Seven red and seven blue figures floated at opposite ends of a green field that looked like velvet from above. The sky bellowed blue with wind and victory; each team could taste it. Cassandra Cheung gripped her broom, muscles tensing, knowing that it'd take a miracle to win. Ginny Weasley seemed almost relaxed on hers, but those close to her recognized the determined spark in her eyes.
Two bright-haired students, wearing light robes appropriate for summer, and nervous expressions, sat with two others, whose faces were striped in red paint.
"Who are you cheering for?" asked Draco.
Luna waved her flags, red and blue each, with gusto. "Both teams! Whichever way the game goes, I'll be happy."
"What an interesting approach."
Harry didn't hear their conversation, but he knew his friends were down in the bleachers, watching him, ready to cheer him on. Most of his mind was focused on the match ahead, but he couldn't help but feel grateful that they could be here on one of the most momentous and final days of his adolescence. His last game of school Quidditch. His last chance to continue to prove that he was more than the Boy Who Lived.
The blow of the whistle pierced as sharp as a knife, and the players were off, Chasers scattering for the Quaffle, Beaters spreading out and brandishing their bats. Cass and Harry shot to the side, scouring the pitch for their quarry.
"Come on…" Draco was sure he'd seen the Snitch fluttering somewhere around the Ravenclaw side, and he silently willed Harry to drift that way, on the edge of his seat as he watched him fly.
A flash of black past his shoulder. Harry ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding the Bludger. A sickening thump and frustrated grunt a few feet away told him a Ravenclaw Chaser had been hit instead. A few minutes later, a bell clang echoed across the field, and a moment later, so did an amplified voice, "Ravenclaw scores first, making it ten-zero!"
"Oh my, that was a pretty goal," Luna sighed, flapping her blue flag above her head. "Go, Ravenclaw!"
Harry tried not to panic. Gryffindor had plenty of room; as long as he got the Snitch first, they should win. He rose above the field, trying to get a better view, and watched as Ginny, Willow, and Danny approached the goal in perfect formation, dodging and weaving around their opponents, tossing the Quaffle with terrifying skill. Another clang echoed, and Harry let out a cheer before diving down to search the ground.
Yes, there it was, sneakily spiraling up the Ravenclaw goalpost. It would be hard for Harry to safely get to it, especially since Gryffindor was going more on the offensive. Draco clapped politely when his boyfriend's team scored, ignoring the dirty looks he got from other Slytherins, who were there simply to heckle. "Forward, Potter," He muttered, knowing Harry wouldn't hear him, but miraculously, his broom dipped in the right direction.
Cassandra flew on the far side of the pitch, so Harry counted himself extremely lucky when he saw the Snitch, dancing around one of Ravenclaw's goal hoops. The Keeper had spotted it as well and glared at Harry as he came closer. The Chasers were rapidly approaching, so Harry dived down, keeping his eye on the glint of gold as Ginny heaved the Quaffle and scored.
"Yes, Ginny!" Ron whooped, and Luna cheered as she waved her red flag. The May sun beat down on the field, sweat glistening on the players' faces as they wove around each other in the air. The glint of the Golden Snitch was more obvious than ever, and Draco saw the Ravenclaw Seeker perk up and zoom towards it.
Sunlight sparkled for the briefest moment on the Snitch, and as the Chasers moved away, Harry dove, wind whistling in his ears as he pursued his target. The ball began to zigzag widely, near the ground, and Harry followed its path, the Nimbus beneath him twisting back and forth as the Snitch sped towards the middle.
Excitement seized Draco and many of the other spectators as Harry raced after the Snitch. As Cass dipped from the other side, Draco shouted, "Go, Potter! Come on, faster!" His cries were echoed by the red-clad students, jumping to their feet.
He saw her now, barreling towards him, arm outstretched. But Harry was closer; he would make it. He had to.
Ginny, ever the diligent Chaser, continued trying to score, keeping her opponents engaged, but everyone's attention was on the two Seekers. Hermione gasped; they looked to be on a collision course.
The Golden Snitch was inches away.
Cassandra Cheung didn't hesitate.
Harry felt his fingers close around it.
The crowd shouted as two bodies crashed into each other, tumbling towards the grass.
Bruising pain enveloped his limbs and body as Harry rolled off his broom, his right hand clutching something for dear life. Cass inhaled sharply as they scrambled apart and to their feet; she was limping. Harry opened his hand, and the Snitch fluttered cheerfully.
"Harry Potter has caught the Snitch! Final score: one hundred seventy to ten! Gryffindor has won it all!"
