A/N: The sweet scene isn't canon, although spawned from the following line: "Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley, but that was before he met Draco Malfoy."

I do love me some sassy Harry, butthurt Draco, and mean Snape.

Chapter 8: About Dark-Haired Boys

Because the coming Wednesday was only the Slytherin Quidditch team's first practice, Draco abstained from asking Flint if he could play. He wanted to see what sort of talent there was. Crabbe and Goyle headed for the pitch with him after dinner, the three of them armed with mugs of hot chocolate.

They were good flyers. Like. . .really good. Draco grew nervous in a way, watching all the blurs of green darting about the pitch. He'd learned some diving and dodging maneuvers, but Mum wouldn't let him have a real Bludger.

One of the Bludgers was focused primarily on Higgs. He soared above the scrimmage held between the team and their reserve players. Somehow, in all of that, Higgs managed to spiral down in a dive, coming out of it with the Snitch in his hand. Although Draco would never admit it aloud, he would have likely been embarrassed by comparison in trials for the Seeker position.

Behind that newfound humbleness emerged steely resolution. When Flint called the end of the session, Draco migrated to a place between the pitch and castle where he might head them off. Crabbe and Goyle left with the suggestion they meet up later in the common room.

The youngest person on the Quidditch team, as far as Draco knew, was thirteen. The lot of them all seemed so tall, even the girls on reserve, when they emerged from the pitch. Since Flint was busy chatting with the other Chasers, Draco lifted his chin in greeting at Higgs instead.

"What'd you think?" Higgs asked when Draco fell in beside him.

"I think I have a lot to learn," Draco replied. "And I want you to teach me."

Higgs smirked. "What're your Thursdays like?"

"My last lesson ends at two."

"All right." Higgs ruffled Draco's hair the same way Flint did. Before Draco had a chance to tell him to cut it out, Higgs was heading off ahead. "See you at half-two, then."

"What about a broom?" Draco called after him.

Higgs turned backwards briefly. "Don't worry about it."

The next afternoon, Draco left Crabbe and Goyle behind at the end of lessons to drop his things off at the dorm. Higgs had already arrived. Draco stood a little forlornly on the ground, waiting to be noticed as Higgs flew around above him.

When Higgs landed, he pulled his broomstick out from underneath him in such a fluid motion that he basically went from flying to walking. He walked past Draco with a jerk of his head. "Let's grab the broom you'll be using."

They came to a stop outside the Slytherin boys' changing room. Higgs fiddled for a lanyard around his neck. He let them in with the key. Draco leaned against the door frame with his hands in his trouser pockets.

"Flint figures it's not a bad idea to train you up this year," Higgs called back from where he'd vanished around a wall. "After four years on this team, I've seen about all that Slytherin house has to offer for Quidditch talent. We have lots of Chaser potential. Beaters, not bad. Seeker? That's another story. The pool won't change before next year, either. All it'll add is more firsties. No thanks."

Slightly offended, Draco had to restrain himself from reminding Higgs that he was a first-year. "Right."

"Gryffindor's having that problem this year." Higgs reappeared. "Flint and I did some poking around, and they still don't have a Seeker after trials. It's going to be a very easy season."

"Is it that hard to find one?" Draco glanced at the second broomstick Higgs held, then perked. "Oh, that's—!"

"A Nimbus Seventeen-Hundred." Higgs held it out to him. "Flint is still all pissed about it. He bought it over Easter. Had he known the Two-Thousand would be out in summer. . ."

"Still." Draco took it. "It's Flint's?"

"Yeah, he was fine with you borrowing it. Do anything to wreck it, mind, and you'll be upgrading him to a Two-Thousand. That's the deal."

Draco and Higgs returned to the pitch and kicked off. Right away, Draco could tell the difference between a Nimbus and his Comet. The Nimbus cut upward through the air. Draco came up beside Higgs where he slowed fifty feet above the ground.

"Not afraid of heights," Higgs commented. "Steady hold too. Good. Let's see how you handle speed. Follow me for a lap around the grounds, and then we'll race."

