Author's Note: WOO HOO! One more chapter up! WOO HOO! 400 reviews!!! You
guys are the best-est (BEST!) readers/reviewers in the universe!!! Those of
you who have not reviewed, it's never too late, you know *hint hint*
Special Thanks to: dragons lover, Dark Peppermint (this is pretty early, right? *grins*), LenaLovely12, EPP, Diamond Angel, spangle*star (happy, sweetheart?), Crispy17, Black Heart, Shannon Corrigan, Gabie & Dani, Rei the Genki-Chan, Akemi, caroline, Natzlin, zeynel, Hyperbole, TanisaFyre, beautifulelf and shinigami5218.
Chapter 21: A Not-So Friendly Match
Last night had passed by uneventfully. Harry had gone back to the Common Room with Oliver after their little chat and together the two boys had gone through various game strategies.
And it's Saturday today, so that means they would be free to practise.
All day long, if need be, Wood had said.
And for once Harry was glad that the older boy was such a slave-driver. He knew he needed to keep himself occupied to keep from thinking about what happened, and how stupid he had been.
Despite his resolution to forget everything remotely Draco-ish, he's still nervous about seeing the boy again.
Afraid he might start to show weakness and break down or something. The last thing he wanted was for Draco to know how affected he was by his betrayal.
But with luck, the weekend would give him time to get it together.
*I hope so.* Harry sighed.
He clasped his Quidditch robes over his white T-shirt. It was quite chilly out and he should be wearing his jumper but he knew he'd be warmed up by the physical activity.
He hoped Oliver would be done talking soon. He wanted to get back on his broom again and it didn't seem as though the rest of the team were paying him much attention anyway.
Fred was stretched out on the locker room bench, dozing peacefully.
With the bench currently fully occupied, his twin was leaning against his broomstick, half-dressed, with his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open.
Even the girls were looking at Oliver with glassy eyes as he droned on and on about the importance of training especially hard now with the limited time they had.
"All right, then. That's it." Oliver suddenly finished and clapped his hands together rather loudly, snapping George out of his daze. Only then he realised he only had one shoe on and had neglected to put on his pants.
Fred yawned loudly and started to get up from the bench in slow-motion, until Oliver shot him a glare that would scare any Weasley.
Finally they were all out on the pitch.
The sky was clear; only a few stray clouds were hovering above them.
Harry smiled as he got on his beloved broomstick and kicked off into the sky.
The feeling of almost weightless soaring gave him an instant adrenaline rush. He had almost forgotten how much he loved flying.
He sped up and did a few turns in the air, laughing as the exhilaration coursed through his veins.
His cheeks were flushing a healthy colour and he felt better than he had in a while.
About 30 yards below him, he could hear Oliver curse loudly.
Harry stopped his joyriding to look down at Oliver; wondering what the Captain was so pissed about.
Slytherins.
The entire team was assembling onto the pitch, their dark green robes whipping against the wind.
Even from this far up, they looked to be reckoned with.
Marcus Flint shot them a dirty grin from below before turning back to his team-mates.
Oliver was zooming fast down towards the ground; presumably to yell at Marcus for his unwelcome intrusion.
Fred, George and the others were all following him.
Strength in numbers.
Harry hesitated, he could spot Draco clearly; talking to Flint.
He bit his lip and held back the tears; this was harder than he thought.
Finally deciding to leave the confrontation to his teammates; he hovered listlessly in the air, waiting.
Oliver seemed to be close to punching Marcus but Fred and George; knowing him all too well, each kept a steady hand on Oliver's shoulder to hold him back.
Harry sighed.
He was overcome with a sudden urge to leave all the others behind and fly around on his own.
Or maybe he could go find Ron and hang out with him and Hermione. Hell, he'd rather be in the library than where he was now. Even detention with Snape sounds like a pleasant idea.
But he knew he couldn't leave.
For one thing, Oliver would find him and flay him alive for wasting precious practise time.
Also, leaving would mean admitting he cared.
Which he wasn't supposed to; according to Oliver.
Something was going on down there.
The Gryffindor team - minus Harry, were now crowded over to one side (away from the Slytherins) and appeared to be in deep discussion.
