49. To the sky [Saturday, November 12th 2005]

Draco awoke to sunshine streaming through the enormous window in Harry's bedroom and his half of the bed empty. It was also warm, but since the sun was burning, that didn't mean much.

"Harry?" Draco called, pushing away the blanket.

It had gotten rather hot during the night, but what else was new? This was Harry's house, after all. It would still be hot in here even during the deepest winter.

"In here!"

Draco followed his voice and found Harry inside his clothes closet, holding up two Gryffindor scarves.

"Are you finally throwing these out?" Draco asked hopefully. "It is pretty unlikely that you'll go back to get your NEWTs."

"Dream on, Malfoy." Harry grinned. "You don't have that much influence on me."

Draco took one of the scarves and slung it around Harry's neck, pulling him in closer. "I like to think otherwise."

Harry kissed him softly, but only for a second. He draped the second scarf around Draco's neck and said, "Unfortunately, I don't have time."

"Of course you do." Draco put both hands on Harry's hips, which were quite unfairly already hidden underneath jeans and one of his many scarlet sweaters. "What could be more important than me on a Saturday? There is no practice on the weekends and matches are only on Sundays."

"Not at Hogwarts, they aren't."

"Is that where you're going?"

"You could come," Harry said, straightening Draco's scarf. "It's Gryffindor against Slytherin and you're already dressed appropriately."

"Ha ha," Draco said drily. He took the scarf off and tried to put it on a random shelf.

Harry took it from him, folded it neatly and put it in one of his many, many boxes. Draco didn't know how he could keep track of where what went, but there was obviously a system in place.

"You know what? I will accompany you," Draco said, reaching for an emerald green box. "But only because I've been waiting for an excuse to borrow this."

He took the silky emerald scarf (the one with the lightning bolt signature made from unicorn hair) out of its box and put it on. It felt cool and smooth against his skin and Draco knew he would need a very strong incentive to take it off again. Maybe if Harry took off all of his clothes first. Maybe.

"Suits you," Harry said, looking him up and down. "Goes great with your pants."

"Thanks," Draco simply said. "That scarf is wasted on you, honestly. I'd like to know who thought it would be a good idea to give that to you. There's an excellent facility for brain damage at St. Mungo's."

Harry grabbed him around the thighs, lifted him up swiftly and, before Draco could do so much as take a startled breath, carried him the few steps into the bedroom, where he dropped Draco onto the bed and himself on top of him.

Harry did have some time for him after all. He didn't insist that Draco take off the scarf.

~o~

They were sitting on either side of Professor McGonagall. They hadn't even talked about it beforehand – sitting next to each other here, in public, would have been too much. They were getting plenty of looks already (Harry probably a bit more than Draco) and Draco was feeling kind of paranoid. To him, Harry's hair seemed even more rumbled than usual. He felt like the whole world must be able to see it for what it was – Harry looked like he had just stumbled out of bed.

Two Chasers shot past them and directed Draco's attention back to the match, which was just plain ridiculous. It seemed that Harry's presence had a certain effect on the teenagers: The Chasers did unnecessary loopings and trick-shots. One of the Beaters let out battle cries every time he wacked a Bludger (which served as a great warning system for all the other players). The Gryffindor Seeker shot through the tiniest gaps between players, even with no Snitch in sight. And the Slytherin Keeper hoovered in front of her goal posts with only one hand on her broom, the other placed on her hip casually.

The match was also quite brutal for a non-league match. Maybe the players thought this would be the easiest way to impress somebody who played for the Falmouth Falcons, whose motto called for breaking some heads, after all. They seemed to forget that the Falcons' players almost never got penalties – they had mastered the art of rule-abiding brutality, even if just barely.

The Hogwarts players were just going for it, shoving and elbowing each other. Madame Hooch's mouth must have been dry from shouting so much after only half an hour. The players didn't even seem to register her lectures; they just kept glancing over at Harry.

"Well, Harry," said McGonagall resolutely. "Maybe next time bring your Invisibility Cloak. Madam Pomfrey will certainly be busy today."

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said with a grimace. "But you know Slytherin's never been known to play fair."

"The Gryffindors are just as bad, Potter," Draco said with an incredulous look.

"Meh."

Draco didn't know if there would have been more, because that was when the Gryffindors emphasised Draco's point for him.

The Slytherin Seeker ducked as the Gryffindor Beater swung her bat at him. Matthew Greyson's daughter, who was flying directly behind him, was hit in the face instead. She was thrown off her broom and crashed onto one of the Gryffindor Chasers, who was flying underneath her. The Chaser managed to hold onto her motionless body and carry her safely to the ground.

Draco didn't have to push his way through the stands, because the crowd parted to let him through. Draco wanted to think that this was out of respect for emergency wizards, but years at St. Mungo's had taught him otherwise. They were probably more awestruck by Harry, who was sprinting down the stairs right beside him.

The Gryffindor players let them through as well, and they dropped to their knees on either side of Greyson, who was still unresponsive. Harry grabbed her wrist. Draco cast a spell to assess the damage. The responsible Beater was full out sobbing and gasping for air.

"It's alright. She's just unconscious," Draco said loudly to keep the girl from entering into a panic attack. He glanced at the name emblazoned on her robes and then pointed at the boy who was standing beside her. "Please take Ms. Pierce to the hospital wing."

To Draco's surprise, the boy didn't argue and led Pierce away with one arm around her shoulder. Draco healed Greyson's broken nose and jaw bone and then cast a Renervate.

