The day after the owl incident, which happened to be a Saturday, dawned
gray-white and damp. Draco trudged up to the Quidditch Pitch at half past
eight. Well, perhaps not trudged, because he 'was' a Malfoy and had boots
on, but certainly he walked very slowly.
Harry arrived at nine on his Firebolt, with his wand down his shirt. He found Draco standing under an oak tree, arms folded across his chest. "What did you want, then?" the Gryffindor said, without preamble.
"A word with you, Potter." Draco's tone was carefully neutral.
"You've had five. I meant anything important." Harry pushed his dripping bangs out of his eyes and looked around warily.
"First off, stop that. The rest of the Slytherin team is not lying in wait to carry you off, in a vain attempt to win the next match."
Harry almost-smirked. "'Vain'? Are you saying we're unbeatable?"
"No, simply that I cannot fly my best without a worthy opponent." This was possibly the weakest excuse Draco had ever given; absolutely pitiful for someone who had been dodging questions since he was seven.
"I didn't think anyone was worthy of a Malfoy."
"Very few. You have that dubious honor." Draco circled him slowly. "Pureblood. Good student. Better Quidditch player. Brilliant Seeker. I've seldom seen your equal, professional or no."
Harry would have flushed with pride had the remark come from anyone else. From Malfoy, however, it only made him nervous. "But you're still better, of course?"
'Without lifting a finger in your own defense.' "No."
Harry could have been knocked over with a Snitch. "You're admitting I'm better than you are?"
"Yes." Draco's neutral tone turned icily civil.
"Can I have that in writing?"
"You're not going to make this easy, are you, Potter?" Draco decided he had better speed things up. "You've changed. I mean, you snuff Diggory and suddenly--"
Draco was 'suddenly' on his back in the mud. Harry had lived up to his reputation for descisive speed and had tackled him. He knelt above Draco, knee on his chest and wand at his throat. "Take it back," Harry hissed through clenched teeth. "Take it back, you slimy little git."
Draco coughed shortly, unable to speak: Harry had knocked the wind out of him. After a moment, he realized this and got off of Draco, who sat up. Harry sat beside him, wand still drawn.
When he was not at all sufficiently recovered, Draco rasped, "I take it back."
"What?" Harry leaned down; he thought he hadn't heard properly the first time.
Draco grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him down until their noses nearly touched. "I said, 'I take it back.' I know Voldemort killed Diggory, not you. And while I'm at it, I 'take back' every mean, unkind, or rude thing I have said or done to you since that day in Madam Malkin's when we were eleven." Draco let go of Harry and slumped back in the mud.
Harry stared at him, very much resembling a carp. "Could you, uh, say that again?"
"No," Draco said shortly. "You heard me, Potter. Now are you going to accept, or shall we do this over again?" Silver eyes locked on green for a long moment. Draco raised one eyebrow.
"Okay," Harry agreed, "on one condition."
"No conditions. I've had enough conditions in the last two days to--"
"Half a sec." Harry remembered. "You're apologizing to 'me', for some strange reason. And for an equally strange reason, 'you' want 'me' to accept. You don't make the rules here, Malfoy." Harry began to enjoy his bit of power.
"Fine. What?"
"Be nicer to Hermione. She takes the name calling harder than I do."
Miracle of miracles. "Hermione and I have already . . . settled up." 'And make of that,' Draco thought, 'what you will.' But what if Potter fancied her?
Harry snorted. "So Ron's next, then?"
Draco became acutely aware that he was lying in the mud. "Yes, Potter, Weasel's next. Stick around to revive me after, would you?"
"Yeah." Harry had gone beyond disbelief and his brain was gradually accepting the new Malfoy. Not knowing what else to do, he offered Draco a hand up.
Draco took it, getting his feet under him and letting go. He watched Harry mount the Firebolt and fly off, brushing dripping blond hair out of his eyes. "That went," he said aloud, "astonishingly well. One down, two to go."
"You really did it." Hermione Granger stepped out from behind a wide elm nearby.
Draco ignored the comment. "I have never done anything so humiliating in my entire life. But it can't have been enough," he said sarcastically, "I forgot to fall on my knees and beg his forgiveness."
"Malfoy." There went the first name basis.
"What?" There went Draco's deep-seated control.
"Shut up. It's good for you."
Draco stared at her retreating form, resisting the urge to knock his head against the tree. Even sopping wet, Hermione Granger was absolutely gorgeous. No wonder Potter fancied her.
Draco Malfoy stalked into the Slytherin common room, attracting stares and whispers with his rain-soaked state. Once inside his dorm room, he started shedding clothes and water on his way to the showers.
Crabbe and Goyle looked up from their game of Exploding Snap and, seeing the murderous look in Draco's eyes, did not say anything.
Nott was less wise. "Who hit you with an Hydratis Charm, Malfoy?" he drawled.
"Shut up," Draco snapped. "You may not have noticed, but it's raining out. Water." He was down to just his trousers now and Blaise, who had stopped mid-sentence in his Divination homework, could see that Draco was shivering. Blaise caught his eye, worried and questioning. "Blaise, I--"
"Bath now. Answers later." Draco found himself shoved purposefully toward the bathroom by the brother he never had.