Draco had missed the soaring feeling of the landscape passing along beneath him. He had to ignore an instinctual hesitation as Higgs headed straight for the Forbidden Forest. They stayed well above the trees, and Draco just had to let go of the fear that something from in there might take chase. He relaxed when they turned in a wide berth back, passing over the vegetable patch to cross the lake.

Another turn brought them back to the Quidditch pitch. Higgs took off ahead of Draco, forcing him to lean forward. The breath caught in Draco's chest at just how fast Flint's broomstick could go. He streaked past Higgs before the Nimbus had even reached top speed. Because Higgs was far enough behind when Draco reached the Quidditch pitch again, he did another lap.

Higgs waited for him there, grinning.

"Good, innit?" he called when Draco came within earshot.

"It's very good." Draco flushed from excitement as well as chill. He wished he'd dressed warmer.

"You probably fly a lot like this at home, huh?" Higgs and Draco hovered within ten feet of each other. "I bet there's no shortage of land around your manor."

"It's the manor land," Draco corrected him. "And yes. I do this a lot."

"Do a lot of dives?"

They went into that next, starting down low enough that Draco didn't lose his nerve. He began to feel queasy after not too long, so he and Higgs called it for the day about an hour after they'd started.

Higgs put his and Flint's brooms back in the changing room. When they left the pitch for the castle, they were waved down halfway between.

"Looked pretty good from where I could see," Flint called ahead. He slowed, waiting for them to catch up, then started walking on Draco's other side. "You ever fly a Nimbus before?"

Draco took his hair being ruffled in stride this time. The wind had already taken more toll than any hand could. "No."

"Could've fooled me."

Along with the pride swelling inside Draco came something else. He felt a little hot around the ears and neck as Higgs and Flint talked back and forth about him over his head. They all ended up at the Slytherin common room. Draco didn't want to go his separate way from them. He deflated a bit when both started talking about their evening plans. Some other seventh-year boys waved Higgs over, and he was gone.

Flint turned to Draco, and the heat in his neck poured down into his stomach. "See you next Thursday, then. Once you've got some practice with the Snitch, I'll have you come be a pest to Higgs on Wednesdays and Sundays. Even if Gryffindor is going to flop this season, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff will still be challenges. I don't want Higgs getting too comfortable."

"Okay."

Like Oliver Wood tried to keep it under wraps that the Gryffindor team faced a horrendous season, it was a secret between Draco, Flint, and Higgs that he was being prepared for the future. Well—it was a secret among Slytherin house, because Draco couldn't be expected to keep his mouth shut. Even if he didn't just want to throw it in Theodore's face, training with their current Seeker was a better explanation as to why he hung around older boys than what Theodore teased him for.

The best hour of Draco's school year so far came the next Thursday, when Higgs and Flint focused entirely on him on the Quidditch pitch. Their praise whenever Draco did well meant more in a certain type of way than when it came from McGonagall or Snape. When Draco laid in bed that night and couldn't seem to get comfortable, he thought about the memory Tom had shown him. Draco looked enough like his young grandfather that he could easily imagine himself. Grandfather laid there with a dark-haired boy. Flint had black hair. Higgs' was a dark brown, like his eyes.

It made Draco flush if he thought too much about it. His grandfather had been starkers in that memory. It didn't take much imagination to figure out what he and Tom had been doing. He'd told Draco anyway that they were lovers. For convenience, Tom had said.

Draco wanted to ask Tom about it, to see if maybe this weird feeling that wouldn't leave him had an explanation. He would probably understand. Draco's hesitation toward it was too powerful to overcome, though. It felt like anything Tom might tell him had an answer he wouldn't like. It might be an answer Draco didn't want.

He even thought he might already know it. It was just very annoying that Theodore had picked up on it before Draco really gave it much thought. He liked spending time with Higgs, a seventeen-year-old boy with dark hair. He'd found it very easy to talk to Tom, a sixteen-year-old boy with dark hair. Even Flint, with his rough edges, made Draco feel strange. He was a fifteen-year-old boy with dark hair.

Maybe Draco did have a type.

Draco avoided Theodore as much as was possible, with this revelation. He needed time to think about it. Theodore wasn't helpful at all. What Draco wanted to know was if this was really true, or if it was something suggested that he just took inside of himself.

He was walking out of the Great Hall one day after dinner when someone bumped hard into his shoulder. Draco dropped the bag of sweets he ate. He jarred out of thought as well.

