Over the next week, the weather continued to grow darker and the rain never let up for more than a couple hours. The ground was saturated with water, turning everything into a muddy mess. Inevitably, there was a Quidditch match set for that Saturday. Inevitably, it was between Gryffindor and Slytherin.
That Saturday morning continued the pattern of dark, windy, rainy weather. Harry had gone to bed desperately hoping for a break in the weather, but no such luck. He woke up early, like he always did on the morning of a match.
He snuck out of the dormitory and headed for the Prefect's bathroom on the fifth floor. He hoped a bath might help him relax for the match and it was too early for breakfast, anyways. He muttered the password and slipped inside. Before long, the massive tub was filled with hot water and bubbles. Harry plunged in, relishing the warmth and the absence of the sounds of the storm outside underneath the bubbles for as long as he could before surfacing.
He was floating on his back in a patch of particularly buoyant bubbles when he heard the door scrape open. He just had time to get his feet on the floor of the tub when he saw the figure enter. He started wading towards the rim of the tub, trying to remember where he had put his glasses.
"Em, hello?" he said.
"Potter?" came the reply.
"Malfoy?" His groping hand found his glasses sitting on the tile. The room came into focus and (inevitably) there was Malfoy standing near the door with an expression halfway between shock and disgust.
"What on earth are you doing in my bathroom? You're not even a Prefect!"
"This is not your bathroom, Malfoy. Maybe you can recall that you don't actually own everything? Besides, I'm Captain of the Quidditch team. I'm allowed to use this bathroom."
"Sodding... Potter, I come here before every match! You cannot just waltz in here and break tradition."
This time, it was Harry's turn to smirk. The expression felt odd on his face.
"What?" Malfoy demanded.
"Language, Malfoy," Harry taunted. "Anyways, you can bugger off now. I'm using the bathroom this morning."
Malfoy glared at Harry. Then, without warning, he began stripping. "You know what, Potter, I think I shall continue my tradition all the same. You're welcome to leave."
Harry's ears began to get warm as he realized Malfoy wasn't going to stop removing his clothes–or making eye contact with him while he did. He turned around and said, "No, I think I'll just try and enjoy my bath."
Harry heard, "Be my guest," and caught a brief glimpse of a pale form leaping over his head before Malfoy hit the water and a wave nearly swept Harry's glasses from his face. Sputtering, he put his glasses back on the tile. "Bloody hell! Watch what you're doing."
He turned back to the pool and discovered Malfoy standing right in front of him. "Language, Potter," he whispered.
Harry's mind seemed to go fuzzy. He kicked off from the wall and dove underneath the surface of the water. He swam until his fingers met the far wall of the tub and sat submerged until his breath threatened to explode from his chest. He took a deep gasp as his face hit the air.
"That was impressive. I bet holding your breath like that comes in handy during other activities, too." Malfoy's voice floated across the water, ripe with innuendo.
"What the f–... what's that supposed to mean?"
Malfoy's indistinct form rose from the water. "Well, Potter, I'd show you, but I have a Quidditch match to attend, now that you've ruined my routine. Although, if you're really desperate to know, just ask the Mudblood for some professional tips."
Harry's rage flashed white-hot. "ACCIO WAND!" he bellowed. His wand soared across the room and into his open hand.
"Petrificus totalus!" Malfoy's suddenly rigid form toppled to the ground.
Harry clambered out of the tub and padded over to the prostrate body. Peering down, he raised a foot near Malfoy's face.
"A little payback for the beginning of the year? I wonder how well you play with a broken nose."
Harry hesitated. The Body Bind left Malfoy in control of his grey eyes, and Harry began to wish it didn't when he saw them burning with rage. Then, however, they broke away from eye contact–perhaps it wasn't rage, Harry thought–and began to travel down Harry's body. Slowly. Harry's sudden, acute self-consciousness broke through his anger and he became aware that he was both naked and standing directly above Malfoy.
He set his foot down. "No. I'll just let you sit here and wait for the jinx to wear off. See you at the match–or not."