Cass cursed in frustration. The roar of the crowd grew louder as they surged onto the field, clambering down the bleachers to congratulate their friends. Ginny's excited shouts pierced above the din: "We did it! We won, we won!" There was a burst of gold and scarlet as the Gryffindor team dismounted, rushing towards Harry, hugging him, thumping his back, ruffling his sweaty hair with gloved hands. Harry smiled uncontrollably, the thrill of well-earned victory sweeping through him from head to toe. Madam Hooch grandly handed the shining, golden Quidditch Cup to Ginny, who held it triumphantly above their heads.
"Behold, the fruits of your labor!" She cried, eyes wild with happiness. "This was thanks to all your hard work, everyone! Savor it!"
The team cheered in one united, joyful bundle. As their shouts died down, Ginny let Quinn Winters hold the trophy while she tackled Harry with a hug. "How does it feel to be a champion, Harry?"
"Amazing," Harry replied, grinning.
Ginny gave him a swift, friendly kiss on the cheek, then bounded away, saying, "I've got to find Luna!"
Harry didn't have to search very hard for his friends; Ron and Hermione sprinted towards him, flushed and beaming. Hermione kissed him as well, and Ron tousled his hair roughly, like a brother, saying, "That was a hell of a chase, Harry!"
Someone dressed in light gray robes appeared before them. Draco's silver eyes sparkled, hair gleaming in the sunlight as he brushed it aside. "Good game, Potter," he said, polished voice cutting through the noise of the crowd. Heart still alive with the game, Harry reached for him and pulled him close.
Their lips met almost on accident, and Draco's were immobile with surprise, at first, but he soon gave in, uncaring of the eyes around them. Harry's hand rested firmly on Draco's waist, the other drifting to his face, gently holding him as he would a fragile treasure.
When they broke apart, pure bliss seemed to block out the crowd, and for a moment, the entire universe was in their hands. Draco reached up and adjusted Harry's glasses. "I love you," he sighed.
"I love you, too."
A sudden silence had fallen over their part of the field. The students closest to them stared, some shocked, a few indifferent, others mildly disgusted. Harry felt Draco tense, but he didn't step away, only leaned closer, glaring around as if challenging anyone to object.
Ginny's voice, shouting over the crowd, distracted them: "Party at Gryffindor Tower!" She caught Harry's eye and winked. "Yay, party!" Luna echoed, pinwheeling across the grass, a flag in each hand. The students perked up and began to follow them, abuzz once more with excited chatter.
Their peers' attention effectively caught, Draco and Harry relaxed in each other's arms. "You're filthy," Draco remarked, brushing at a stripe of dirt on Harry's jaw.
"Yeah, I might've just played a Quidditch match or something," he teased, and Draco smirked.
"Hey, I think we're going to the party," Ron interjected, he and Hermione standing a few feet away. "You coming?"
"Er…" Harry glanced at Draco, read him perfectly, and replied, "Maybe later."
"All right, see you then," Hermione said, and the pair set off across the grass.
"You seriously need to take a shower before you go anywhere," Draco said critically, though he didn't move away. "Don't wash your hair, though."
"Why?"
Draco interlaced his fingers with Harry's. "You'll see. Come with me."
The Slytherin common room was empty when they entered, the students apparently having abandoned their studies for the afterparty, despite it being thrown by Gryffindor. Afternoon sunlight painted pale green stripes in the Black Lake, seaweed waving slowly by the window. As they walked, Draco's demeanor seemed to change; the brightness he'd greeted Harry with had faded, replaced by a more solemn expression. Harry couldn't help but notice it, but he didn't say anything, hoping it meant nothing serious.
As Harry showered, Draco lay flat on his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His mind moving a mile a minute with the words he wanted so desperately to say, he closed his eyes, listening to the water running.
Steam billowed from the bathroom when Harry exited, a towel wrapped around his waist. Draco tried not to stare at his sunkissed arms and torso sculpted by hours and hours of Quidditch practice. He averted his eyes as Harry slipped on a T-shirt and jeans - the simplest of Muggle clothes, yet he still looked as fit as ever. It wasn't fair.
"So…why didn't you want me to wash my hair?" Harry asked, patting his damp head.
"Because I'm going to wash it for you." Draco stood, slipped off his outer robes, and rolled up his sleeves. "Come on."
Wearing a slightly puzzled expression, Harry let Draco guide him to a chair in front of the sink. "Close your eyes." Harry obeyed, and Draco turned on the faucet, spilling water into his hair before reaching for shampoo. It was the same kind he used himself, almost identical to the bottle his mother had sent him the first week of Hogwarts.
