Just a day, just an ordinary day

Just trying to get by

Just a boy, just an ordinary boy

But he was looking to the sky

And as he asked if I would come along, I started to realize

That every day he finds just what he's looking for

Like a shooting star he shines, and he said

Take my hand, live while you can

Don't you see your dreams lie right in the palm of your hand?

-Vanessa Carlton

The atmosphere out on the makeshift pitch that Mr. Weasley had conjured in the backyard was one of barely contained frenzy. Hermione and George had pulled Ron aside and were busy trying to talk him down from an obvious fit, while Malfoy and the other members of the Weasley family busied themselves with constructing the boundaries of the pitch.

Harry frowned, surveying their numbers: Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Malfoy and himself; that made nine; barley enough for one Quidditch team.

"What are we gonna do about the odd number?" Charlie asked.

George scoffed, "The girls together will count as one of course. Oh but wait," he favored Percy with a sly grin. "I forgot we had three girls here."

"I didn't know you thought of yourself that way, George." Percy shot back. "But that's alright. To each their own"

George laughed.

"Are you really going to count me and Ginny as one player?" Hermione said tersely. "That's a little sexist, don't you think?"

"Agreed!" chimed Ginny. "If anything, Percy and Hermione should count as one player since they were never on a team at school. Don't you think so, Draco?"

"I will begrudgingly admit that you were the top scoring chaser this last year in Quidditch," said Malfoy, winking at her. "That being said, the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw teams were positively atrocious. Even Granger probably could've scored on them."

"Neither of you are helping!" Hermione yelled heatedly.

Ron snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and looking murderous. He was glaring at Malfoy like he wanted to rip his throat out. "Hermione, face it, you haven't played a game of Quidditch in your life. You're going to need all the help you can get. Better to balance out your lack of experience with someone who's actually good."

Hermione threw him a pointed glare.

"And the captains?" Percy asked, looking unsure whether or not he should be offended by the previous exchange.

"Oi, just give it to Harry and Ron." George waved the question off. "They're having a spat anyway so why not let them duke it out over a match or two."

Harry heard Malfoy cluck his tongue and whisper something to Ginny. She laughed.

"Fine by me," Harry said, decidedly ignoring them.

Ron moved over towards Harry, resentment marking his every step. "Me too."

"You pick first, Ron," Harry said gently, feeling a sudden twinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Their fight was pointless really, like most of them were, and mostly Harry's fault anyway.

"I don't need any favors from you." Ron hissed. "George!" George beamed, victory dancing his way behind Ron.

Harry frowned. "Fine. Charlie!"

"Bill!"

Harry faltered, gazing distractedly between Percy and the two girls. "Um…Percy!" Hermione glowered. "Sorry, 'Mione," Harry grumbled, shrugging.

"Hermione, Ginny, come on over here then."

And there Malfoy was, standing lazily in Harry's old tattered jumper and too big jeans, looking absolutely oblivious to the fact that he was the last pick. "Guess that means I'm stuck with you, eh, Potter?"

"Just get over here, Malfoy!"

Malfoy saluted, sarcasm evident in the sharp lines of his body. "Yes, captain!"

The four huddled together, Charlie, Percy and Malfoy all looking expectantly at Harry, but all Harry could seem to think about was how much he wished that Malfoy would stop fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Alright, so, as far as I know there will be no seekers in this game. So that means there will be two chasers, one beater, and one keeper." Harry scratched his head, remembering how Oliver had once told him that he would make a fair beater. "I was thinking I could be the beater, unless one of you would rather take the position."

Percy shook his head. "I don't care, just as long as I'm not keeper."

Charlie clapped his brother on the back, "It's ok, Perc, we can be the chasers."

Harry sighed. "Great, then that makes you keeper, Malfoy. Think you can handle that?"

Malfoy's lips curled up into a coy smile. "You sound so doubtful."

The huddle broke apart. Charlie and Percy started off towards the shed to gather the brooms, heads bowed together. Harry straightened, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Well, seeker and keeper require very different skill sets," he tried and failed to mimic Malfoy's sarcastic drawl.

Malfoy's nose wrinkled with a scoffing laughter. "Thanks for that wonderful insight, Potter. Figure that out all on your own did you? It really is a wonder Quidditch experts don't consult you first before they write things down."

"Oi, Draco," Ginny called. Malfoy's head whipped to the side, his eyes bright in the morning sun. "What position do they have you playing?"

"Keeper!"

A wide grin broke out on Ginny's face. "Sounds like it's going to be an embarrassing day for you!"

Malfoy didn't answer, but the smirk on his face was noticeably fuller when he turned back to Harry. "You'd best be a good beater, Potter. I don't like losing."

"Odd that you do it so much then."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Always the insults with you."

