Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Season 10, Semifinals

Team: Holyhead Harpies

Position: Beater 2

Prompt: The Outsiders - Write a rivals turned friends story.

Optional Prompts: (dialogue) "Why me?" / "Because you're so much more fun to tease than anyone else.", (word) unsettled, (dialogue) "Is that all that you've got?" / "No. But I like you so I don't want to hurt you."

Word Count: 2015

Warnings: Mild swearing, mild injury and violence, medical use of drugs, slight canon divergence

Notes: I guess slight canon divergence? Because Draco becomes an Auror after Hogwarts in this fic. This is set probably a year or two after the Battle of Hogwarts.

A forest in Lebanon

Harry dodges the troll's club, locking eyes with Draco. "Back off, Malfoy," he calls across the clearing. "This one is mine!"

"Fat chance, Potter!" Draco sprints towards the troll, hitting it with spell after spell, and the monstrous creature starts stumbling backwards, but it still has one more chance to take an angry swing at Harry — and it does.

And of course, at that very moment, that's when his foot catches upon a tree root and he tumbles to the ground, just as the troll's club comes down.

Ouch.

Scorching agony explodes in his head, and it's like his head is on fire. Tears flood his eyes and he doubles over, clutching his head. His hands come away warm and sticky with…blood?

Oh, shit.

And then he becomes faintly aware of the troll roaring at him, hefting its club, and out of nowhere, a series of red blurs slam into it. It howls and falls backward, crashing into the earth.

"You've…got to be…kidding me." Through blurry eyes and a hazy mind, Harry dimly recognises his saviour. Those words drain the rest of his energy and blackness encroaches his vision like a tidal wave.

The last thing he sees is Draco's lips parting, and then there is nothing.

St Mungo's, First Floor

Harry sits up with his head pounding, like a troll is clubbing his skull. Well, if his memory serves his right, that had been exactly what had happened.

And…Draco had been there. From the few seconds he had been conscious, Draco had blasted the troll into kingdom come, and then–

"Oh, Harry! You're awake!"

He's only able to draw in one breath before he hears running footsteps and he's assaulted by a head of bushy hair as Hermione flings her arms around him. Through the mass of hair he glimpses Ron, who had presumably walked up behind Hermione.

"Glad to see you're alright, mate," he says to Harry, before addressing Hermione. "Oi, stop suffocating him."

"Sorry!" But Hermione doesn't sound the least bit abashed as she pulls away, clasping Harry's hand between both of hers. "How are you feeling?"

Harry shrugs. "Like I was hit over the head with a club," he says dryly, and Ron snorts. Even Hermione cracks a small smile. "But…how did I get here?"

Hermione glances over her shoulder, exchanging a look with Ron. "Well…" she says slowly. "We were too far away to do anything, but Draco was nearby, and he…well, he hit the troll with multiple Stunning Spells, picked you up, and Disapparated."

Harry groans, head falling against the pillow as mortification floods through him. "Of all people, why did it have to be Malfoy?" he laments, as the realisation makes his headache sear even more. "Why did he have to be my partner?"

"It was all romantic too," Ron says, sporting a grin that makes Harry want to punch him. "He was carrying you bridal style, looking like a hero from one of Hermione's romance novels, his eyes blazing…"

"I'm going to kill you," Harry threatens, glaring at him with heat rushing to his face as Hermione giggles. "As soon as I get out of this bed, I will smother you with this pillow."

Rather than looking contrite, Ron just guffaws louder, and Harry glowers. "Why me?" he complains.

"Because you're so much more fun to tease than anyone else." Ron smirks. "Especially when it comes to Malfoy."

St Mungo's, First Floor

Harry is still entertaining a variety of ways to murder his best friend when the subject of his embarrassment walks in, all high and mighty.

"Feeling better, Potter?" Draco Malfoy asks briskly, pinning Harry with an unsettling gaze.

"I'm alright." Just as he says that, pain slices through his skull, and Draco, with his keen eyes, doesn't miss the way he tries to cover his wince. Because he has to know Harry's weaknesses.

"They didn't give you anything for that?" the bane of his existence asks sharply.

"They did, and they offered me a higher dosage, but…" Harry forcefully blinks back the sudden rush of tears from the pain. "I need to have a clear head. I can cope with the pain."

He expects Draco to nod, to agree with him, but what comes out of Draco's mouth is something entirely different. "That's stupid, Potter," Draco snaps. "If taking more heals you faster, then it's smart. Besides, who's going to attack you here?"

Harry stares at him incredulously. "I thought you of all people would understand the importance of having a clear head," he retorts. "I'm not expecting an attack but I'm just not comfortable with succumbing to something that'll meddle with my brain. My head hurts like hell, yes, but at least I'm in control."

Draco draws breath as though he intends to counter Harry, but Harry knows the exact second his words hit Draco. Draco's shoulders droop and he runs a hand through his hair, looking more exhausted than he had when he had walked in. "Sorry," he mutters. "It's been a rough day."

Harry is taken aback, not having anticipated this abrupt turnaround in demeanour. It's quite unsettling.

"Especially since I got paired with the most reckless imbecile in existence…I should've seen this coming."

…And there's the normal Draco.

"You mean, the trainee Auror who is ranked first," Harry reminds him smugly, and he takes immense pleasure in Draco's scowl.

"How you're ranked higher than me is a mystery," he grumbles. "Bloody favouritism, that's what it is."

Harry, despite himself, fights back a smile.

