Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to the amazing JK Rowling, and sadly, not me.
Thank you to my beta, HPalto87, and hearts to my reviewers!
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16
Harry walked into the Leaky Cauldron and was immediately aware of several pairs of eyes on him.
I should be used to that by now, he thought. He was the savior of the wizarding world, after all.
He paid for a room for the night, and allowed a house-elf to take his luggage upstairs.
Harry sat at the bar and ordered a butterbeer. He looked around and glared at some of the people who were staring. They quickly turned away. Satisfied, Harry turned back.
"You're Harry Potter," the barman stated as he served Harry his butterbeer.
"Well spotted," Harry said coldly.
"You're in the papers again, you know. Wish I could've been at the World Cup," he said.
"Do you have a copy of today's Daily Prophet here?" Harry asked.
"Sure do," the barman said, and fetched it for Harry.
"Thanks," Harry said again, and turned to the paper. The front page had a large photo taken after the match. As he watched his own actions play before him, it occurred to Harry exactly why everyone was staring at him. He realized how the whole situation must look to them, and mentally kicked himself for getting into that situation in the first place.
Harry pushed the Daily Prophet aside and placed his head in his hands. Why did he do that? He had no idea his actions would cause such a reaction.
"Are you all right?" a high-pitched voice came from Harry's left.
Harry looked up to find a witch sitting next to him. She was petite and pretty, and couldn't have been more than a few years older than himself. She carried a copy of Witch Weekly with her. One of the headlines on the cover announced "Harry Potter's secret love affair," accompanied with a smaller version of the photo that appeared in the Daily Prophet. She moved to place a hand on his shoulder, but Harry flinched away.
"Where's your boyfriend?" the witch asked in her annoying voice.
Harry suddenly wished he had ordered a firewhiskey rather than a butterbeer.
"Draco and I broke up," he replied bitterly.
"No, I mean your new boyfriend," the witch clarified with a tacky smile.
Oh, yes, Harry could really use a stiff drink right about now. He did not, however, want to remain in a public place if he was going to be harassed like this. He decided to go mope in his room.
Harry glared at the witch as he got up. "You really shouldn't read that rubbish," he said, pointing to her copy of Witch Weekly.
As he walked away, he could hear her muttering something about the rudeness of famous wizards.
Harry didn't actually make it up to his room, however. He stopped walking when he saw two familiar heads of red hair that could only belong to Fred and George. The twins had their backs to him, but as soon as he approached they turned and greeted him warmly.
"Hey mate!" Fred said. "Heard you broke up with-"
"Don't," Harry said. "I don't want to hear about the git."
Fred nodded, and George asked, "Are you staying at Ron and Hermione's again tonight?"
Harry assumed that Ron told them that, and wondered just how much they knew about the whole situation, or rather, how many questions they would ask.
"No," Harry said. Fred looked about to ask him about it, but Harry stopped him. "Long story. I'm staying here tonight."
"Here?" George asked.
Harry nodded. It hadn't occurred to him before that without Draco, his life was so unstable. He had no home, no job, and at the moment, no way to access the account he and Draco shared at Gringotts, as Draco had the key. He felt a bit lost and vulnerable, and had no idea what to do about it.
"You can't stay here!" Fred said. "Come stay at our place."
Harry started to shake his head no, but knew the twins would never accept that for an answer. None of the Weasleys would, actually.
"I'll just go get my stuff," Harry said.
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Flashback
Puddlemere United's first match was against the Wimbourne Wasps, who turned out to be tough opponents. Harry was nervous, but not nearly as nervous as he had been the first time he played at Hogwarts. Each member of the team flew out onto the pitch as his or her name was called by the announcer. Harry was called last. He flew once around the pitch, then joined his teammates in the center of the pitch.
As the Wasps filed out of the locker room, Harry scanned the crowd. He found Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny sitting together, but Draco wasn't with them. The referee blew the whistle, and Harry's attention retuned to the game.
The Wasps got the quaffle first, and the chasers sped toward the goal, passing the ball between them. Morgan stole the quaffle and passed it to Jennifer, who did a barrel-roll and sped down the field in the opposite direction. One of the Wasp's beaters hit a bludger toward her, and she managed to pass the quaffle to Marco before diving to avoid getting hit. Arthur hit the bludger back toward the Wasps, while Marco scored the first goal.
Harry circled the pitch idly, watching the game and keeping an eye out for the snitch. The other seeker, a small girl on a broom that could probably go faster than Harry's, appeared to be doing the same. A bludger suddenly came at Harry, but Ford flew by and hit it before Harry even had time to react.
"Thanks," he said.
"No problem, mate," Ford replied distractedly, and flew off to help Oliver, who currently had two balls headed for him. Oliver dodged a bludger but missed the Quaffle, letting the Wasps score.
Harry let his attention wander back to the stands, even though he knew he shouldn't. His eyes sought out the Weasleys, and he was surprised to see a tuft of blonde hair among the redheads. He caught Draco's eye and smiled. Better late than never.
Hermione waved her arms to catch Harry's attention, then hooked her thumbs and made a fluttering motion with her fingers.
Right, Harry was supposed to be looking for the snitch. He found the other seeker, who still seemed to be circling idly. Harry's eyes swept across the pitch, searching for that elusive flash of gold.
Just over an hour into the game, Harry saw it. He cautiously moved toward it, not wanting to alert the other seeker. But then she saw it too, and both of them dived.
The two of them were side by side. Harry stretched out his hand. The snitch swerved suddenly to the left, and Harry was given a slight advantage over the other seeker. His fingers closed around the gold ball, and he landed lightly in the middle of the pitch.
The game ended with a final score of 270 to 180. Harry's teammates gathered around him to celebrate their victory. Arthur and Ford gave Harry over-zealous back-pats, and Morgan congratulated each teammate on something they did well. Marco said she always did that, in an attempt to make up for the hell she put them all through during practice. Jennifer squeeled happily, like a little girl.
Oliver landed beside Harry and pulled him into a congratulatory hug. Harry sank into the supportive arms in a hug that lasted a bit too long to just be friendly. When Oliver pulled away, Harry looked up, and the two boys locked their gaze for a moment. Harry smiled at the affection he found in Oliver's eyes. He decided to treat it like the affection of an old friendship, ignoring the feelings that were beginning to stir within him.
The two teams went back to the locker room to change, then Puddlemere United had a quick meeting so Deverill could give his opinion on the match. He pointed out some of the things they needed to work on, then let them go.
Harry met his friends outside the stadium. They congratulated him on winning the match, and Harry began to talk excitedly about the game with them. Then he noticed Draco looking irritated.
"What's wrong, love?" he asked.
"I go out of my way to see you, and I don't even get a kiss." Draco said.
Harry stepped up to him and kissed him, tongue and all.
"My eyes!" Ron cried.
"You don't have to watch, Weasel," Draco sneered.
"You're in a foul mood today," Harry said softly. He wanted to talk to Draco, but he didn't want to alert his friends to the fact that they had been having problems.
"When I find my supposed boyfriend in the arms of another man, I think I have the right to be in a foul mood," Draco replied bitterly.
"What are you- oh, Oliver? He's an old friend, and he was just excited about winning," Harry explained. "Ollie's no threat to you." He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.
"Ollie?" Draco repeated the nickname.
Harry just shrugged, and went back to talking about Quidditch with his friends.