Harry leant over on his broom handle and squinted his eyes; trying to figure out what they were talking about.
*Hmmm. . .I should think about learning how to lip-read.*
He flew around in slow, lazy circles until Oliver got on his broom and flew up to his side.
"What are *they* doing here?" Harry immediately blurts out.
"Uhm, Harry -"
He suddenly noticed then that the other Quidditch players, /including/ the Slytherin team were beginning to get on their brooms and rise up into the air.
"Whoa! What's going on here? We're going to have to *share* the field for practise?" he interrupted.
"Oh. It's much worse than that." Oliver paused.
"We're going to play against them. A friendly match." he finished brightly.
"WHAT?! Whose *brilliant* idea was this?!" Harry yelled.
"Flint's actually."
Harry narrowed his eyes.
"Actually Harry, if you think about it - it's not a bad suggestion." Oliver nodded thoughtfully to himself, "I mean, how good a practise can we get just from playing against ourselves? But playing against those Slytherin bastards? You can't beat that!" He smiled widely at Harry.
Harry looked at Oliver like he was crazy.
Oliver chose to ignore the look and clap the younger boy on his shoulder heartily, almost knocking him off his broom.
"Come on Harry. . . It'll be fine, I promise. Just forget about him."
*Easy for you to say.* Harry thought bitterly.
Suddenly Marcus's voice rang through the air. "Are you two love-birds going to talk all day or can we start the match?"
Oliver gritted his teeth but gave Marcus a nod nonetheless.
He gave Harry encouraging thumbs up before speeding over to his goal-post.
Harry sighed.
He could sense Draco hovering nearby.
Could *feel* those intense grey eyes on him.
He took in a sharp intake of breath when the boy started to inched closer to him on his broom.
They were now only a few feet apart, but Harry steadfastly refused to acknowledge his presence and concentrated instead on what was going on below.
One of the Slytherin's reserves was walking into the centre circle with the heavy box containing the balls and the Golden Snitch.
Draco hesitated.
He considered Harry's tense stance and extremely rigid posture. His knuckles were white from gripping the handle so tightly. It doesn't look good.
*I can handle this.* he told himself.
"Harry?"
No answer.
*Maybe he didn't hear me.*
"Harry." he said, a little louder this time and inched even closer towards the boy, "I've been looking all over for you." he gulped and blinked.
Silence.
Overhead, the clear sky was steadily being replaced by fast approaching grey clouds.
Yesterday's gloomy weather looked set to repeat itself.
Harry narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw tight.
"Don't bother." he finally said without a trace of emotion.
And without warning, he immediately dove away in a blur, before Draco had time to process what he said. The confused Slytherin could feel a whoosh of air from Harry's sudden departure.
He looked down to see why the boy had gone.
*Snitch!*
The Golden Snitch had just been released and he hadn't been paying attention.
He turned a deaf ear to Marcus's furious yelling as he immediately dove and followed Harry.
Meanwhile, Harry was determined to make this the shortest Quidditch game in history, or at least one of the shortest.
He absolutely *had* to catch the Golden Snitch.
*Nothing like a bitter ex to boost morale.* Oliver thought proudly as he spotted his Seeker chasing the snitch with a passion and intensity that was unrivalled by his past performances.
The match went on; the snitch staying cleverly out of Harry's grasp.
The score was dead even.
30 - 30.
Draco sighed wearily, he'd been on Harry's tail for ten whole minutes, without a break and at top speed.
*Is he some kind of human dynamo?*
The snitch dodged just in time from Harry's outstretched hand and Draco could hear him curse softly to himself.
It started to rain.
And lightning flashed across the sky, lighting up their world for a split second.
But it was enough to make Harry lose sight of the snitch momentarily.
In a flash, it was gone.
Harry stopped and surveyed the sky, feeling extremely frustrated with himself.
Of course, Draco took this opportunity to catch up with him again.
He was exhausted from the marathon flying but he tried to compose himself as he flew to Harry's side.
"Harry, wait."
And for the first time during the match, Harry looked at him.
