Summary: After two years of being rivals in the professional quidditch league, Harry and Draco are both selected for the English National Quidditch Team for the next Quidditch World Cup. They've now got to learn to get along.
Notes: I have compiled a list of 100 one-word prompts that I'm using as writing exercises. This is for prompt #2: "Rival"
Harry was being ridiculous. He knew this. They were on the same team and there were bigger things at stake than his own pride. But, Merlin, he still could not stand Malfoy.
Yes, okay, he'd mellowed out a little since the war. And maybe he grew into his obnoxiously blonde hair and his sharp features. And he's a reformed and productive member of society now or whatever.
Doesn't matter. They're still rivals, Harry reminds himself, repeating it like a mantra in his head as he exits the locker room and heads out to the pitch.
He wasn't the last one out of the locker room, but only barely. So when his eyes adjusted to the bright sun, he's met with twelve of the other players, both starting and reserve, for this year's English National Quidditch Team. And off to the left side, talking to one of the beaters, is Malfoy. The red and blue of the National Team jersey suits him better than the bright orange Chudley Cannons uniform that Harry's grown accustomed to seeing him in over the last two seasons. Not that Harry is taken in by the way the blue brings out his eyes or anything.
Harry is mercifully brought out of his not-at-all-creepy staring by an arm being slung over his shoulders.
"Come on, Potter. Can't keep the rest of the team waiting," Ginny said, grinning and almost vibrating in place with excitement. Making England's National Team had been Ginny's childhood dream, and even two seasons of professional quidditch hadn't dulled her excitement.
"Right," Harry agreed, letting her pull him along behind her.
Upon their arrival, the coach smiled and whistled a shrill sound that jolted everyone to attention. "Right! Okay! Welcome to day one. I want everybody in the air. We're doing drills until I'm satisfied and then it's skirmish time." He whistled again and then they were off.
Drills were easy. He felt himself relax and start to focus in, paying Malfoy no more mind than any of their other teammates. At least, until they were split up for the first practice match.
"Alright. We're going to start with startings versus reserves. We're going to gradually mix up our combinations as we go. I need all of you flying seamlessly together in any formation, especially if France plays as dirty as they did in the last cup. Except you, keepers and seekers. Some rivalries live to see another day," Their coach said, giving Malfoy and Harry a look. Their quidditch feud was legendary. It's at least half of the post-match wireless commentary every time they've played in the last two years. "But only on the pitch. I need you two to at least pretend to like each other on the ground," he continued seriously.
Harry and Malfoy both gave him a nod and then they were off.
The practice match was brutal. The starting players were evenly matched with the reserves and everyone played like they were out for blood—Malfoy especially. He played a lot more offensively as a professional seeker than he ever did in school, and, while Harry was used to it after two seasons of fierce competition, he was playing particularly viciously today. Malfoy was as physical of a player as he could possibly be without getting penalized. He jostled Harry when they happened to be flying side by side. He chased the snitch into, around, and even under the other players or pretended to—a feint that caused Harry to very nearly crash headlong into Oliver Wood, who was the starting keeper, in his pursuit of Malfoy. He was, all told, an absolute menace on a broom.
His strategy did have its merits though, as Malfoy managed to catch the snitch—jostling Harry hard to the left and wrapping his fingers around the ball the second Harry's were out of the way—ending their three hour practice game.
Despite Malfoy catching the snitch, the reserve team lost the match by 20 points, a point which their coach commented on—loudly and at length—to both Harry and Malfoy. By the time they were done for the day, Harry's ears were ringing with the refrain to 'pay attention to the damn score before you catch the snitch.'
He and Malfoy were the last ones to the locker room. When Harry finally stepped out of his very long shower, everyone else was already gone except for Malfoy, who stood in front of his locker with just a towel around his waist. Harry's locker was on the opposite side of the aisle, so thankfully he could pull his own clothes out and dress without looking at Malfoy.
He had no reason to shy away from Malfoy. They hadn't been truly antagonistic over anything but Quidditch in several years. Harry didn't exactly like him, but he'd grown out of the horrible kid he'd known at school. And it wasn't like Malfoy was the first fit bloke that Harry had shared a locker room with since he figured out he was gay. There was absolutely no reason for him to be this nervous around him, wanting to sneak glances at the other man while simultaneously wanting to be looking elsewhere at all times. Harry was twitchy and awkward as he pulled on his jeans, t-shirt, and trainers, resolutely not turning around to where he could hear Malfoy doing the same. Once he was dressed, he shouldered his bag and started toward the door, forcing himself not to look over at Malfoy on his way out.
He was out of the locker and almost to the floo when a voice stopped him.
"Potter! Hold on a second!" Malfoy called as he jogged to catch up with him.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry said, though it lacked venom.
"Come get a drink with me," Malfoy said as he stopped next to Harry. He was still a little damp, and some of his long hair was still wet and clinging to his neck. Not that Harry was looking or anything.
"Er-," Harry said as his brain short-circuited. "I thought about maybe grabbing some dinner with Ginny." He definitely had not been. He was going to go home, get enough take-away to make the team's nutritionist a little bit crazy, and watch The Weakest Link on the charmed television that he bought recently.
"Planning on crashing your ex's date with her girlfriend are you?" Malfoy said with a laugh.
Harry blushed as he remembered that Luna and Ginny were going to a fancy celebration dinner. Ginny had gushed to him the day before about how Luna had arranged a portkey to Paris for dinner and a fancy night out. "How did you know about that?"
"I helped Luna plan it," Malfoy said with a bright smile.
"Right." Harry had forgotten that Malfoy and Luna were friends. They'd gotten close after the war ended. Harry just happened to miss every pub outing or game night hosted by Luna where Malfoy had been invited too. He'd been busy is all.
"Right. So. Drinks?"
"Won't it be weird?" Harry blurted out, unable to think up a reasonable reason to say no.
Malfoy shrugged, though he was still smiling. "Maybe. But you heard what coach said—you have to at least pretend to like me while we're on the ground. So come get a drink with me and practice."
Harry bit his lip lightly as he looked at Malfoy, who looked earnest enough. It didn't sound like a horrible way to spend the evening and Malfoy had a point—they were teammates now.
"Scared, Potter?" Malfoy said after a moment of silence from Harry. "It's just a drink. I don't bite."
"Of course not, Malfoy."
"Alright then. You, me, drinks at the 3 Broomsticks."
"Yeah, alright, Malfoy," Harry agreed with a smirk. "But you're buying the first round."
"Fine," Malfoy replied with a smirk of his own.