"Watch it," he snapped, turning.

Draco's mood darkened to see his annoyance mirrored in Potter's face.

"You watch it," Potter replied. "You walked into me."

He kept on. As Draco snatched up his bag of assorted sours, an idea occurred to him.

"Potter," he said.

However reluctantly, Potter turned back around. "What?"

"Fancy some sweets?"

One of Potter's eyebrows rose far enough to disappear into his mess of dark hair. His mistrust failed to waver.

"Yeah right," Potter eventually said. "Not much in the mood to be poisoned. Like I'd want anything from you, anyway."

Draco's face pinched of its own accord when Potter put his back between them again. "Just going to wait for your own mum to send you some, then?"

Potter stopped in his tracks, suddenly very still.

"Don't worry," Draco drawled. "I'm sure the owl will come through any day, now."

Potter faced him again. He'd turned red with anger. He strode back toward Draco, who, with each passing second, was losing resolve to stand his ground. Crabbe and Goyle were still eating dessert. Draco could make a run for the dungeons—

"Not making any trouble, are we?" came a quiet, cold voice.

Potter stopped immediately in his tracks. Professor Snape had just emerged from the stairs leading down to the dungeons.

"Potter?" Snape prompted him before looking to Draco. "Malfoy?"

"No, sir," Draco replied in a smooth voice. "Potter was just saying sorry for bumping into me."

"Is that so." Snape curled his upper lip at Potter. "Well? Let's hear it then."

Potter quivered from the force of his anger. Draco could just about hear his teeth grinding as his jaw clenched. "Sorry, Malfoy."

"Thank you, Potter." Draco threw a sour into his mouth. "Apology accepted."

"Now into the Great Hall with you, before I take a point from Gryffindor," Snape told Potter. "Have a good evening, Malfoy."

"You too, sir."

With October's arrival came an invitation from Flint to join the Slytherin Quidditch team on Wednesday and Sunday evenings. Draco spent the hour racing Higgs about in search for the Golden Snitch. He never caught it, but there were a couple times he was sure he had spotted it first.

Because he played with them then, they didn't bother meeting on Thursdays after lessons anymore. Come the Monday morning after Draco's first Sunday on the pitch, he learned through a notice on the common room board that he would be flying on Thursdays regardless. Lessons with Madam Hooch would begin that week, and Slytherin was paired with Gryffindor.

Draco grew immediately excited to show off what he could do, as well as what he'd learned from Higgs. On his way out of the Great Hall after breakfast on Thursday with Crabbe and Goyle, he saw an opportunity to do so. Longbottom held something aloft in his hand at the Gryffindor table that was about the same size as a Snitch. Draco was able to scoop it out of his hand in a flash.

Potter and Weasley were right there. They both jumped up, and then Professor McGonagall appeared out of nowhere.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

Longbottom's round face went even pinker than usual. "Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Draco wasn't going to—oh, it wasn't even worth it with these ones. He dropped the Remembrall unceremoniously on the table.

"Just looking," he said to McGonagall. Her gaze failed to soften, but she at least didn't call Draco back with accusations of attempted theft.

His theory lessons that morning—Defence and Transfiguration—dragged in comparison to Charms and then Herbology after lunch. Draco wanted to get some homework out of the way before half-three, but his imagination was stuck on how impressed the other Slytherin first-years—and the Gryffindors—would be once they saw him fly. Potter's face kept emerging through that, his expression an exaggerated form of bafflement similar to how it had been in the first Potions lesson of term.

Just as quickly as it arrived, Draco pushed it away. He didn't care about Potter. He only wanted to make sure he knew that Draco was definitely better than him. Not a thing about Potter was special, despite what he and most of this school clearly thought.

Draco led the way for the other Slytherin first-years down to the grounds. Madam Hooch waited for them on the smooth bit next to the pitch. She'd already laid brooms down. A bit too late, Draco cursed himself for not thinking to ask Flint about borrowing his Nimbus. Either he or Higgs wouldn't have minded meeting him down here to hand it off. They might have even stuck around to watch and cheer. Jeer, in the case of the Gryffindors.