Greyson's eyes flew open. Her hand shot upwards and she grabbed Harry's shoulder, who flinched massively. There was a sharp crack like static and she let go instantly. Both of them were pushed apart. Greyson's upper body connected with the ground again. Harry managed to stay upright on his knees just so.

"Oh fuck!" Harry said, leaning forward and grabbing both of her shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Kate! Are you okay?"

"Great going, Potter," Draco snorted. "Maybe you should become a Healer."

"Harry?" Greyson said confusedly, squinting up at him. "What are you doing here?"

She seemed to notice his hands on her shoulder and turned bright red. Harry took his hands back, probably taking it as a sign that he was making her uncomfortable.

"That would be the concussion," Draco said to cover the awkwardness. "Let's take her to the hospital wing. Some rest should do the trick."

Greyson only seemed to notice him now. She turned her head slowly and narrowed her eyes at him. "Malfoy?"

"Hello, Katherine. You took a bat to the face, but don't worry. I already healed your bones and you'll be as good as new by tomorrow."

She continued to stare at him for a few seconds without showing any signs of having heard him. She stretched out her arm again, but instead of Harry she grabbed onto Draco's scarf.

"So pretty," she said slowly. "Where'd you get that?"

"I don't know," Draco said off-handedly. "It was a present. We'll float you to the castle now, alright?"

But she didn't let go and only squinted at him some more. "I don't like you."

"I don't care," Draco said, rolling his eyes and pointing his wand at her again.

"Don't point that thing at me!" she hissed. Her grip on his scarf tightened and then she gave him a shove that didn't really do anything.

"Fine," Draco said. "Should Potter do it instead?"

But she just turned slightly redder and only nodded the tiniest bit. Draco glanced at Harry.

"Your turn."

The whole team went along as they took Greyson up to the castle. The other two Chasers were attempting to talk to her, but all of them seemed very distracted, glancing at Harry at irregular intervals.

It was a massive commotion. The Slytherin players followed close behind and the rest of the students were already leaving the stands, meaning they would probably catch up soon.

"Hope you brought your best quill, Potter," said Draco as a means of preparing him for what was to come.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and winced. Draco didn't comment on the increase of speed, even though they were bordering on jogging up the slope now.

Madam Pomfrey was already waiting for them at the hospital wing. And she was not happy to see them.

"Absolutely not!" she said resolutely as their procession of two full Quidditch teams (minus the two players Draco had sent ahead) arrived at her doors. "Any student who wants to get in here had better be bleeding. Malfoy, Potter, take her inside please."

Harry floated Greyson inside and Pomfrey closed the door behind them firmly. Pierce and her teammate were sitting next to each other on a bed at the windowfront. When they came in, the boy started rummaging through the pockets of his Quidditch robes frantically. Harry placed his charge on a free bed further away from the doors, probably already anticipating the moment the boy managed to locate a quill.

"Thank you, Potter. Care to help, Healer Malfoy?"

Pomfrey drew the curtains closed as soon as he nodded, leaving Harry alone on the other side with the two Gryffindors.

"Er … Mr. Potter, Sir?" came the girl's voice from further away. "We were wondering …"

Draco didn't find out what they were wondering, because then he was telling Madam Pomfrey what he'd already done to fix Greyson and for the next ten minutes they were busy examining Greyson a second time and discussing some of the newer treatment techniques (which didn't necessarily have anything to do with Greyson, who was sleeping tightly).

When they finally drew back the curtain, Pomfrey nearly had a stroke. And who could blame her?

Harry was sitting atop the footboard of Pierce's bed, two (almost) complete Quidditch teams grouped around him and hanging on his lips. Every single one of them was bleeding – some had cuts across their cheeks, some had nosebleeds, some were pressing tissues to their split lips.

But the strangest thing was this: Harry seemed genuinely contend with the situation, which maybe had something to do with the fact that he was in the middle of narrating every single one of the manoeuvres he had employed against the dragon during the Triwizard Tournament. Nobody was holding a quill.

"Malfoy!" Harry waved him over enthusiastically and waited until he was leaning against the footboard of the next bed over. Pomfrey just threw her hands up in surrender and barricaded herself in her office.

"Remember when you used that spiral dive in fifth year and two Bludgers just barely missed you?"

Draco grinned. "They nearly knocked you off, though."

"Yeah." Harry was grinning as well. "I've always wondered, how did you manage that twist at the end?"

"You want me to describe a move that I did ten years ago?" Truth was, Draco's hand had slipped. Not that he would ever admit that.

"Right," said Harry, sounding a little disappointed. But then his brows unfurled and he jumped to his feet, actually clapping his hands. "We should go down to the pitch and try it!"

None of the students had to be asked twice. And that was how they ended up spending a whole Saturday afternoon on the Hogwarts pitch, trying out increasingly complicated moves and re-enacting various scenes from their matches at Hogwarts (Draco's rendition of what became known as 'The Saviour's Snitch Swallowing' was a great hit).

The event ended when McGonagall came down half an hour before curfew and herded the majority of the Hogwarts population (word had certainly spread fast) back into the castle.

Draco gave his Patronus another go that night, picturing hundreds of students looking up at him with admiration instead of disgust, none of them caring about his past, all of them just excited to see them go toe to toe with each other – him and Harry, who wasn't the Chosen One but just a brilliant Quidditch player.

His Patronus didn't take shape, but Harry insisted that the mist was more compact at its centre. In the end, Draco decided to take his word for it.