Chapter Eleven:
In Deeper
A/N: Please read, REVIEW, and enjoy! Sorry this chapter took a bit longer to put up, it's May 2-4 weekend so I don't think I can be blamed! lol, hope everybody in North America is enjoying their long weekend!
iNsAnE nO bAkA - Glad you like it, keep reading and hopefully it'll only get better! =D
blaccangell - That's karma for you! hehe, I'm kidding! ;)
Future Exciting Warning: More naughty!Harry to come in coming chapters. Such a tease lol =P
"Love is the smartest trick in the book somebody could fall for, and you already have."
As Harry strode back into the Common Room, happiness from his and Draco's first mutual kiss was very evident. There were a few older year Gryffindors hanging around in the dimly lit loft, including Ron and Hermione. Harry interupted their discrete cuddling by plopping down on the couch next to Ron. The couple automatically detatched themselves asides from the redhead's arm around his girlfriend's shoulders and they were flushed looking.
"Did McGonagall or Malfoy give yeah a hard time, mate?" Ron quipped.
"Nope," Harry shrugged, a goofy grin on his face. His mind was still back kissing Draco - it had been so tender and sweet, something he hadn't known the boy could be.
"No? Two of them in one night you had to deal with! I wouldn't have survived that more than a Hippogriff attack!" Ron was looking on at his best friend curiously. Nobody came back from McGonagall's detentions happy. Apparantly the world was coming to an end.
"No, you wouldn't have," Harry snorted amusedly, "We only had to write an essay eight inches long, wasn't so bad," he said stretching his legs out in front of him and adorning a satisfied smile.
Hermione and Ron exchanged worried, curious gazes. "What about?"
"Hmm?"
"What did you and Malfoy have to write about?" Hermione repeated herself.
"Oh, y'know, she said she was sick of us bickering and acting so childish so she made us write eight inches about each other," Harry's smile widened in thought of what he wrote abou Draco. It could sum him up as; 'Pompus, arrogant, wealthy, smart, beautiful, and richly cunning with an obsession for high quality fashion',...Yes, Harry was certain he was falling for the Veela.
"Harry! Oi! Snap out of it!" Ron was clapping his hands in fron of Harry's face looking worried, "Where's your head tonight?"
"Sorry, just kinda drowsy after all that writing and Malfoy talking so much," he lied. He knew exactly where his head was, but he wasn't about to tell them.
"Did he do anything? Hex you?" Ron asked concernedly, thinking maybe Harry was just covering for him.
"Y'know he's not that bad, Ron. Kinda nice once you get him alone," Harry closed his eyes lightly now, and all he saw was two silver eyes and a pair of thin, pink lips.
"Kinda nice once...Merlin Harry! I thought you were talking about Malfoy for a second there!" Ron wiped his brow exasperatingly as Hermione quietly watched, understanding slowly coming to her.
"I was talking about Malfoy,"
"Harry, mate, stop pulling a keezle on me here!" he choked out.
Harry faked a stretch and yawn before standing up. "Malfoy's an alright guy and McGonagall's right about us being childish. I'm knackered so g'night guys," Harry said softly, ignoring Ron's goldfish expression before heading up to his dormitory.
Harry lay in bed still smiling despite himself, unable to keep his thoughts off of Draco. As Ron came into the room, Harry pretended to be asleep not wanting said thoughts interupted.
Two days later, the weather slowly warming up turning to spring, was the first Qudditch match of the new year. It was to be Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw and everybody was excited, they were a decently matched team. The Ravenclaw's trained their Beaters hard and long, whereas Harry always drilled the Chasers of his team more. One was more offensive, the other defensive. It was always entertaining to watch, and the students were riled in their stands. All except for Draco Malfoy, who sat watching with steely silver eyes. He didn't like this Qudditch thing one bit anymore.
He sat there with his warm cloak pulled tight around him, his arms crossed, and his lips pulled into a tight grimace. His silken, platinum hair bounced lightly in the wind and his pointed features look quite unpleased. Memories of a thirteen year-old raven-hair, scarhead boy kept coming into his head. The weather that day had been wretched, and then those Dementor's came and the boy fell at least fifty feet in the air from his broomstick, hurtling downwards with only the ground to break his fall. Draco remembered his breath had caught in his throat that day, whether he was willing to admit it or not, even if back then he still loathed The-Boy-Who-Lived he had been scared that the world's only chance at defeating twisted Lord Voldemort were going to end. Thankfully that old coot of a Professor had acted quickly enough. But Draco's Veela mind was telling him that maybe this time he wouldn't react quick enough, maybe even though the weather was calm and slightly crisp, Harry would slip and fall again. And then what? He dies and Draco dies soon after? No, Draco definitely didn't like this at all.