"Urgh, school brooms," Draco said to his classmates. "Mind yourselves on those."

It earned him a sharp look from Madam Hooch, her yellow eyes boring into him like a hawk on a mouse. "There will be no fancy showing off today. That goes for all of you that have previous flying experience. I expect you to be mindful of those who have never so much as touched a broomstick before."

"Yeah right."

Draco said it enough under his breath that Madam Hooch didn't catch it, but his fellow Slytherins all snickered. Only Sophie the Muggle-born looked concerned.

"I haven't," she admitted once everyone fell quiet again. "Flown a broomstick, I mean."

"It's really not that hard," Draco told her in a bored drawl. "But watch the Gryffindors cock it up anyway."

She smiled in a way that crinkled her eyes. Looking calmer, she slipped her hands into her cloak pockets and turned with the rest of them toward the castle. The Gryffindors had finally found their way. Just as Draco expected, more than half of them appeared nervous. Longbottom paled and trembled as if the school brooms had fangs.

"Well?" Madam Hooch asked in a sharp tone. "What are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick."

She'd laid them in two rows of ten. The Slytherins stood in a group to their tail-ends, so they took the back row. Draco did his best to position himself close to Potter. He ended up one to the left behind him, between Crabbe and Theodore. Draco regretted immediately telling Crabbe to switch him, knowing that glint in Theodore's eye when their gazes briefly met.

Theodore leaned over. "Trying to impress someone, are we?"

Draco scoffed. "It's going to take some effort not to embarrass yourself in front of Daphne, so you might as well mind yourself, Nott."

Theodore's grin melted. He wasn't a strong flyer at all. That this wasn't by his choice had always been a tender spot. Even Crabbe and Goyle outflew him on the rare occasion Mrs Nott would allow Theodore to join them.

The first thing Madam Hooch told them to do was get their broomsticks to jump from the ground into their hands. They really were starting from the beginning, weren't they? Still, Draco steeped with quiet pride when his broomstick leapt up. Less than a quarter of the class had managed; only three other than Draco. Blaise had a quiet confidence about himself on Theodore's other side. Potter had somehow managed, and then the one named Finnigan, who Draco only knew by name because of how often Professor Snape called him out on his abysmal potions-making. It pleased Draco to the point of blooming internal warmth that Weasley hadn't managed. All that bragging and story-weaving he'd done this week was clearly hot air.

Madam Hooch was keen to move onto the next part of the lesson. Draco mounted his broomstick on Madam Hooch's instructions. She started walking around them, correcting here and there.

"No," she said when she looked at Draco's grip. "Like this."

Draco tightened his grasp on the handle when she tried to adjust him. "I've done it this way for years."

"Well, it's wrong. Let go, boy."

With a heavy exhale through his nose, Draco allowed her to move his hands. As soon as she moved on to Crabbe, he changed it back.

Madam Hooch caught it, her gaze sharp again. "You'll plateau as a flyer with a grip that clumsy. That's my warning."

Draco put it back the way she wanted. His irritation only sharpened at the sound of snickering in front of him. Draco narrowed his eyes at Potter and Weasley, sneering when they looked back at him over their shoulders.

"Aw," Theodore said.

Draco waited until Madam Hooch's back was turned before reaching over with a closed fist to hit Theodore on the arm. He grunted in surprise before hitting Draco back.

"Now." Madam Hooch called over everyone's voices, hushing them. "When I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground. Hard."

Draco's heart picked up with excitement. He flexed his fingers over the handle while Madam Hooch counted down, then jarred when a premature blur shot for the clouds in front of him. The only concrete body parts Draco could discern from it were two very large eyes staring desperately back at the ground.

"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch shouted up at Longbottom.

Well, she got what she asked for. Longbottom seemed to decide that falling was the quickest way to abide. His broomstick headed off without him as he lay moaning on the ground. There was a flurry of Madam Hooch getting him up. She wasn't so sure of herself now, having gone just as pale as Longbottom.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing!" she told them. "You leave those brooms where they are, or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'."

With that, she and Longbottom left. Longbottom's broomstick vanished in the distance, probably gone forever to greener pastures.

Draco managed to contain himself until he figured Madam Hooch wouldn't be able to hear him. He cracked up. "Did you see his face, the great lump?"