Harry stepped forward, dropping his voice to a low, rumbling growl, "Look, I still don't know what's going on or why you're here, and frankly the fact that everyone else is okay with it is freaking me the hell out, but just know that I'll be watching you closely. If you try anything—"

"You'll tear me limb from limb?" Malfoy turned, walking towards where Charlie and Percy stood with the team's brooms and Harry's club. "How original."

Harry stuck his tongue out childishly as the two teams mounted their brooms and took off in unison. Harry faltered slightly; he hadn't flown in quite some time, and his broom wasn't exactly in its prime. It rattled between his legs like a shivering cat, but Harry held firm and tried to hover as steadily as possible. George, however, was zipping around and having a regular hay day. Harry face drooped in anticipation of his team's immanent defeat.

In the distance, Harry saw Mr. Weasley exit the house and stride purposefully across the lawn, a large and rather tarnished looking trunk cradled under his arm. "Ready boys and girls?" he shouted with a large grin, plopping the trunk down on the dewy grass.

With a sharp flick of his wand, Mr. Weasley opened the trunk, grabbed a standard sized quaffle and made his way to the center of the field. The two teams gathered around him in a circle, hovering expectantly. Then suddenly, the quaffle was in the air and the teams exploded with a burst of energy. Harry shot forward with the rest, grabbing for the large ball, but he became lost in the confusion. He was so used to watching the game from his safe haven above the stadium that he hardly knew where he was by the end of the scramble. He clenched his fist tightly around the awkwardly heavy club, and lifted himself higher.

Mr. Weasley had just released the single bludger, which proceeded to dart about the field haphazardly. But the bludger wasn't what Harry's eye was trained on. George—who had caught the quaffle on the throw off—was making a direct line towards Malfoy and the goal, quaffle tucked neatly under his arm.

He ducked and whirled around Charlie and Percy like they were standing still and with an impressive spin, George hurled the ball at the goal. It rocketed towards the center hoop like an arrow loosed from a bow. Shit. We're screwed, Harry thought, crestfallen. Not even Oliver could have blocked a throw like that.

Malfoy hovered just below the hoop, looking disproportionately bored. He didn't even move as George sped towards him, he merely sat; so silent, so still. And then, in the blink of an eye, Malfoy rocketed upwards, his left arm jutting out, firmly putting an end to the quaffle's designated path. With an extraordinary roll Malfoy safely curled the ball into his chest. George paled and began to curse indistinguishably, but Malfoy's eyes moved only to Harry, who flushed with embarrassment. A victorious smirk spread across Malfoy's face as he threw the ball to Charlie.

"Were you watching closely, Potter?" Malfoy cooed.

Harry didn't respond.

"Man, that was one hell of a game!" George exclaimed once again, gesturing wildly.

The game had lasted much longer than expected, until everyone had been so exhausted they could barely even fly straight much less attempt to play a game. They had lost count of the score somewhere along the way, but it hadn't really mattered. The game had been outrageously one sided, favoring Harry's team. In the course of six hours, there had only been three goals scored on Malfoy: two by George, and one, surprisingly enough, by Hermione, which Malfoy had later blamed on the glare of the sun and Hermione's unfair exploitation of her feminine wiles.

The group had just finished supper, and was now gathered in the small living room. They were sprawled out over the floor and overstuffed couches, talking excitedly about the game. The only ones not participating in the animated chatter were Hermione, who had retired to her room, and Ron, who was even in a fouler mood after being slaughtered in Quidditch. It hadn't exactly been his best day playing Keeper. It seemed that the more Malfoy had blocked, the more Ron had missed. He now sat by himself in an armchair, gazing broodingly into the hearth.

"Malfoy, why the hell didn't you play keeper for Slytherin?" George asked.

Malfoy smirked, taking another drink of his Butterbeer. "Being a seeker is more dramatic I guess, and what can I say, I'm a sucker for a good show."

Harry scoffed, shaking his head absently. If by good show he meant terrorizing Harry at every opportunity, then indeed Malfoy was right. Harry glanced over and found his chagrin doused as those stormy grey eyes became fixed on his. Despite the warmth of the fire, that gaze still made his blood run cold.

"And why is it," Malfoy turned back to George, "that you weren't a chaser?"

George chuckled, his grin growing noticeably wider. "Well Fred and I always found it much more entertaining to whack demonic balls at people's faces. Plus, nobody freaks if you mess up, unless of course it kills a teammate…then I've heard there are issues."

"So they say," Malfoy replied.

Harry really wished Malfoy and George would stop talking as if they didn't hate each other to the deepest core of their beings. It was beginning to make him uncomfortable.

