"I'm conflicted," says Harry to Draco. They're in a private box in the Catapults' stadium—a holdover, Draco says, of the veritable fortune his father invested in Britain's Quidditch organization. Only the two of them are there, and if asked, Harry would admit it's much nicer in here than it is in the stadium proper. It's warm and it's quiet enough to actually hear who you're talking to, and besides, he's not quite ready to answer questions about why he's spending time with Draco Malfoy. He supposes it wouldn't be as much of a news story as it might have been, say, five years ago, but the world would still care, and Harry would rather they didn't for now, and maybe forever.
"Why's that?" Draco asks, not taking his eyes off the pitch.
"I don't really support either of these teams. Both are fine, and the Harpies are brilliant this year, but, you know, I already have my loyalties."
"In those situations, I just cheer for whoever has more players I think are fanciable. And since the Harpies are all women, well, this one's a bit obvious, don't you think?"
Harry laughs. "I never took you to be this kind of gay. Gay, sure, not a surprise, but the kind who talks about men as though they're pieces of meat? Never thought of it."
"I don't do that in the slightest," says Draco. "I said 'fanciable,' not 'shaggable.' Although a case could be made for that for some of these players. Have you seen their Seeker?"
"He's fit," Harry admits. "But I was more looking at his form and his style of play than his ass."
"Sure you were."
"So, is this how you and Theo talk, too? Objectifying players, that kind of thing?"
"Theo mostly talks about how his mother is trying to get him to propose to one Greengrass or another and how it's driving him absolutely mad, and how he wishes he had a mother like mine."
"Why's that?"
"She's not forcing me into marriage," Draco says simply.
"Is that a pureblood thing, then?" asks Harry. "You've got to marry someone of the right social standing and blood status?"
Draco nods. "Thankfully, it's a tradition that's dying out, and one my mother never quite approved of. And she knows, obviously, so she didn't want to force me into a lifetime of pretending."
"I would say she's more considerate than I realized, but she did save my life once."
"Incidentally, she was glad to know I was spending time with you." Draco straightens the cuffs of his sleeves and avoids looking at Harry. "She thinks it's good for me, getting away from Pansy and Blaise and that lot once in a while. Plus, she likes you."
"What does she have to go on there?" Harry asks. "We haven't interacted much since..."
"You never did anything but help my family. You testified for us. You really think she'd forget that?"
"Oh. Right." It was long enough ago that Harry didn't often think about the immediate aftermath of the war, his defense of the Malfoys as misled rather than evil, his complete avoidance of answering questions posed by the press. He'd just wanted a break. Eventually, he'd stolen off to Shell Cottage and spent a few weeks living with Bill and Fleur. They understood. They stayed out of his way. And it was just what Harry had needed.
"I think you'll forgive me if I say that I did try to forget about those couple of months," says Harry. "It ... it wasn't a particularly pleasant time for me. Lots of unneeded attention."
"I don't know why I was ever daft enough to think you liked attention," Draco says. "Of course, I can to some extent read people, and I could do it when I was 14, and your reaction to that whole ridiculous Triwizard fiasco was enough to convince me you were content to slip through the cracks whenever possible."
"Seems strange that you would notice something my best friend didn't."
"Oh, yeah, you and Ron were fighting then." Draco smiles faintly. Harry does his best to focus on the game again, but that seems a lost cause, given that he's caught up in an actual conversation with Draco Malfoy. Again. "I remember thinking how much better it would've been for you to be my friend instead. I guess it took me a while to get over your rejection."
"Had I known you had it in you to be clever and mature and a good conversationalist, I may have shaken your hand that day," says Harry. "Better over a decade late than never, though, right?"
"Right." The Catapults' Seeker catches the Snitch and they win the game. Draco lets out a cheer and slings his arms around Harry. Harry, bewildered and not quite sure of what he's doing, responds in kind. Draco extricates himself from the hug, looking embarrassed.
"I ... usually it's Theo and we have an understanding that it's OK to have some kind of physical celebration when our team wins," Draco explains hastily. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"You've done worse." Harry does his best to smile encouragingly and awkwardly pats Draco on the leg. Draco looks grateful as he stands up.
"Right, I'm going to head home," he says. "You're good company at a match, Potter. Maybe I should consider getting three tickets from now on. I think you and Theo would get on well."
"Well, thanks for inviting me. You're Apparating, then?"
Draco nods. "And I suggest you do the same," he says. "Believe me, the press knows this box belongs to the Malfoy family, and there's no telling what they'd assume from you leaving it."
"Well. Thanks, then." Harry stands up and, not knowing what else to do, extends his hand to Draco. Draco doesn't seem to think before shaking it. "Should we go on to lesson three on Monday?"
"Tuesday would be better for me," says Draco. "Have a nice evening, Potter."
Harry shakes his head and smiles. "You too, Malfoy." There's a cracking noise and Draco disappears. Harry follows suit and, before firecalling Ron and Hermione about getting a pint, spends a minute or two convincing himself he's not disappointed that Draco Malfoy's making plans without him.