Seekers Play Rough

SEEKERS PLAY ROUGH

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
And their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had

Chapter 1:

Familiar Faces

"Can you believe it, Harry?" Hermione gushed as she dropped herself heavily into a seat in an empty compartment of the Hogwarts Express. "It's our last year at Hogwarts!"

Harry smiled widely at her, settling himself into the seat opposite. "It's pretty amazing, isn't it?"

She sighed dramatically and tossed her thick hair. "I can't wait. This will be the best year yet!" She hesitated. "Still. I'm going to miss Hogwarts more than anything when we graduate."

Harry snorted profoundly. "Miss it? You're going to be teaching there!"

"True. But I'll miss... this." Her vague gesture was meant to not only take in the train, but their entire situation. "I'll miss being a student."

Harry leaned back in the seat, flicking a lock of rebellious black hair out of his eyes. "Yeah. So will I, Hermie."

She glared at him. "I told you to stop calling me that."

He snorted with barely contained laughter.

"Oh, stuff it, scarface," she laughed back, eyes sparkling. Harry couldn't help but notice how pretty she'd become since they first met, and was about to say something, until a loud crash accompanied by a very imaginative curse tore through the silence of the tiny corridor beyond. Moments later, a tornado topped with red hair exploded into the room.

"Hello Ron!" Hermione smiled up at him. "A mite stressed?"

A tall redhead, with a face sprinkled with freckles - and currently flushed-- threw himself into the seat beside her, savagely wrenching a mottled, pathetic- looking gray mass into his lap. "Stressed?" Ron croaked indignantly "Bollocks! I'm never stressed!"

As the red train let out an ear- piercing whistle and jerked into motion, Harry eyed the mass of fluff in his lap. "What the hell is that?"

Ron growled, then picked up the mass of molting gray and gave it a good shake. It suddenly resolved itself into an owl.

"Errol!" Hermione gasped, the sympathy evident in her voice. "You're stuck with Errol this year?"

Ron nodded, his dismay comical. "Unfortunately. I gave Pig to Ginny." Though he would never admit it, Ron's affection for his little sister led him to making unwise--and ultimately pain-filled--decisions. Not the least of which was giving up his over-enthusiastic young owl, most likely simply because Ginny had asked him to. He gave Errol a final shake and dropped him onto the empty seat to his left, where the pathetic owl collapsed into a heap once more. "This little git is the reason I'm late."

There was a moment of silence as the three of them contemplated the feathered mass with varying degrees of disgust and amusement. The countryside rushed by beyond their narrow windows.

"Care to elaborate?" Hermione asked finally, a smile pulling at her lips.

"Well, I spent the whole morning searching for this pathetic feather duster, because he decided to bugger off sometime last night." Ron shot a look full of malice at the apparently unconscious bird. "Finally, I gave up searching for him, but I was already so late I had to get here by Floo. I arrive, late and disheveled, and what happens when I'm dragging my pathetic carcass through the corridor, but this nattering piece of lint comes pelting through the open window, missing me by an inch and leaving a permanent dent in the wall!"

Harry couldn't help it. Maybe it was nerves about the first day f his final year, maybe it was just Ron's righteously indignant expression. Really, it didn't matter. He threw back his head and howled with laugher, shaking helplessly. Hermione tried her best to look sternly at Harry, but ended up sniggering quietly to herself, head ducked and hand clapped over her mouth.

"Oh!" Ron yelled, voice cracking. "Oh, I see! Fine lot of friends you two are!"

His anger did nothing more than goad the two into more throes of helpless laughter.

A third laugh, quite unlike the giggles of the two friends, issued from the open glass door of the compartment. Cold and humorless, it cut Harry's laughter short. With a small choke as his mirth died on his tongue, he raised his eyes to see a very familiar personage leaning jauntily upon the door frame, arms crossed and face sneering.

"Ah. Happy to be going back to Hogwarts, I see. Not surprising, considering the state of those 'homes' of yours." Cold gray eyes flicked first to Ron. "You. Crammed in a house that should be condemned, full of dirty little sods like yourself. That mother of yours is contributing dangerously to the over- population of the planet." Ron tensed visibly, held back from flinging himself at the speaker by only Hermione's hand.

"Ignore him, Ron!" she whispered urgently.