"What is it?" he said coolly, before turning his eyes towards the sky to search for any sign of the snitch again.
"What did you mean by that? Don't bother?"
"What did I mean, Malfoy?" Harry repeated incredulously, "Exactly what I said." he spat out.
"Look, I know you have every right to be mad at me, but -" he took in a breath, "I have a good explanation." he nodded.
"Oh, really? I have one too."
Draco raised his eyebrows hopefully at this.
Harry maneuvered his broom closer to the other boy, so that they were side by side. Their faces were inches apart now.
"You're a liar."
Draco blinked, a little taken aback.
"Okay. . . I deserved that." he put up his hands in defeat.
"And a coward." Harry added.
Draco gritted his teeth and tried to rein in his mounting anger. He wanted to make things right, and if Harry needed to get angry at him, so be it.
So Draco nodded reluctantly, his eyes narrowing just a little.
"Oh! And I almost forgot." Harry said sweetly.
"You're a bastard and I wish I never met you." he finished with relish, a triumphant smile on his face.
The rain started to pour down harder now, soaking the both of them to their skin.
But by now, they were oblivious to everything else around but each other.
"Are you done?" Draco managed through clenched teeth.
His blonde hair was plastered over his forehead, and for once he didn't brush it away.
Harry looked at Draco appraisingly.
"Yes." he paused briefly.
"And so are we."
"You're *not* serious?" Draco looked him right in the eye.
"I am." Harry said, turning away, and bit back a gulp.
Draco stared at him for the longest time before speaking.
"Fine." he said, his voice slightly strained as he grappled with the turmoil of emotions that was threatening to sweep him away.
Harry could feel the rush of cold air as Draco sped away from him to God knows where.
He started to take off his spectacles to wipe it dry, and saw that his hands were trembling uncontrollably as he lifted them up from his handle.
Everyone else had left.
The game was over; the captains had called it off because of the heavy downpour and Harry was the only one left.
*I did the right thing." He told himself out loud.
*Then why do I feel so awful?* he thought wearily, feeling more confused than ever.
He took his time descending to the ground.
And as he walked dejectedly back into the castle, his broom dragging behind him, a pair of cold grey eyes followed his movements from high up an old forgotten tower.
Special Thanks to: dragons lover, Dark Peppermint (this is pretty early, right? *grins*), LenaLovely12, EPP, Diamond Angel, spangle*star (happy, sweetheart?), Crispy17, Black Heart, Shannon Corrigan, Gabie & Dani, Rei the Genki-Chan, Akemi, caroline, Natzlin, zeynel, Hyperbole, TanisaFyre, beautifulelf and shinigami5218.
Chapter 21: A Not-So Friendly Match
Last night had passed by uneventfully. Harry had gone back to the Common Room with Oliver after their little chat and together the two boys had gone through various game strategies.
And it's Saturday today, so that means they would be free to practise.
All day long, if need be, Wood had said.
And for once Harry was glad that the older boy was such a slave-driver. He knew he needed to keep himself occupied to keep from thinking about what happened, and how stupid he had been.
Despite his resolution to forget everything remotely Draco-ish, he's still nervous about seeing the boy again.
Afraid he might start to show weakness and break down or something. The last thing he wanted was for Draco to know how affected he was by his betrayal.
But with luck, the weekend would give him time to get it together.
*I hope so.* Harry sighed.
He clasped his Quidditch robes over his white T-shirt. It was quite chilly out and he should be wearing his jumper but he knew he'd be warmed up by the physical activity.
He hoped Oliver would be done talking soon. He wanted to get back on his broom again and it didn't seem as though the rest of the team were paying him much attention anyway.
Fred was stretched out on the locker room bench, dozing peacefully.
With the bench currently fully occupied, his twin was leaning against his broomstick, half-dressed, with his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open.
Even the girls were looking at Oliver with glassy eyes as he droned on and on about the importance of training especially hard now with the limited time they had.
"All right, then. That's it." Oliver suddenly finished and clapped his hands together rather loudly, snapping George out of his daze. Only then he realised he only had one shoe on and had neglected to put on his pants.