"Harry was a pretty good beater too," Ginny said conversationally. "He hit the quaffel with the bludger at least twice. In the mean time Bill couldn't even hit Percy off his broom."

Percy chortled into his glass of whiskey. "I'll have you know that I have exceptional balance."

George nodded. "It's true. He took ballet lessons when he was younger."

"George!"

"What?" George threw up his hands. "You looked very dashing in that tutu Mum made you."

"George," Charlie warned, "stop being such wanker to your brother."

George turned towards Charlie, pouting. "All of my brothers or just Percy? If it's the former then that really limits the number of people in this room that I can speak to."

Just then Mrs. Weasley bustled into the living room, carrying a tray of freshly baked crumpets. Harry inhaled the sweet doughy smell, eyeing the snack greedily as Mrs. Weasley placed the tray down on a nearby table. "Oh, Draco dear," she said in her sing-song voice, "it really is much too late for you to be traveling back. You will stay the night won't you?"

Harry abruptly lost his appetite.

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Weasley," Malfoy said in a syrupy tone, "but I don't want to put anyone out. I'm sure the Night Bus will take me as far as I need to go."

"The Night Bus!" Mrs. Weasley looked horrified. "You most certainly will not be taking that wretched thing! Come now, Ron can stay in George's room and you can stay with Harry. That'll be alright won't it?"

Harry blanched, and looked towards Malfoy and then instinctively towards Ron.

George brightened. "I think it sounds fantastic." Apparently being good at Quidditch was enough to earn a vote from George.

"Yes!" Ginny agreed, bouncing on her heels. "Come on, Draco. Stay."

"Are you sure I wouldn't be imposing?" A small smile started curling at the edge of Malfoy's mouth.

"Of course not!" Mrs. Weasley said. "You can leave first thing in the morning if you like, but I insist you stay the night! I'll send your mum an owl if that would make you feel better."

Malfoy straightened slightly. "Thank you but that won't be necessary. My mother is out of town for the month."

"She left you alone?" Mrs. Weasley asked with a knitted brow. "So soon after…" she couldn't seem to bring herself to finish the sentence.

Malfoy gave her a sad smile, and Harry couldn't quite tell if it was real or not. "It's not so bad really. She has some family matters that she has to attend to. After…everything….I expected it."

Mrs. Weasley's face seemed to drop with an intense sorrow. "Well," she said shakily, "you're welcome here any time."

"Thank you."

With a curt nod, Mrs. Weasley hurried out of the room, her eyes gleaming with threatening tears.

Bill and Charlie both stood at the same time, and with a quick, shared glance, left the room after her.

Percy fidgeted in his chair, his eyes flicking between George and the door. "Should I…?"

"Don't," George said heavily. "There won't be anything we can do." He turned his head, the candlelight catching on the scar tissue of his left ear.

Malfoy set his Butterbeer down on the table. He looked paler than usual. "I didn't mean to—"

"It wasn't you," Ginny said.

With a loud huff, Ron stood from his chair and stormed out of the room, his feet clodding against the wooden floor. Harry heard the stairs creak as he made his way up to the third floor. A moment later, a door slammed. Whether it was the door to George's room or his own, Harry couldn't tell.

Malfoy stared up at the ceiling, grimacing. "Perhaps I really should leave."

"Perhaps you should," Harry agreed.

"Harry!" Ginny chided, her eyes dark. She glared at him, and inched closer to Malfoy's chair. Her hand rose to rest lightly on top of his, and Harry saw Malfoy go stiff. "You're staying."

Malfoy could only nod.

"Why?" Harry was surprised by the bite in his tone. "Why is he staying?"

Ginny's eyes were back on him in an instant, her body bowing as her temper unfurled. "Why shouldn't he stay? The war is over, Harry, in case you hadn't noticed."

"It's barely been three weeks! And you all are sitting here acting like the past seven years didn't happen!"

Percy stood from his chair, biting his lip. "I'm going to go check on Ron."

George watched him go, his brow tight and the vein along his jaw straining. When his eyes turned on Harry, they were positively glacial. "Haven't you had enough already?"

"What?"

"No one wants to fight anymore, Harry," George snapped. "We've had enough of it, alright?"

Harry goggled at him. "I'm not the one who's looking for a fight here!"

"Yes you are!" George retorted, slamming his glass down on the table and nearly knocking Malfoy's over in the process. "If Mum says Malfoy can stay, then you've no right to tell him to leave! Him and Ginny are friends now, alright? So get the fuck over yourself and let it alone!"

The room fell quiet, the air between them trembling with a dark foreboding. Harry could hear his blood pounding in his ears as heat rose up into his nose and cheeks. "Fine, let him stay," he seethed, his eyes locking on Malfoy's and bearing down like a weight. "But this doesn't change anything."