Auror Training Grounds, undisclosed location

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Potter?" Draco smirks and Harry purses his lips, blocking out Draco's voice in favour of concentrating. The agony in his head had abated but occasionally he would sit up too quickly or hear a loud noise, and there would be a small stab of pain. He had no doubt this duel would be a barrage of knives embedding themselves in his skull, but he's determined to win nonetheless.

"Ready to prove why I'm ranked first? Absolutely." Harry's eyes slide up and down Draco's form, pinpointing his weaknesses. He'd duelled Draco many times before — not including their little spats at Hogwarts — and he knows Draco's style well enough to find the chinks in his armour. His balance is a little uneven, which makes it easier to force him backwards. He's a little weak in the wrists, so a glancing blow is enough to knock his wand out of his hand.

Unfortunately, it's not that easy.

And today, the Minister of Magic himself has come to referee the match — Kingsley could never pass up the opportunity to observe a practice fight, especially between two of his highest-ranked Aurors.

As soon as Kingsley whistles, Harry jumps to the side as a Body-Bind sails past him, missing him by centimetres. Harry sends a Body-Bind right back, but Draco sidesteps it neatly, his eyes narrowed.

After that, Harry isn't aware of time passing. He's just aware of the colours flashing and blurring around him, of Draco's smirk faltering and turning into a grimace, and sweat beading on his own forehead. It's always like this, but now — with Harry's headache starting to rear its head — it's even more of an effort.

His only solace is that Draco is tiring too.

At some point, their spells collide in midair, producing a shower of sparks, and Harry is close enough that it stings his skin. He just has to outlast Draco. He just has to wear him out.

"Are you holding yourself back?" he taunts. "Is that all that you've got?"

"No. But I like you so I don't want to hurt you."

Harry inhales shallowly, reeling back, as I like you reverberates in his mind — and he pays for it dearly. To be fair, he hadn't accounted for those words leaving Draco's mouth, but he should've known that Draco would do anything to unsettle him. To gain the upper hand.

And the Body-Bind slams into him and he's on the ground surrendering, just like that.

Of course Draco would play a little dirty. He had some nerve.

He can't move with his limbs magically restrained, so he has to wait for the humiliating ordeal of Draco releasing the spell on him before he leaps to his feet. He gets right up in Draco's face.

"What was that for?" he demands. "You cheated!"

Oh, that smirk. Harry wants to do unspeakable things to that smirk. Unspeakably violent things. "I did no such thing," says the bastard.

"Oh c'mon, you definitely taunted —"

"I'm afraid he's right, Harry," Kingsley says, coming up from behind Draco. "He didn't taunt you — technically," he amends. "Everything he did was within the rules."

Harry doesn't know why he's so bothered by this — especially since they had said worse things to each other, and this should've meant nothing in comparison — but he isn't one to immediately explore his emotions, just react to them.

He remains silent, merely glaring at Draco until Kingsley is out of earshot. Then, he says, "You knew perfectly well what you were doing. You may not have broken the rules, but you damn sure didn't play fair."

Draco's smirk vanishes and he raises an eyebrow. "I don't know why your knickers are in such a twist, Potter," he says tartly, "but I didn't do anything that we haven't done before. I pull shit like this all of the time. You should've known better."

And with that, he turns and marches away behind Kingsley, leaving Harry standing in his wake with his mind whirling.

You should've known better.

St Mungo's, Fourth Floor

"You've got to be kidding me," Harry mutters as Draco starts murmuring again, something about Venomous Tentacula and a basilisk. The Healers had put him on some medication that had kept Draco, well…incapacitated, while they had completed the worst of the healing process, but the medication had yet to fully wear off. And until then…

"I don't want to dance with the snake, Mother!" Draco says loudly, suddenly, and Harry has to squeeze the armrests of his chair to prevent himself from flinching. He doesn't even know why he's here — the Healers would've taken care of Draco just fine, like always, and Harry could've gone home — but it's just that he'd felt incredibly guilty.

Draco had thrown himself in front of a dragon, after all.

Draco rolls over in his bed and Harry can see his face now — shiny, newly-healed burn scars, but his eyes had been left unscathed, and he looks at Harry now with drowsy, cloudy irises.

"Harryyyyyy," he slurs. "Haaaaaarry."

Harry hesitates before replying. "Yes, Draco?" Draco sounds foreign on his tongue.

"Harry, you big gitface," Draco babbles. "You're awful, you know. I hate you sometimes."

Harry swallows a laugh. Oh, how he wishes he could capture this on camera. Draco has drool coming out of his mouth, and it takes all of Harry's self-restraint to remain composed. "I know, Draco."

"But I really do like you. I hate you. But I like you. Can I be your friend?"

Er.

What?

Momentarily confused, Harry opens his mouth to react instinctively with a barbed retort about how Draco could never be his friend, but it doesn't quite happen like that.

It all smacks into him at once — the reason for being so unsettled by the non-taunting call, over the taunt itself, and the reason for being here, despite not needing to be here, it all makes sense. Harry isn't sure if it had been the trolls in Lebanon, or hours spent in St Mungo's together, but somehow, this arsehole had become his friend. Despite their troubled history, despite the bitter rivalry spanning their school years and bleeding into their Auror training…

He had forgiven Draco long ago, but had never considered him a friend, until —

"Yes, you can be my friend," says Harry.

— until now.

After all, they could be friends and still maintain their rivalry, right? Because injury or no injury, there is no way in hell that Harry is going to let him steal the top spot.

Never.