Fred yawned loudly and started to get up from the bench in slow-motion, until Oliver shot him a glare that would scare any Weasley.
Finally they were all out on the pitch.
The sky was clear; only a few stray clouds were hovering above them.
Harry smiled as he got on his beloved broomstick and kicked off into the sky.
The feeling of almost weightless soaring gave him an instant adrenaline rush. He had almost forgotten how much he loved flying.
He sped up and did a few turns in the air, laughing as the exhilaration coursed through his veins.
His cheeks were flushing a healthy colour and he felt better than he had in a while.
About 30 yards below him, he could hear Oliver curse loudly.
Harry stopped his joyriding to look down at Oliver; wondering what the Captain was so pissed about.
Slytherins.
The entire team was assembling onto the pitch, their dark green robes whipping against the wind.
Even from this far up, they looked to be reckoned with.
Marcus Flint shot them a dirty grin from below before turning back to his team-mates.
Oliver was zooming fast down towards the ground; presumably to yell at Marcus for his unwelcome intrusion.
Fred, George and the others were all following him.
Strength in numbers.
Harry hesitated, he could spot Draco clearly; talking to Flint.
He bit his lip and held back the tears; this was harder than he thought.
Finally deciding to leave the confrontation to his teammates; he hovered listlessly in the air, waiting.
Oliver seemed to be close to punching Marcus but Fred and George; knowing him all too well, each kept a steady hand on Oliver's shoulder to hold him back.
Harry sighed.
He was overcome with a sudden urge to leave all the others behind and fly around on his own.
Or maybe he could go find Ron and hang out with him and Hermione. Hell, he'd rather be in the library than where he was now. Even detention with Snape sounds like a pleasant idea.
But he knew he couldn't leave.
For one thing, Oliver would find him and flay him alive for wasting precious practise time.
Also, leaving would mean admitting he cared.
Which he wasn't supposed to; according to Oliver.
Something was going on down there.
The Gryffindor team - minus Harry, were now crowded over to one side (away from the Slytherins) and appeared to be in deep discussion.
Harry leant over on his broom handle and squinted his eyes; trying to figure out what they were talking about.
*Hmmm. . .I should think about learning how to lip-read.*
He flew around in slow, lazy circles until Oliver got on his broom and flew up to his side.
"What are *they* doing here?" Harry immediately blurts out.
"Uhm, Harry -"
He suddenly noticed then that the other Quidditch players, /including/ the Slytherin team were beginning to get on their brooms and rise up into the air.
"Whoa! What's going on here? We're going to have to *share* the field for practise?" he interrupted.
"Oh. It's much worse than that." Oliver paused.
"We're going to play against them. A friendly match." he finished brightly.
"WHAT?! Whose *brilliant* idea was this?!" Harry yelled.
"Flint's actually."
Harry narrowed his eyes.
"Actually Harry, if you think about it - it's not a bad suggestion." Oliver nodded thoughtfully to himself, "I mean, how good a practise can we get just from playing against ourselves? But playing against those Slytherin bastards? You can't beat that!" He smiled widely at Harry.
Harry looked at Oliver like he was crazy.
Oliver chose to ignore the look and clap the younger boy on his shoulder heartily, almost knocking him off his broom.
"Come on Harry. . . It'll be fine, I promise. Just forget about him."
*Easy for you to say.* Harry thought bitterly.
Suddenly Marcus's voice rang through the air. "Are you two love-birds going to talk all day or can we start the match?"
Oliver gritted his teeth but gave Marcus a nod nonetheless.
He gave Harry encouraging thumbs up before speeding over to his goal-post.
Harry sighed.
He could sense Draco hovering nearby.
Could *feel* those intense grey eyes on him.
He took in a sharp intake of breath when the boy started to inched closer to him on his broom.
They were now only a few feet apart, but Harry steadfastly refused to acknowledge his presence and concentrated instead on what was going on below.
One of the Slytherin's reserves was walking into the centre circle with the heavy box containing the balls and the Golden Snitch.
Draco hesitated.
He considered Harry's tense stance and extremely rigid posture. His knuckles were white from gripping the handle so tightly. It doesn't look good.
*I can handle this.* he told himself.