"You alright, Malfoy?" Blaise hissed from his side, nudging him gently in the ribs. Draco shot a deep, icy glare over at the Sixth Year who automatically put his hands up in mock defense and grinned. "Woah! Don't shoot, I'm unarmed!" he teased, making Draco lighten up a little bit.
He was glad that in First Year him and Blaise had become good friends. They had always known each other from Pureblood Gala's and Balls they would attend whilst growing up, but when they finally came to Hogwarts together they really got a chance to get to know one another. They both, in their opinion, shared much more idealistic beliefs than that of their parents and classmates.
"Very funny, Zabini. I just don't think I'm in the mood for Qudditch today...but I can't miss the game," he said through gritted teeth, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he knew it wasn't from the cold. He turned his gaze down onto the Qudditch Pitch which had been magically cleared of all snow to make it easier for the players. Harry was leading his team out of their locker room, Marcus Belby a Chaser from Ravenclaw was leading his.
Draco watched with inward awe, though still a stone cold expression, as Harry strutted across the field. Whether he knew it or not, the boy drew everybody's attention to him just by walking in the room and it wasn't just because of that infamous scar of his. It was the way he carried himself, his persona finesse that he didn't even know he had, he held his head high in all types of situations and always had a brave intensity in those shockingly emerald eyes. Harry walked with his Firebolt held tightly in his right hand, a broomstick nobody other than himself and Draco had in the school for it was still the top model and most expensive and extravagant amateur broom. His Qudditch uniform did not do his toned body justice but it did well enough, he was wearing his worn leather Seeker gloves and his free hand ran through his messy, unkempt raven hair that billowed every angle possible.
Draco took a quick look around the stands and noticed he most definitely wasn't the only one seemingly captivated by Harry, and he found himself getting instinctually protective and posessive because of this. He allowed his gaze to fall deeply on Harry again, allowing his senses to bask in the others presence a couple hundred yards away, down on the ground of the Pitch.
The Captain's were shaking hands now, Harry smiled gently at Belby who merely scowled in response. A lot of people liked to get into nasty moods before a game of Qudditch, really riles them up. Draco didn't miss Harry's sidelong glance at Cho who was blushing and staring down at the ground, she was the Ravenclaw Seeker and her relations with Harry were never private, that's for sure. Draco felt his blood boil with jealousy, but he somehow kept himself cool and restrained in his seat beside Blaise. He wondered if Harry harvested any feelings for Cho...although he had said himself to be 'bent' to Draco the other night so maybe that was the problem with his and Chang's relationship.
After the Captain's dispersed into the air, Harry kicked elegantly off from the ground, both teams hovered in formation around one another, eyes glaring, handings gripping, nerves waiting. Madame Hooch had the bludgers and Golden Snitch released, the Quaffle was underneath her arm as she looked between the teams. "Lets have a good match, shall we? Keep it clean!" she then blew the whistle and threw the Quaffle, Lee Jordan's commentating started up almost immediately as the middle of the Pitch became a flurry of brooms, wind, and Qudditch balls.
Ravenclaw was a good fair match to Gryffindor, but almost everybody could tell who was going to win the match overall. It always came down to the Seekers, and there was never anybody who could beat Harry on a broomstick. He was a natural flyer, to say the least, he was smooth and at one with the entire concept of flying. A lot of people say it's because of his Father who was quite a fair flyer himself, but Draco believed otherwise.
He believed that Harry was such an amazing craftsman on the broom because he grew up detatched from magic. Of course this theory only came into his head in the past day as he muddled over the upcoming match. It made sense, because to him this entire world will always be foreign. He grew up understanding only the Muggle type of life, so when magic suddenly came out of nowhere as it must have for him, Harry probably felt absolutely overjoyed the first time he rode a broom. It was almost every Muggle's desire to fly like some kind of Superhero, and when Harry found out that he really could, he probably took it straight to heart and did his best with it. That's what Draco believed, he believed it was passion that fuelled his brilliance at Qudditch.
