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Playing Away From Home
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Chapter 3: One On One
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And, with tears streaming down his face, Harry had nodded.
It had taken him a good few moments to wipe the stunned expression off his face, and, tremblingly, he had captured Draco in the softest kiss that either had ever experienced. Wordlessly, they had undressed each other with an unspoken tenderness and touched and kissed and made love all night as if for the first time.
And in the months that followed, a strange thing happened. The attention died down. Suddenly they were no longer the 'will they, won't they' hot new story of the moment and became just another boring married couple. The relief that they had felt at this was indescribable.
Harry drew himself back to the present and smiled affectionately at his husband, remembering that time. "I still say that you only married me to get rid of all the media attention," he murmured.
"Quite right," Draco quipped cheekily, kissing him. "In fact," – he kissed him again – "I really don't like you that much at all."
The dark-haired man chuckled and leaned into his husband's warmth, loving the way in which he moulded into Draco's arms as if he truly belonged there.
"So what else does it say in this letter?" Draco asked, peering onto the floor where the fallen parchment lay.
Harry retrieved the discarded letter and scanned the rest of it. "Hmm…it says we each have to attend an individual training practice at the end of the week." He let out a low whistle. "Hey, that's pretty soon. I'd better work on my fitness."
Draco smiled wickedly. "I can help you with that…."
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The end of the week brought heavy gales and showers - typical of the mid-autumn weather - and the England Seeker kicked off from the giant training pitch for the first time, his mind completely focussed on his task. Harry started off at a blistering pace but for nearly two minutes the Snitch was virtually unreachable, and no amount of diving or chasing could bring him any closer. Despite the terrible conditions, the experienced player managed to track it down and anticipate its movements with the innate ability that had always floundered his opponents.
Harry suddenly caught sight of the small globe below him and descended upon it with calculated precision, his gaze locked on one thing only…. Metres turned into feet and feet into inches as he hurtled towards his target. Grey clouds threatened overhead and Harry felt the wind whip through his hair as he reached out that tiny bit further, the fluttering Snitch just grazing his outstretched fingertips tantalisingly…. The tiny object suddenly whizzed to the right and darted away. Harry instantly dove towards it, hurtling through the sky and feeling the wind rush past his ears as he raced at lightning speed.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw something move, far below on the pitch, but when he reflexively jerked his head to see what it was it had gone. Funny…. But the thought was forgotten as he once more saw the glittering golden orb dance a few feet in front of him, teasing him….
A sudden lurch forwards, and his cold fingers closed around the whirring object and he whooped triumphantly. Without wasting a second he immediately zoomed to the ground and came to a graceful halt, jumping off his broom in one swift movement and raking a hand through his windswept hair, his chest still heaving.
He ran up to the Coach - a stout, sandy-haired wizard in his mid-fifties - who gave him a smile. "Pretty good, Harry. Five minutes forty-five seconds. Keep that up - I want it to be five and a half next time!" He took the offered Snitch from Harry and placed it back in the trunk beside the Bludgers and Quaffle. He then pointed his wand at the trunk and it swung shut and locked itself. "You go and grab a shower, and I'll see you in twenty minutes so we can go over your contract."
"Sure, Coach." Harry smiled at the wizard and shouldered his broom before heading off the pitch.
He felt the frosty grass crunch beneath his feet and once again marvelled at the training grounds for what seemed like the hundredth time since he had arrived there this morning. The stadium in which these practices were held was enormous, and Harry could barely contain his awe. It was nothing like the pitch that he was used to. He still couldn't believe that he was on the team – he hadn't had much of a chance to get used to the idea, what with all the running around that he had been doing since the letter had arrived.
It had been an incredibly rushed week with Draco being at work almost full time and he himself training every spare minute. The two hadn't been able to spend much time together, and Harry had missed him. At least the practice grounds were not too far away, so he was able to commute every day. It would be a nightmare when they had to play away from home….
With thoughts of Draco swimming around his head, Harry entered the changing rooms and dropped his broom on the wooden bench. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, then pulled his shirt off over his head. The cotton Quidditch shirt with Malfoy-Potter emblazoned across the back glided over his skin, exposing his bare chest that was still heaving from his energetic workout. He threw down the garment and turned around to reach for his towel –
"You looked really good out there."
"Aaarrgh!" The sudden voice startled Harry and he overbalanced and fell back onto the bench, dragging his broom down in a tangle.
"Oh no! I'm sorry - "
The stranger rushed towards him and reached out an arm to steady the flailing wizard, but instead toppled onto him, and they ended up in a heap on the floor.
"God, I'm sorry - " The man started to apologise profusely but Harry held up a hand laughingly.
"No – don't be silly - it's my fault for jumping like that! You took me by surprise…."
They stood up and brushed themselves off, laughing.
The other man chuckled and he turned to face Harry. "Yeah, you're right actually," he teased. "It was your fault!"
This immediately broke the ice, and they grinned at each other.
"Harry Malfoy-Potter," Harry said, holding his hand out.
The man accepted it and shook it firmly. His eyes crinkled at the sides as his face creased into a grin. "Jordan Wright, good to meet you."
Jordan Wright…. Harry thought for a second…he recognised that name….
"Hey, aren't you…?"
"Chaser, yeah." The man nodded and continued to smile. "I had a one-on-one with a couple of the goal posts just now before you started your training session." His voice lowered. "I was watching you out there just now, by the way. Pretty damn good, Potter." He held his gaze and Harry felt himself flush a little.
"Oh - thanks," he replied, a little embarrassed. So that's what I saw out of the corner of my eye before….
Harry regarded the man before him. Jordan, too, was dark-haired – but his floppy hair hung in a slightly more tamed manner than Harry's. His twinkling brown eyes danced mischievously and his crooked grin was slightly raised at the right side, Harry noticed. He couldn't have been much older than himself - twenty-eight, maybe?
They both realised that they were still gripping each other's hands and they let go abruptly. Harry was suddenly very aware that he was bare-chested and nervously scratched the back of his head. "I was er - just about to grab a shower…."
"Yeah, I'll leave you to it." Jordan grinned again and turned to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Harry whipped his head towards him.
"At practice," Jordan replied, a bemused smile on his face.
Of course.
"Oh – yeah," Harry replied, watching the man walk away. "Yeah, see you tomorrow."