Harry toweled off and got dressed quickly. Leaving Malfoy where he was, lying naked on the tile, he headed for the Quidditch pitch. He briefly considered at least throwing a towel over Malfoy for modesty's sake, should someone come into the bathroom and discover him, but decided against it. Malfoy deserved all the humiliation he got from this incident.
Breakfast was about to end as Harry passed by the Great Hall. Students were already starting to head to the pitch, raincoats donned and umbrellas in hand. Harry wished he had brought his along; although he would get soaked in the first thirty seconds of the game anyways, he could have at least been dry beforehand.
Harry got to the dressing room to discover he was one of the last to arrive. It only took a few minutes for the whole team to be assembled, dressed and ready for the match.
"Well, Harry?" said Katie Bell. "Any words of wisdom before we smash the Slytherins to pieces?"
Harry smiled at her enthusiasm. "Just as we practiced."
The time came for the match to begin and both teams filed out onto the field. Harry looked to see who they had chosen to replace Malfoy. It was someone with hair as blonde as his–no.
"How the hell did he get around that curse?" Harry muttered to himself. No use wondering about it now. Malfoy was here.
The two Captains shook hands, the whistle was blown, and fourteen players rose as one. The match had begun.
Harry took his customary position circling the pitch above the field of play, keeping his attention focused on any flash of metal. The Snitch was always especially difficult to spot in weather like this.
"That was a nasty trick you pulled, Potter."
"Malfoy, for the last time. Sod off. There's a match being played, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Oh, how kind of you to let me know," Malfoy spat. "Whatever would I do without the grace and magnanimity of Harry Ego-too-big-for-his-pants Potter?"
Harry closed his eyes in frustration and anger. He was taking a tense breath to retaliate when he heard a humming noise through the sound of the whipping winds. Spinning towards the source of the noise, he saw a flare of gold–the Snitch.
He wasted no time in urging his Firebolt to speed after the Snitch. A shout from behind him told him that Malfoy had realized what was happening. A quick glance at the scoreboard told him that Gryffindor was in the lead, barely. He needed to catch the Snitch if he wanted to win. And he always wanted to win.
Harry was gaining on his target. The Snitch, capricious as ever, suddenly reversed direction and flew over Harry's head before he could lift a hand to catch it. He did a sharp, hard turn and began flying back towards the Snitch, leading him on a path straight at Malfoy.
The golden ball executed another dramatic turn, darting off to Harry's right. He pulled another sharp turn that sent him skidding into the other Seeker. Harry was braced for the impact, but Malfoy wasn't. His hands lost their grip on the wet, slippery wood and he fell over the side of his broom. He managed to keep a single hand on the broom, but his legs dangled hundreds of feet above the ground.
Harry, before utterly intent on catching the Snitch, was suddenly torn. He could probably still catch the Snitch, despite the slowing down. But what if Malfoy fell? Harry didn't want that on his conscience.
He reversed directions once again. Coming up level to Malfoy, he shouted, "Climb on my broom!"
Malfoy, barely retaining a grip on the wind-tossed broom, didn't look as though he was in a position to argue, but he shouted back, "What about mine?"
"Don't worry!" was all Harry said.
Malfoy tentatively wrapped his legs around the Firebolt, then dropped his weight onto the broom so that he and Harry were face-to-face. Harry grabbed him around the waist to make sure he would slip off, then with a quick tug, pulled his wand from his sleeve. He had always kept it with him during matches since the Dementor incidents of Third Year.
"Accio Broom!" Malfoy's broom, which had begun to fly off in the wind, came zooming back. Malfoy caught it in his hands. As he climbed back onto his own broom, he said tersely, "Thanks."
But Harry was already zooming away, having just seen the Snitch in the direction Malfoy's broom had been drifting. After the adrenaline rush of–catching Malfoy; definitely catching Malfoy, and not being so close to him, holding his waist, Harry told himself–it was an easy snag.
Gryffindor had defeated Slytherin once more.