Harry was sick of potions. He was sick of the class, and sick of Professor Slughorn's chores. He had scrubbed every inch of the classroom, wiped down and relabeled dozens of items in the supply cabinets and closet, and he still felt like he struggled with his daily classwork. If this apprenticeship was meant to improve his performance in his chosen area, it was failing at that.
He stirred his cauldron, waiting for the slick, oily mixture to come to a boil. Next to him, Ron stirred with one hand, the other tied up in a sling. He'd run afoul of another one of Hagrid's creatures, this time nearly losing the entire limb. Hermione had made lovey dovey noises over him and promised it would pay off after graduation when he could prove his competence in any magical creature program. All Ron knew was that she had forced him into taking the apprenticeship with Hagrid under the pretense of staying safe. So far he had a nearly gnawed off arm and Harry's worst injuries were dried and cracked cuticles from washing his hand so much.
Harry didn't enjoy Ron and Hermione's bickering, or what passed for bickering when Ron refused to stand up for himself. But they were still his best friends and he still loved them like family. He was happy to see them happy, even if it meant he was left with more time to himself to ponder his own single status.
Ginny had told enough stories of their breakup to enough girlfriends that he'd been branded "undateable" by most of the Gryffindor upperclassmen. The only ones who still swooned over Harry the Hero were the younger girls, whose age difference made dating impossible. The Daily Prophet's gossip column had declared him one of the wizarding world's most eligible young bachelors when he turned eighteen, but the Hogwarts female population was not swayed.
In fact, Ginny had so powerfully lowered his esteem that he was certain even former Death Eater Draco Malfoy was the target of more secret crushes than himself. He'd heard the whispers, and girls do love a bad boy. He glanced over his shoulder at Malfoy's workstation. It was neatly arranged, and his base had already come to a boil. He seemed to be struggling with measuring out the next two ingredients, but he was certainly a step ahead of Harry, who hadn't yet managed to elicit so much as a bubble from his concoction.
But crikey he was handsome, could anyone blame the girls of Hogwarts for making doe-eyes at him? His lean frame was always languid and graceful, like the embodiment of the drawl he often spoke with. His pale skin was flawless, blemish-free in a way that could only be explained by magic. His short platinum hair was combed neatly to the side, above a broad, strong forehead, straight, regal nose and chin that Harry had always thought of as just slightly too pointy.
"Your pot's boiling over, mate," Ron hissed, snapping Harry back to the present.
He scrambled, lowering the flame beneath it and quickly measuring out his next ingredient. He fumbled the glass jar of liquefied corn smut, juggling it desperately as it threatened to leap from his hands and smash to the floor. It clattered across the tabletop before he managed to clap his hand down on top of it and stop its escape.
"Nice one, Potter," Blaise Zabini spoke up from the front of the room. His classmates were all staring at him with amused smiles. Harry ducked his head, too afraid to glance over and see if Malfoy was watching. Not that he should care.
By the end of class he managed to brew a passable potion and Professor Slughorn let him leave without requesting any more chores. Heaving a sigh of relief he made his escape behind Ron and Hermione. tagging along behind the couple as seemed to be the new normal. As they reached the end of the corridor his books and parchments suddenly slipped out of his grasp like they had taken on a life of their own. His two best friends continued, too enthralled in each other's company to notice his troubles. He bent to scoop everything up, wondering why he didn't just shrink it all down to pocket size in the first place.
"You should have shrunk it down to pocket size," a smooth voice came from above as a pair of feet appeared in his line of vision. He looked up and saw Malfoy standing over him with a sneer that reminded Harry of the old days.
"Did you do this, Malfoy?" Harry shot as he scooped his belongings into a pile.
"I need a moment of your time," Malfoy stooped and helped bring the papers together into a neat stack. So much for the sneers of old days, old Malfoy would have never helped.
"You could have just said, hey Harry, wait up!" Harry pointed out.
"Don't be silly, Potter," Malfoy corrected him. They stood and Harry quickly shrunk everything and stuffed his belongings into his pocket.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry glanced over his shoulder at the empty corridor beyond. Who knew where his friends were off to. It would probably be another evening on his own again.
As though reading his thoughts, Malfoy glanced up at the afternoon light coming through the narrow windows. "Up for a little one-on-one on the quidditch pitch?"
Harry pondered the offer, He and Malfoy had never flown one-on-one before, always saving their field time for the high-stakes games between Gryffindor and Slytherin. "Sure," he said slowly, "But no stealing my moves."
"I'd only steal your moves if I wanted to go slower," Malfoy shot over his shoulder as he led the way down the stairs.
Harry smiled. This was a rivalry that couldn't be blunted by war and grief. He licked his lips in anticipation, hoping they'd have the sky to themselves.
