Harry's hand was gripping the vibrating broomstick so tightly that it was almost impossible for him to hang on for much longer. Everyone watched in terror as the Weasleys—despite being on the other team—flew towards him, trying to get Harry to safety on one of the broomsticks. But it got worse: every time they got close to him, the broomstick jumped higher. They dropped down and began to fly in circles, obviously trying to catch him if he fell. Marcus Flint grabbed the Quaffle and scored five points without anyone noticing, and Draco, though distraught, remained in his playing position on orders from his captain. Harry didn't know exactly what was happening, he only remembered that everything had been perfectly fine during the beginning of the match and then, well, his broomstick had lost its mind.
He closed his eyes to try to discover where the curse that had the object completely out of control was coming from. Great was his surprise when he discovered that it came from the teachers' box, but he was even more surprised that none of the teachers had noticed that one of them, very close by, was using magic to make him fall from such a terrible height.
Of course the main suspect was Severus Snape, especially since the day before he had discovered that terrible wound that the three-headed dog had caused him. Snape was scared, thought Harry, scared that he would open his mouth and shout his intentions to the world; because Harry knew, because he sensed it, that the Potions Master wanted to steal what was hidden behind the trapdoor.
The dog had done a magnificent job of guarding the door beneath his feet, but that didn't guarantee that Snape would give in and Harry, of course, wasn't about to let him get away with it, number one, because he hated him, and second, because whatever Dumbledore was guarding so jealously could be dangerous in the wrong hands, in the hands of Snape who, as he had found out, had once served Voldemort and then "redeemed" himself. Of course, Harry wasn't naive or stupid and although Dumbledore believed the little tale of the reformed Death Eater, Potter didn't and the clear proof of that was his plans to betray the headmaster of the school and obtain that mysterious package from the third floor.
Then the broom suddenly stopped, just long enough for Harry to gather momentum and climb back on. He would never have believed that Flint's intense training could yield such results in such a short time, but it had, and he was no longer such a weakling, even though he looked like one.
He got back into the swing of things as quickly as possible, but not before casting a suspicious glance at the teachers' box where something had happened, he didn't know what, but it had worked to make Snape stop cursing his broom.
Draco flew over to him and patted him on the shoulder, encouraging him to continue as the quaffle came into his hands and scored another point in Slytherin's favor. It was just as Harry was about to say something to Malfoy that the snitch crossed his path and he couldn't help but swallow it.
He pathetically pulled it out of his mouth, feeling extremely stupid, he had been after the stupid little ball for almost an hour to finally catch it in such an undignified way... he shook his head, what did it matter how he had caught it, he had done it and had won the game to the great confusion of everyone present who did not understand at all what had happened.
Raising his hand to the sky in victory, Lee Jordan, the Gryffindor commentator, dejectedly announced Slytherin's victory and finally descended to the cheers and applause of the snakes and some other students from other houses.
He enjoyed the moment, just a little, feeling really good about becoming the center of attention, never in his life had he been cheered so much and the impact was so great that for a moment he almost forgot that he had almost died.
Draco came over and hugged him tightly, his blonde hair stinging his face and making him laugh, then the rest of the team arrived and happily carried him on their shoulders while bragging about their victory in front of the lions.
It felt good, very good, it felt great to have everyone flattering him like that because he, out of everyone, had done something important for the team. Playing was fun, yes, but winning, winning was something else, victory tasted sweet and Harry wanted to taste it once more, he wanted to taste it as many times as possible, he wanted his teammates to look at him as if he were a hero, he wanted Draco to smile at him in that way, he wanted to feel the snitch as part of his legend again.
He laughed, shouted, sang and celebrated as much as he could without suspecting that that first victory would only leave him wanting more, more looks, more attention, more celebrations.
Flint finally put him down, a party awaited them in the common room, but Harry had promised to meet Ron and Hermione after the match no matter the result. Draco, not very happy, left with the rest of the Slytherins and Harry stayed there until the Ravenclaw and the lion came to meet them, both suspiciously silent as they headed to Hagrid's hut where they had promised to go a while before the celebration party for the victory of one of the two teams.
They walked through the gardens and down the hill to the little cottage where Hagrid's boarhound Fang greeted them with a slobbering sound. Five minutes later the trio were sitting with a cup of tea in their hands as Ron said:
—It was Snape. Hermione and I saw it. He was cursing your broom. He was muttering and staring at you.
"Nonsense," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had happened. "Why would Snape do such a thing?"
Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at each other, wondering what they were going to say. Harry decided to tell her the truth.