"You don't trust me to do it myself?" Harry asked teasingly. Draco waited a moment before answering, focusing on pouring a dollop into his palm.
"My mother used to wash my hair every night when I was little," He said softly, and Harry fell silent, listening. "She didn't tell me that she loved me very often. Not in so many words. But this routine was her way of caring for me, telling me that she'd always be there for me." Draco gently washed at Harry's roots, then worked his way to the ends, noticing how long his hair was when it was wet.
Harry understood what Draco was telling him. He felt it in his touch, fingers threading through the locks, careful with the tangles. Draco cupped his hands, pouring warm water to wash the suds out.
"There." The water shut off, the last of it trickling into the drain.
Harry opened his eyes; without his glasses, he couldn't see Draco's face clearly but sensed that he was looking at him. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Draco handed him a towel and his glasses, and Harry slid them on as he dried his hair. "Potter…" Draco's brow furrowed, and he leaned against the sink, crossing his arms in thought. Harry waited for him to continue.
"I liked watching you out there today. You played well. But," Draco continued before Harry could thank him, "It made me realize something." Restless, he uncrossed his arms, placing them on the sink instead, fingers gripping the edge. "The people at Hogwarts - and probably Britain - still see you as their idol. The Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived. That Witch Weekly article hasn't changed many minds. You saw the crowd. They loved you.
"So, I realized…" Draco's voice seemed to stop working. He looked at the ground, then cleared his throat. "If they haven't stopped loving you, they haven't stopped hating me."
His eyes met Harry's, and they were full of tears. "I'm only going to drag you down, Potter. You know that; I know that. I appreciate you being there for me, and I believe you when you say you love me. I've been thinking…I still can't forgive myself - for what I did to you, to Ron, to Hermione. I know it seems like I'm over it. But what if, secretly, nothing's really fine?" He lifted his hands, looking at them, remembering them caked with blood and dirt and shame. "What if all the people I've hurt stay that way forever? Because of what I did?
"I can still be your friend, Harry. I think I can allow myself that much. But until I properly, really make amends…"
"Stop." Harry let the towel fall to the floor. His green eyes had narrowed. "Stop doing this."
"What?" Draco asked, genuinely confused.
"Stop punishing yourself. Look," Harry turned to face him, and Draco thought he was going to take his hands, but he only reached out with his words. "If you really want to break up with me, it should be because you don't love me anymore. Not because you're pushing me away for the sake of it."
"I'm not-"
"Draco." The familiar syllables fell from his mouth. "Tell me what's going to happen when we graduate."
"We - we'll become Aurors."
"You're giving twenty years of your life to repay your and your family's crimes, Draco. That doesn't seem like enough atonement to you?"
"I'm doing you a favor!" Draco exclaimed suddenly. "I'm dead weight, Potter! This," He roughly pulled up his sleeve, the outline of the Dark Mark blooming on his pale skin, "Is dead weight."
He could see Harry struggling with the impulse to lose his temper. "I don't care about that," he said fiercely, and he touched him then, cradling his face, wiping away the tears that poured, unnoticed by Draco, down his face. "I care about you, not what's on your arm."
"But why?" Draco whispered, "When that mark belongs to your parents' murderer?"
Harry's expression darkened; he shook his head. "Voldemort is dead. He's irrelevant. You matter a million times more."
"I shouldn't," Draco said softly. He reached up and squeezed Harry's hands, and it felt too much like a gesture of goodbye for Harry to stand. "You don't need me."
"You're right." Draco winced; he hadn't expected Harry to say that so bluntly. "I don't need you. And I don't need Ron or Hermione either. I lived for eleven years without knowing them, without knowing you. But I can say honestly that my life would be a whole lot worse without them, without you. You make me happy, Draco Malfoy." Harry smiled, but his eyes were welling, too.. "I've said this before, and I'm saying it now: I don't know how I fell in love with someone who used to be my worst enemy. It just happened. And I don't regret it happening."
Draco let out an involuntary sob of relief, and he clapped a hand over his mouth, almost embarrassed at the display of emotion. "You're not giving up, are you?" He asked, voice muffled.
Harry grinned through his tears. "Nope."
"You're an idiot," Draco sighed, but he didn't mean it, and Harry could tell.
"Maybe so. But I'm your idiot." Harry wrapped his arms around him, and Draco let him.
They stood, frozen in time, each feeling the other's heartbeat. Draco let his tears fall onto his friend's clean T-shirt. Harry smelled of detergent and soap and gardenias, and Draco breathed him in, silently thanking him for his unfailing mercy.
