Author's Note
Another one written for Jessie's birthday. It's more a PG-13. Just a short little Draco/Harry quidditch fic. And I own niether one. Reviews are appreciated. And part of the credit for inspiration goes to Copperbadge at livejournal.
Practice
He told them he was staying late, that he needed time to work by himself, time to think. The team thought he was dedicated. They thought their team captain was the best of the best, he was so hard on himself, and worked so much at Quidditch. They were used to his staying late, and left him alone.
So it was with considerable horror that they discovered Colin Creevey, camera in hand, address of the Daily Prophet in his back pocket, gaping with wide eyes at a particular polaroid in which Harry was nosing the collar of Draco's shirt open, his tie wrapped around a loose fist, his lips at the blond's throat. Wherein Draco's hands kept tangling themselves in Harry's already unkempt hair, his head tilted back, eyes closed.
Draco paid the fifth year 100 galleons for the camera, the picture, the address, and the boy's silence. The Gryffindor quidditch team didn't bother to ask why Harry spent no more long nights after practice, and instead spent his Monday and Wednesday nights away, while the Slytherin's had their quidditch practice, then returning late, looking flushed and disheveled.