Harry Potter, Hogwarts' Golden Boy, dripped through the Gryffindor common room, Firebolt in hand. The few people who noticed him assumed he had been out for some extra Quidditch practice and turned back to the fire.
Harry arrived at nine on his Firebolt, with his wand down his shirt. He found Draco standing under an oak tree, arms folded across his chest. "What did you want, then?" the Gryffindor said, without preamble.
"A word with you, Potter." Draco's tone was carefully neutral.
"You've had five. I meant anything important." Harry pushed his dripping bangs out of his eyes and looked around warily.
"First off, stop that. The rest of the Slytherin team is not lying in wait to carry you off, in a vain attempt to win the next match."
Harry almost-smirked. "'Vain'? Are you saying we're unbeatable?"
"No, simply that I cannot fly my best without a worthy opponent." This was possibly the weakest excuse Draco had ever given; absolutely pitiful for someone who had been dodging questions since he was seven.
"I didn't think anyone was worthy of a Malfoy."
"Very few. You have that dubious honor." Draco circled him slowly. "Pureblood. Good student. Better Quidditch player. Brilliant Seeker. I've seldom seen your equal, professional or no."
Harry would have flushed with pride had the remark come from anyone else. From Malfoy, however, it only made him nervous. "But you're still better, of course?"
'Without lifting a finger in your own defense.' "No."
Harry could have been knocked over with a Snitch. "You're admitting I'm better than you are?"
"Yes." Draco's neutral tone turned icily civil.
"Can I have that in writing?"
"You're not going to make this easy, are you, Potter?" Draco decided he had better speed things up. "You've changed. I mean, you snuff Diggory and suddenly--"
Draco was 'suddenly' on his back in the mud. Harry had lived up to his reputation for descisive speed and had tackled him. He knelt above Draco, knee on his chest and wand at his throat. "Take it back," Harry hissed through clenched teeth. "Take it back, you slimy little git."
Draco coughed shortly, unable to speak: Harry had knocked the wind out of him. After a moment, he realized this and got off of Draco, who sat up. Harry sat beside him, wand still drawn.
When he was not at all sufficiently recovered, Draco rasped, "I take it back."
"What?" Harry leaned down; he thought he hadn't heard properly the first time.
Draco grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him down until their noses nearly touched. "I said, 'I take it back.' I know Voldemort killed Diggory, not you. And while I'm at it, I 'take back' every mean, unkind, or rude thing I have said or done to you since that day in Madam Malkin's when we were eleven." Draco let go of Harry and slumped back in the mud.
Harry stared at him, very much resembling a carp. "Could you, uh, say that again?"
"No," Draco said shortly. "You heard me, Potter. Now are you going to accept, or shall we do this over again?" Silver eyes locked on green for a long moment. Draco raised one eyebrow.
"Okay," Harry agreed, "on one condition."
"No conditions. I've had enough conditions in the last two days to--"
"Half a sec." Harry remembered. "You're apologizing to 'me', for some strange reason. And for an equally strange reason, 'you' want 'me' to accept. You don't make the rules here, Malfoy." Harry began to enjoy his bit of power.
"Fine. What?"
"Be nicer to Hermione. She takes the name calling harder than I do."
Miracle of miracles. "Hermione and I have already . . . settled up." 'And make of that,' Draco thought, 'what you will.' But what if Potter fancied her?
Harry snorted. "So Ron's next, then?"
Draco became acutely aware that he was lying in the mud. "Yes, Potter, Weasel's next. Stick around to revive me after, would you?"
"Yeah." Harry had gone beyond disbelief and his brain was gradually accepting the new Malfoy. Not knowing what else to do, he offered Draco a hand up.
Draco took it, getting his feet under him and letting go. He watched Harry mount the Firebolt and fly off, brushing dripping blond hair out of his eyes. "That went," he said aloud, "astonishingly well. One down, two to go."
"You really did it." Hermione Granger stepped out from behind a wide elm nearby.
Draco ignored the comment. "I have never done anything so humiliating in my entire life. But it can't have been enough," he said sarcastically, "I forgot to fall on my knees and beg his forgiveness."
"Malfoy." There went the first name basis.
"What?" There went Draco's deep-seated control.
"Shut up. It's good for you."
Draco stared at her retreating form, resisting the urge to knock his head against the tree. Even sopping wet, Hermione Granger was absolutely gorgeous. No wonder Potter fancied her.
Draco Malfoy stalked into the Slytherin common room, attracting stares and whispers with his rain-soaked state. Once inside his dorm room, he started shedding clothes and water on his way to the showers.
Crabbe and Goyle looked up from their game of Exploding Snap and, seeing the murderous look in Draco's eyes, did not say anything.
Nott was less wise. "Who hit you with an Hydratis Charm, Malfoy?" he drawled.
"Shut up," Draco snapped. "You may not have noticed, but it's raining out. Water." He was down to just his trousers now and Blaise, who had stopped mid-sentence in his Divination homework, could see that Draco was shivering. Blaise caught his eye, worried and questioning. "Blaise, I--"
"Bath now. Answers later." Draco found himself shoved purposefully toward the bathroom by the brother he never had.
Harry Potter, Hogwarts' Golden Boy, dripped through the Gryffindor common room, Firebolt in hand. The few people who noticed him assumed he had been out for some extra Quidditch practice and turned back to the fire.