Draco could see that passion now as his eyes never left Harry's in the sky and the rest of the world blanked out to him. The cheering in the stands were silenced, Lee Jordan didn't exist, all that did to Draco was Harry pouring his passion into his flying. It was written all over the Gryffindor's face, the pleasure and exhileration as he zipped and soared way above the game, his eyes scanning for the Golden Snitch ruefully. There was a strategy Harry used sometimes with catching the Snitch, and that was to make sure it was at least twenty or thirty minutes into a game. Nobody wanted a short game, that was never fun, even though it could be record breaking it still wasn't entertaining. If he ever found the Snitch, he would allow his eyes to trail after it constantly but he would never fly in its direction, he would wait until the game had been going on long enough. Draco respected that, and he also saw this strategy used quite a few times and was surprised it never backfired with the other Seeker finding the Snitch as well. Harry was just too good and too fast; he could score a contract with a professional Qudditch Team straight out of Seventh Year if he wanted to.
As he watched Harry do laps around the large Pitch for awhile, not knowing the score whatsoever of the game or anything else that was happening around him, Draco felt that worry pile in the pit of his stomach again. He really did know what he would do if Harry suddenly fell, if a Bludger came and knocked him off his broomstick. Draco would feel instant remorse, even if it was just a few cuts and bruises.
Knowing this, Draco gritted his teeth together hard and put up an even heavier mask over his features. 'I'm actually this worried about Harry? He's survived numerous Qudditch matches before and he is an excellent flyer...why am I so worried about Harry?' Draco was questioning himself.
'Because you will always worry about him this much,'
'Am I really in that deep? Do I really like him that much?' he asked his inner voice.
'Of course you are and of course you do, but you already knew that. Why else would you have chosen him as your mate if you didn't care for him that much? If you didn't love him?'
'Love? That is surely going a bit far. I chose him for my mate because he is intelligent, powerful, able, and cunning unlike most of the other gits in this school not because of something as foolhardy as love,'
'Ah, but that is where you know you are wrong. Love is the smartest trick in the book somebody could fall for, and you already have. You just have to realize it and let go, let go of the fact it may be stupid Perfect Potter and think of him as Harry. A whole different person, who he really is. Just Harry. Your Harry,'
'You know what? That's right. He is my Harry. All mine,' Draco found himself agreeing inwardly now, his expression softening gently. That boy everybody else had their eyes on, the one that captivated the masses, their Saviour, their idol and rival, was Draco's Harry. He was his, and Draco knew now that nothing and nobody could ever take him away from him. A goofy smirk came onto his face without him realizing it, and Blaise looked over with a worried expression and followed his line of sight.
"Have you jinxed Potter's broomstick without telling me, Malfoy?" he asked slowly.
Draco snapped his mask back into place and turned to face his friend, "No! Why would I do that? You know better than anybody, Blaise, that I enjoy a fair match of Qudditch," Draco scowled.
"Whatever you say. It's just that you were looking pretty oddly at Potter just now, I was wondering what was up," Blaise shrugged, "Must've been my imagination,"
"Must have," Draco said in a far off voice, his eyes focused back on the brunette in question. 'I am absolutely done for. I cannot keep my eyes or mind off of him! Oh codswallop this all to bleeding hell, I am done for. Not only am I going to lose my reputation, but my Father is most certainly going to throttle me!' Draco was adorning an extremely pained expression now, Blaise looked even more heavily concerned.
"Draco, you're my best mate. Tell me what's up, I haven't seen you ever look like this. It is kind of worrying me and - well, we cannot have others questioning our status'," Blaise took a quick look around, he like Draco took pride in the fact that all other students viewed them as heartless bastards. It made life at Hogwarts not only more fun, but definitely easier.
The blonde heaved a heavy sigh, his shoulders hunched over, 'Zabini's a good guy, he'll understand. He has to,' he assured himself. Then he turned to fully face his dark-haired friend and looked up at him with sorrowful, narrow silver eyes.
"Blaise?" he began gently and then bit his lower lip, "I'm a full-blooded Veela and Harry Potter is my mate. I think I am falling in love with him," and then silence followed for quite sometime after his statement.
Blaise held an incredulous expression, "Can't say you didn't surprise me with that one, mate!"