More laughter burst around him, taking what remained of the shocked, uncertain atmosphere with it.

"Shut up, Malfoy," someone said from further down the Gryffindor line.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" came Pansy's teasing voice in response.

Through Draco's amusement while they kept on back and forth, he noticed something glinting on the ground where Longbottom had connected with it. Draco craned his neck, then his eyes widened.

"Look!" He picked it up. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

It had gone white and smoky rather than scarlet, free of Longbottom's hand.

"Give that here, Malfoy."

It was Potter. His gaze burned into Draco. Everyone else fell quiet, but Draco wouldn't be so easily cowed.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect," Draco said, his smile broadening into a grin. "How about. . .up a tree?"

He slipped it into his robe pocket and stepped back toward his broomstick. As he kicked off, whatever Potter yelled was lost to a rush of air and excitement.

Draco hovered near the top of an oak tree. Even from here, he could see how red Potter's face had gone with anger. The glint of sunlight off his glasses made it look like his eyes flashed. However funny it had been to see Longbottom cock up flying a broomstick, the only thing that could potentially top it would be Potter following Madam Hooch to the hospital wing. Both she and Madam Pomfrey would do their nuts.

"Come and get it, Potter!" Draco goaded him.

Potter picked up his broomstick. There were protests from other Gryffindors, but soon enough Potter shot up not dissimilarly from how Longbottom had. He didn't fall off, though. Draco's grin slipped away as Potter made his way closer. Potter managed not only to stop, but to do so with his broomstick pointed at Draco like a ready projectile.

"Give it here, or I'll knock you off that broom!" Potter told him.

"Oh yeah?"

Potter came rushing toward him. He wasn't really—? Draco dodged at close enough to the last second to feel Potter's cloak brush against his hand. He recovered, falling into an idle pace as he and Potter circled each other. Draco didn't like the new look in Potter's face. Maybe he could fly decently, but this very well might end up with Draco instead having to explain himself to Madam Hooch and Madam Pomfrey.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Potter said.

Bollocks. He wasn't wrong. Draco didn't like the mental image of those two having a go at catching him if Potter managed to go through with his threat. He dug Longbottom's stupid ball out of his pocket.

"Catch if you can, then!" Draco called.

Hard as he could, Draco lobbed the ball. While Potter's gaze followed it, Draco headed back to where everyone else stood watching. He decided to give it a go at disembarking like Higgs always did. Draco managed, stepping fluidly onto the ground and pulling his broomstick out from underneath him.

Nobody paid him any mind, though. Even Crabbe and Goyle craned with squinted eyes, blocking the sun out of them, past Draco. Draco looked back over his shoulder, then slowed, stopped, and fully turned. Potter, the madman, headed straight for the ground. Some of the students around Draco moaned with stress, whispering about Potter having lost control, but Draco could see otherwise. It was a solid dive.

There were gasps as Potter went from riding his broomstick to rolling on the grass. He wouldn't be hurt, despite what the bushy-haired girl fretted over.

Someone pat Draco gently on the shoulder. "Don't worry. He'll live for you to keep on fancying him another day."

Draco swung his elbow for Theodore. "Sod off, Nott—!"

"HARRY POTTER!"

Professor McGonagall levelled the grounds with an uncharacteristically shrill voice as she ran toward them all. Some birds departed from a nearby tree, twittering in panic.

"Oh," Theodore said. "Maybe he won't."

Potter stood like a wounded doe that had accepted fate in face of its advancing predator. Draco did his best to look dumbfounded when all the Gryffindors erupted in attempt to blame him.

"That's enough, Mr Weasley." Professor McGonagall shut it all down with a sense of finality. "Potter, follow me. Now."

As Potter took to her wake, legs shaking, a sense of satisfaction seeped into Draco. Professor McGonagall's fury leant heavily to the idea Potter might be expelled tonight from Hogwarts. If that was the case, then Draco would be free of him. No more accusations of fancying him, no more having to see him all over the school, and no more intrusive thoughts as Draco sorted out what significance dark-haired boys held to him.

Potter looked back, his gaze meeting Draco's. Smirking, Draco gave Potter a sarcastic little farewell wave with his fingers.