"We found out something about him," he said to Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween, using the troll as a distraction. And the dog bit him. We thought he was trying to steal what that dog was guarding." Hagrid dropped the teapot.
—What do you know about Fluffy? —he said.
"Fluffy?" Harry asked.
—Uh-huh... It's mine... I bought it from a Greek guy I met at the bar last year... and I lent it to Dumbledore for safekeeping...
"Yes?" Harry said, trying to feign indifference, just as Draco had taught him.
"Well, don't ask me any more," said Hagrid gruffly. "It's a secret."
—But Snape tried to steal it —the black-haired man insisted.
"Nonsense," the gamekeeper repeated. "Snape is a professor at Hogwarts, he would never do such a thing."
"Then why did he try to kill Harry?" Hermione cried. If she had doubted Snape was evil or anything before, she was now convinced that Harry had probably been right about him all along. "I know a curse when I see one, Hagrid. I've read all about them. You have to keep your eyes on him and Snape didn't even blink, I saw him!"
"You're wrong," said Hagrid, angrily. "I don't know why Harry's broom reacted like that… But Snape wasn't going to try to kill a student! Now, listen to me, you're meddling in things that don't concern you and that's dangerous. Forget about that dog and forget what he's watching. There's only Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel playing a role in that."
"Ah!" said Ron, but Harry held his leg tightly. He didn't need Hagrid to realise that he had made a grave mistake in revealing that name. He needed him to believe that they hadn't been paying attention, and when he looked at Hermione he realised that, perhaps, he had done the right thing.
They finally said goodbye amicably, the gamekeeper had seemed a little nervous, but he didn't bring up the subject again and Harry had been quite clever in changing it to his anecdote about how he had caught the snitch.
Potter walked with Hermione to their common room, saying goodbye halfway, as the girl was desperate to find out something about Flamel, Harry, on the other hand, had a pending appointment in the snake common room; a huge party in his honor for his role in the game that Saturday morning.
As soon as he opened the door he was greeted by a bunch of green magical fireworks that made him jump and laugh, all the Slytherins were gathered there and dedicated a bunch of sweet words to him that made his smile widen.
They partied until nightfall and not even Snape was able to stop the party, although Harry preferred it that way, he had unfinished business with him and he wasn't going to give up until he made it clear to him that he wasn't afraid of him, that he knew who he was and what he wanted and that he would use that to his advantage.
He drank his fill of Butterbeer, ate as much candy as he could, and even received a couple of little kisses from a couple of older girls who were fascinated with the young seeker, the famous Harry Potter.
It felt good to be the king, he had to admit.
When Harry decided that enough was enough and went up to his room, barely noticing Draco's absence from the common room, the boy was lying asleep, or seemingly asleep, on his bed, with the covers pulled up to his head, covering him completely.
The dark-haired boy, still with a huge smile on his face, went to the bathroom where he took a shower as quietly as possible, afraid of waking up the gray-eyed boy who got in a very bad mood if he didn't get enough sleep.
As he left he tried to find his pajamas in the dark and just when he was ready to get into bed, willing to enjoy that tomorrow was Sunday and he could sleep more, Draco's hissing and familiar voice slipped through the silence of the room, asking him:
"Did you enjoy yourself?" His voice was muffled, but Harry knew it wasn't because he was sleepy, there was something else there.
However, in order not to ruin the evening, he simply replied:
—Yes, it has been great.
"I'm glad," he replied, but he didn't sound happy.
Harry saw him move a little under the covers, it was autumn, the cold in the dungeons was much more noticeable and in winter it would surely be worse.
The brunette leaned on his forearms and looked at his silhouette, for a moment he thought he saw him shrink into his own body and he wondered if he was sick or if something had come to him, maybe he had eaten too many sweets, Harry had told him to stop, but he had told him to screw himself because he did what he wanted and Harry, shrugging his shoulders, didn't insist any further.
He watched him for a while until he decided that if the blonde hadn't complained, then nothing bad was happening and he lay back down, staring at the ceiling.
Long minutes passed and Harry couldn't sleep, all because of the strange change of mood of the grey-eyed man who, until halfway through the party, had been all smiles and cruel jokes to other Slytherins. He knew he shouldn't give it so much importance, but Draco was his friend and he wasn't behaving like himself, so, a little annoyed, he sat up on the mattress, ready to ask him if everything was okay, after all, if he told him to go to hell he might as well consider himself a good friend and then he could sleep.
He let his eyes adjust to the darkness again and when they did he cleared his throat slightly. He had barely opened his mouth to say the "O" in "Hey" when the curtains on his partner's bed closed and Harry knew he was throwing a tantrum.
