It was supposed to be simple.
Harry felt his pulse race as he stood there, swathed in shadows.
A dare, that's all. A friendly beginning-of-the-Quidditch-season prank. Well, okay, not exactly friendly, as it was the Slytherins, but that was all right.
He had never expected this. His shifted uncomfortably, beginning to feel hot under his Quidditch robes. Sweat clung to his skin and he drew a hand across his damp forehead, feeling strangely parched. He wanted to move, to run, to feel the flush of embarrassment across his cheeks, and then laugh about it with Ron. And yet he couldn't. His lips trembled slightly as his intense green eyes followed the droplets of water as they sluiced over the lithe frame of his longtime rival.
He gripped his wand in shaking fingers. A containment charm. A simple prank from one Quidditch captain to another. Strange, how their lives had mirrored one another for so long. At 17 years of age, the enmity had only intensified.
So *what* was going on?
Harry closed his eyes breifly. Get a grip. He said to himself. At Malfoy's soft murmur his eyes snapped open.
"Potter."
Harry felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. An unstoppable wave of fear and shame welled up inside him, and he turned from locker room, fleeing the way he had come. He burst out onto the Quidditch pitch, gasping in deep breaths of the clear evening air. With a shudder, he sank to his knees.
Even after all he had faced, he had never been more frigtened in his life. ......
Draco tipped his head back under the spray, wishing it could wash away the bitter taste of defeat. A disapointing loss. If he had only...he shook his head. Better not to think about it.
"Potter." he murmured hatefully.
After 6 years together, Draco had convinced himself that this year was going to be different. The death of his father had changed things for him. He was tired of competing. But something about those brilliant green eyes and that stupid, stupid smile...It made him want to fight.
He didn't even know what he was fighting against.
The last thing he wanted to do was return to the Slytherin common room, to have to listen to the paltry comforts of his so-called friends. He sighed and turned off the showerhead, wrapping a towel around his waist before he stepped out.
The locker room was empty, as he'd expected it to be. He knew that the other Slytherins were worried about him. He didn't care. He'd been spending more and more time alone lately. He needed to think. Needed to clear his head. His life had somehow gone astray. Only last year he knew exactly who he was and what his future was going to be.
Now, as he dressed, he wasn't even sure where he was going.
He stepped out onto the Quidditch pitch, the evening breeze ruffling his hair gently. His cold gray eyes surveyed the field carelessly...until he spotted a figure in scarlet Quidditch robes hunched in the middle of the field. His pulse quickened. It couldn't be...could it?
Harry felt his pulse race as he stood there, swathed in shadows.
A dare, that's all. A friendly beginning-of-the-Quidditch-season prank. Well, okay, not exactly friendly, as it was the Slytherins, but that was all right.
He had never expected this. His shifted uncomfortably, beginning to feel hot under his Quidditch robes. Sweat clung to his skin and he drew a hand across his damp forehead, feeling strangely parched. He wanted to move, to run, to feel the flush of embarrassment across his cheeks, and then laugh about it with Ron. And yet he couldn't. His lips trembled slightly as his intense green eyes followed the droplets of water as they sluiced over the lithe frame of his longtime rival.
He gripped his wand in shaking fingers. A containment charm. A simple prank from one Quidditch captain to another. Strange, how their lives had mirrored one another for so long. At 17 years of age, the enmity had only intensified.
So *what* was going on?
Harry closed his eyes breifly. Get a grip. He said to himself. At Malfoy's soft murmur his eyes snapped open.
"Potter."
Harry felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. An unstoppable wave of fear and shame welled up inside him, and he turned from locker room, fleeing the way he had come. He burst out onto the Quidditch pitch, gasping in deep breaths of the clear evening air. With a shudder, he sank to his knees.
Even after all he had faced, he had never been more frigtened in his life. ......
Draco tipped his head back under the spray, wishing it could wash away the bitter taste of defeat. A disapointing loss. If he had only...he shook his head. Better not to think about it.
"Potter." he murmured hatefully.
After 6 years together, Draco had convinced himself that this year was going to be different. The death of his father had changed things for him. He was tired of competing. But something about those brilliant green eyes and that stupid, stupid smile...It made him want to fight.
He didn't even know what he was fighting against.
The last thing he wanted to do was return to the Slytherin common room, to have to listen to the paltry comforts of his so-called friends. He sighed and turned off the showerhead, wrapping a towel around his waist before he stepped out.
The locker room was empty, as he'd expected it to be. He knew that the other Slytherins were worried about him. He didn't care. He'd been spending more and more time alone lately. He needed to think. Needed to clear his head. His life had somehow gone astray. Only last year he knew exactly who he was and what his future was going to be.
Now, as he dressed, he wasn't even sure where he was going.
He stepped out onto the Quidditch pitch, the evening breeze ruffling his hair gently. His cold gray eyes surveyed the field carelessly...until he spotted a figure in scarlet Quidditch robes hunched in the middle of the field. His pulse quickened. It couldn't be...could it?