They did, in fact, have the entire pitch to themselves. Luckily for them, practice wasn't in session for either of the other two houses in spite of the fact that the competitive season had begun. They stopped off in the equipment shed and retrieved their personal brooms from storage.
"Is that new?" Harry stepped over to admire the darkly gleaming burnished stick between Malfoy's legs. He touched the handle, a thrill running up his spine. He could have sworn he heard Draco inhale sharply as he ran his hand down the broom handle. He stepped back, afraid of the feeling in his stomach.
"Brand new," Malfoy said roughly. "I bought it right after-" he paused, a brief flicker of pain crossing his face. "After the war. To make me feel better. But I haven't flown it until now."
"Catch me if you can," Harry wanted to distract him from his thoughts. Now wasn't the time to think of dead parents. He kicked off, bolting for the clouds. Half a breath later Malfoy was gaining on him, and another half breath later he was passing by. The broom was bloody fast.
Harry pulled sharply into a hairpin turn and dove, swinging around the stands and back towards the shed. He jumped off as he touched the ground and ran for the ball box. He released the golden snitch and watched it speed away, then jumped back on his broom and chased the receding dot that was Draco Malfoy.
"The snitch!" Harry called as he caught up. Malfoy pulled up short and glanced back, his cheeks flushed pink with exhilaration. His face was glorious in the afternoon light, hair blown back by the wind and eyes alive with the thrill of sheer speed. "The snitch!" Harry called again, pointing back towards the pitch.
"Beat you to it," Malfoy wheeled around and took off like a shot arrow. Harry spun and took off, too, catching up easily. They sped side by side, as they had so many times while competing for the house cup. But instead of the roar of the crowd in their ears, they had only the roar of the wind. Harry drew up next to Malfoy, bumping him playfully and trying to throw him off course. Malfoy took a risk and let go with one hand, reaching over and shoving at Harry's shoulder. Harry threw his head back and laughed as he spun around once, righting himself without losing an ounce of speed.
Whatever magical substance Malfoy used to keep his perfectly coiffed hair in place had long given up the battle against the wind. His blond locks blew back, glistening like spun gold in the slanted sunlight. Harry refocused his attention on the other golden target, which hovered near the base of the Hufflepuff stands. Malfoy had spotted it, too.
They both dove, side by side, one moment ahead of the other, the next moment behind. They both reached out, their arms stretched to the maximum as they closed the gap between themselves and the snitch. And in a split second they both reached it, both hands clasping it at the same time. Harry's hand was beneath, Malfoy's hand wrapped around on top, their fingers entangled. Their brooms collided and they tumbled, rolling along the ground and landing in a heap. Harry realized his hand was empty and threw himself over. Malfoy's eyes were still squeezed shut from impact, but the snitch was in his hand. Malfoy peeked one eyelid open and looked at his hand, then triumph spread across his face.
"Oh no you don't," Harry threw himself at the other boy, tackling him and grabbing at the snitch.
"Are you mad?" Malfoy kicked and rolled, trying to keep the golden ball out of reach. Harry laughed like a crazy person and scrambled his way up Malfoy's body to get his hand on the snitch. They wrestled and grappled until they were both laughing too hard to continue, collapsing onto the pitch in feverish gasps for air.
"I win, Potter," Malfoy gasped for breath, a goofy smile spread across his face.
"Not if I get it back," Harry threw himself playfully at Malfoy again, but aborted the effort, sliding off of him with a laugh. "I've always wanted to do that."
"Do what, exactly?" Draco rolled his head to the side and quirked his mouth at Harry.
"Well," Harry suddenly felt silly, wondering how to answer without saying the wrong thing.
"Snape would have had a fit if he'd seen you do that during a game," Malfoy dropped his head back and gazed up at the deepening sky. "Wrestling for the snitch? How unseemly," he dropped his voice a register, his tone dripping with disdain. A serviceable impression of the venerable professor.
"Ten points from Gryffindor," Harry added with a less serviceable impression.
Malfoy rocked up to a seated position. He gazed thoughtfully down at the snitch in his hand. "Why can't I ever seem to do that during a game? You always get it first."
"You just have to race me when I'm distracted enough," Harry sat up, too.
"What's distracting you today?" Malfoy asked quietly, still admiring the small golden ball.
Harry didn't answer, staring at his hands silently. The sunlight glinted off of his glasses.
'"So I was thinking about the tattoo removal place," Malfoy began tentatively. "I should at least check it out before dismissing it."
Harry's smile returned. "Absolutely!" he exclaimed. "When do you want to go?"
"Tomorrow?" Malfoy shrugged. "I can take the whole morning."
"Let's do it," Harry nodded enthusiastically. "But wait. You'll need muggle money."
"I have an exchanged reserve for emergencies," Malfoy dismissed the need. "Do you know how much I'll need?"
"I'm not sure, galleons to pounds always confuses me."
"Then I'll bring a lot."