She tried to remember, as she did every time Draco threw a tantrum, which happened more often than she liked to admit.
Well, what had it been now? Harry wondered; last time he'd gotten angry at him for accidentally getting ink on his uniform, the time before that because he'd eaten the last of his jelly beans which had turned out to be his favourite favour, the apple one, the time before that because he'd forgotten to hand in the book he'd asked him to return to the library, and the time before that because he'd called him Malfoy instead of Draco as they'd agreed to call each other now that they were best friends or something. Yes, Draco Malfoy got angry about anything, all the time and although Harry sometimes wondered how he put up with it, the truth was that he didn't see himself being friends with anyone else. In those months they'd gotten to know each other and Harry could safely say that there was no one who knew him more than Malfoy, not even Ron who was also a great friend.
And the thing is that with Malfoy he had a strange connection that made that, although they were different, they got along quite well, because Draco was not with Harry as he was with the rest of the world, Draco did not treat him as someone inferior or superior, -like most in the castle- Draco treated him as his equal, with respect and friendship well marked and that everyone could see. Nobody messed with them, especially if they were together, Harry had not realized it until that moment, but the two of them, together, inspired respect and Potter knew, because he was not stupid, that he owed that to Draco, since he had been the one who had worked hard so that both of them were well positioned at the top. Thanks to Draco Harry had stopped being the skinny kid that everyone could hit for pleasure and had become a kind of leader and all in less than a year, he could not even imagine what they would do together when they reached graduation; they would surely be the kings of the school.
He stood up and walked over to the blond's bed where he tried to draw back the curtains but they were held in place by magic. He went for his wand on his nightstand and tried to break the enchantment, noticing that in addition to the one that allowed him to keep his curtains closed, Draco had also placed a silencing enchantment that he didn't even know he knew about.
He worked silently trying to revoke both spells, feeling the blond's magic resist his own, in a game of tug-of-war that took them entire minutes until the blond decided to sit on the bed and revoke the enchantments himself.
—What!? —he asked, clearly annoyed.
"I just wanted to know why you suddenly got angry," he said, shrugging.
"I'm not angry," he said, lying back down and turning away from her. "Now if you'll excuse me, I want to go back to sleep." Harry stared at him for a moment, his slim bare feet freezing against the wooden floor.
"Are you sure?" he finally asked. Draco didn't answer and turned around to go back to his bed.
It was then that the blonde said:
"Did you like them?" he asked, almost in a whisper. Harry stood there, not knowing what he meant. "Those girls' kisses," he clarified.
The raven-haired boy was once again speechless. Why was Malfoy so insistent on the subject of liking and kissing? Harry didn't have the answer, he didn't know if he had liked it or not, it had simply happened and he had agreed because refusing would have been foolish. However, that seemed to be something important to his friend, so he made a great effort to analyze it, but just when he was about to answer Malfoy sighed heavily and said:
—Never mind Harry, it's okay, good night —and the curtains closed again.
Harry went back to his bed, a bit angry at the way the blond had cut off his conversation. He wanted to open the damn curtains and ask him, no, demand him to face him and tell him in plain words what had bothered him, but he knew the limits and forcing Malfoy to talk could cost him his friendship and at this point he didn't want to risk it, he cared too much about him.
He sat in the darkness, staring at the closed curtains and thinking, but finding no answer to his dilemma. Malfoy didn't seem angry at all, he seemed disappointed, and Harry wondered if it had been because of his clumsy way of catching the snitch, although he dismissed that idea almost immediately, realizing that, yes, Draco could be absurd sometimes, but this would be too much.
He sighed heavily and lay down, settling into the covers as he tried—again—to dismiss the thought that was screaming at him that he had to fix whatever it was he had messed up, but he couldn't and it irritated him so he closed his eyes tightly, telling himself over and over that if Draco didn't want to talk it was clearly his problem, that he had no business being responsible.
But even that hadn't helped him fall asleep, because, even though it was hard for him to admit it, Malfoy was his best friend, with whom he spent a lot of his time and who, in addition, had helped him during his stay in Slytherin, yes, sometimes he distrusted him, but the blond had never given him reasons to doubt, on the contrary, he hadn't lied when he had told him the first night that the Slytherins were loyal to those who deserved it... and Harry had apparently earned it.
But the next day, when he tried to bring it up again, the blond simply downplayed the problem, waved a hand in dismissal, smiled at him, and hurried him along so they wouldn't miss breakfast. Harry knew then that he had messed something up, that he had screwed up, and now he didn't know how to fix it.
The worst thing? I didn't even know what it wasthatmade me feel different.