end.
"I don't know," Tex gazed at him with hooded eyes. "It might just be personal. But it overlays every reading I've done on you."
"So why take a risk? If it might be bad, why sign us at all? Maybe we're going to cost you the League Cup or something," Draco said.
"Because you're skilled players. And because nothing in life is certain," Tex smiled. "Not even that which can be divined. Besides," his accent returned swiftly, "what fun is life without a gamble every now and then?"
Draco thought he sounded quite mad. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and peered at Tex. "What if I told you I might know what it is, but that you probably wouldn't like it?"
Tex gazed at him silently again and Draco worried that he was a Legilimens. If news of his and Harry's involvement was going to get out, he wanted to be the source. He didn't want it pried from his brain without his consent.
"Son," Tex said finally. "It ain't my business to tell anyone how to live their lives." He shook his head, "I just have a tendency to be a bit, how you say, risk averse. Even when I gamble."
Draco said nothing. He wasn't ready to share. Certainly not without discussing it with Harry first. He'd only just gotten the chance to touch him after years of yearning, and he didn't intend to drive him away this soon.
"Well," Tex seemed to understand. "Just do me a favor and if anything happens that you think might land you in the paper, you let me know first so I can manage it. That's why I'm here." He stood and slapped Draco on the shoulder, "Let's go see if that dang hairdresser is set up yet. Guy's slower'n snot."
Draco found his colorful description repulsive. He imagined what the meeting between Tex and his mother had been like. He wished he could have been there to see the look of horror on her face.