"Harry?"
No answer.
*Maybe he didn't hear me.*
"Harry." he said, a little louder this time and inched even closer towards the boy, "I've been looking all over for you." he gulped and blinked.
Silence.
Overhead, the clear sky was steadily being replaced by fast approaching grey clouds.
Yesterday's gloomy weather looked set to repeat itself.
Harry narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw tight.
"Don't bother." he finally said without a trace of emotion.
And without warning, he immediately dove away in a blur, before Draco had time to process what he said. The confused Slytherin could feel a whoosh of air from Harry's sudden departure.
He looked down to see why the boy had gone.
*Snitch!*
The Golden Snitch had just been released and he hadn't been paying attention.
He turned a deaf ear to Marcus's furious yelling as he immediately dove and followed Harry.
Meanwhile, Harry was determined to make this the shortest Quidditch game in history, or at least one of the shortest.
He absolutely *had* to catch the Golden Snitch.
*Nothing like a bitter ex to boost morale.* Oliver thought proudly as he spotted his Seeker chasing the snitch with a passion and intensity that was unrivalled by his past performances.
The match went on; the snitch staying cleverly out of Harry's grasp.
The score was dead even.
30 - 30.
Draco sighed wearily, he'd been on Harry's tail for ten whole minutes, without a break and at top speed.
*Is he some kind of human dynamo?*
The snitch dodged just in time from Harry's outstretched hand and Draco could hear him curse softly to himself.
It started to rain.
And lightning flashed across the sky, lighting up their world for a split second.
But it was enough to make Harry lose sight of the snitch momentarily.
In a flash, it was gone.
Harry stopped and surveyed the sky, feeling extremely frustrated with himself.
Of course, Draco took this opportunity to catch up with him again.
He was exhausted from the marathon flying but he tried to compose himself as he flew to Harry's side.
"Harry, wait."
And for the first time during the match, Harry looked at him.
"What is it?" he said coolly, before turning his eyes towards the sky to search for any sign of the snitch again.
"What did you mean by that? Don't bother?"
"What did I mean, Malfoy?" Harry repeated incredulously, "Exactly what I said." he spat out.
"Look, I know you have every right to be mad at me, but -" he took in a breath, "I have a good explanation." he nodded.
"Oh, really? I have one too."
Draco raised his eyebrows hopefully at this.
Harry maneuvered his broom closer to the other boy, so that they were side by side. Their faces were inches apart now.
"You're a liar."
Draco blinked, a little taken aback.
"Okay. . . I deserved that." he put up his hands in defeat.
"And a coward." Harry added.
Draco gritted his teeth and tried to rein in his mounting anger. He wanted to make things right, and if Harry needed to get angry at him, so be it.
So Draco nodded reluctantly, his eyes narrowing just a little.
"Oh! And I almost forgot." Harry said sweetly.
"You're a bastard and I wish I never met you." he finished with relish, a triumphant smile on his face.
The rain started to pour down harder now, soaking the both of them to their skin.
But by now, they were oblivious to everything else around but each other.
"Are you done?" Draco managed through clenched teeth.
His blonde hair was plastered over his forehead, and for once he didn't brush it away.
Harry looked at Draco appraisingly.
"Yes." he paused briefly.
"And so are we."
"You're *not* serious?" Draco looked him right in the eye.
"I am." Harry said, turning away, and bit back a gulp.
Draco stared at him for the longest time before speaking.
"Fine." he said, his voice slightly strained as he grappled with the turmoil of emotions that was threatening to sweep him away.
Harry could feel the rush of cold air as Draco sped away from him to God knows where.
He started to take off his spectacles to wipe it dry, and saw that his hands were trembling uncontrollably as he lifted them up from his handle.
Everyone else had left.
The game was over; the captains had called it off because of the heavy downpour and Harry was the only one left.
*I did the right thing." He told himself out loud.
*Then why do I feel so awful?* he thought wearily, feeling more confused than ever.
He took his time descending to the ground.
And as he walked dejectedly back into the castle, his broom dragging behind him, a pair of cold grey eyes followed his movements from high up an old forgotten tower.