The eyes rolled lazily over Ron's head to meet Hermione's brown ones. "And you. How are those Muggle--" the insult was spat out with venom, "--parents of yours? Still ignorant? Thought so." With a smirk for Hermione's enraged sputter, the young man turned his eyes, shining pools of silver, to the one with wild black hair, sitting tense and white- knuckled in his chair, rage scrawled across his face. "Ah, Potter. I'm sorry, it slipped my mind. You don't have a home do you? No parents, either." The sneer grew, until even the deep eyes were glittering with a cold disdain. "Sorry to leave you out."

"And you, Malfoy? The scum of the wizarding world and disgrace to the name 'Pureblood'--you've come just to taunt us?" Harry tossed his head defiantly, rage fading as it was replaced with disdain that rivaled Draco's. "What's the matter? That ...wit, I believe you're fond of calling it, has died, it seems. No more ever creative insults? Really, Malfoy, I'm surprised at you. Seven years with us must be wearing low on your reserves." Harry smirked.

Draco Malfoy barked with sharp laughter, tossing his platinum head to the side with a cheery and entirely malicious smile. "Priceless, Potter. Always to the point." Silver eyes danced over Harry's face. "I came to inform you --poor, ignorant git that you are--that the seeker for the National Quidditch team has died." An easy air of cold nonchalance draped itself over Malfoy's face. "I believe he plunged face first into the pitch after a poorly executed Wronski Feint...or somesuch. It was apparently a gory affair, I've been assured. Tragic, really." The cold eyes danced gleefully. "They're having trials, Potter. One seeker from each school will get to go on to try out for a professional team's seeker spot." Reveling in the delicious look of shock that slackened Potter's mouth, Draco pushed himself gracefully away from the doorframe. "Looking forward to seeing you on the pitch." And with that, he spun on his heel and stalked down the corridor.

There was a moment of silence while the tree of them watched the blond Slytherin slink away from them. Ever since Malfoy had gotten the seeker spot on the Slytherin team, he had made a point of locking horns with Harry at any opportunity. Harry had forgotten about it over the summer, but now, as he forced his hands to relax from the fists they had balled themselves into, he had to accept that it looked like it was starting all over again.

"That sod!!" Ron exploded and shattered the silence, torn emotions shining through cracks in his voice. "That piss- proud bastard!"

Hermione turned to Harry. "He'll do anything to get on that team, Harry," she said softly, eyes searching his face.

The young man tossed his head with feigned nonchalance. "So will I." Yet when Hermione bent her head to have a quiet word with the fuming Ron, Harry's emerald eyes flickered with worry.

Will I be able to go as far as Malfoy?

~*~

"Well. For once, Malfoy was telling the truth," Ron muttered darkly as he and Hermione eyed the large poster on the wall, gaudily proclaiming the contest between all seekers from schools of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Harry considered the floor in silence.

"Are you going to try out, Harry?" Hermione asked tentatively, hovering at his shoulder.

"Of course he is! He's the best seeker in decades! I'm fairly certain you're legally obliged, Harry."

"Oh, don't be foolish, Ron." Hermione scoffed. "He doesn't have to if he doesn't want to."

Harry tossed his head and squared his shoulders, smiling brightly at them, masking his worry. "I guess I have to, don't I?" The smile faltered and faded as he glanced at the awards cabinet, his eyes darkening as they recognized the all too familiar trophy awarded to a certain James Potter.

"For my father, if nothing else," he murmured.

Silence prevailed as Ron and Hermione cast nervous glances at each other behind Harry's back. With a forced laugh, Harry visibly shook himself free of the dark feelings. "Come on, guys. Let's get settled in the Gryffindor Tower again. Are you guys taking privates?" As seventh years, the students were given the option of sleeping in dorms, or private rooms. "I am."

"Sure," Ron shrugged. "Privacy is a rare commodity for a Weasley, I'll take it were I can," he smiled, but Harry could tell he was still stinging from Draco's remark on the train. It annoyed Harry slightly that after all these years, Malfoy could still get under Ron's skin with barely any effort.

"I'm sleeping in the dorm," Hermione said as they paced up the sweeping marble staircase. "I don't want to miss any of the things the girls are planning for the momentous Last Year."

For the first few weeks of classes, things progressed as normal. Normal classes--barring the incidents in Potions class, where Harry found himself cornered in a room with both Malfoy and Snape--normal meals, normal pranks, normal hijynx, normal life at Hogwarts.

Unfortunately, 'normal' was about to be sent flying ass-over- teeth.

Harry was lingering on the grounds of Hogwarts on his way to potions class, enjoying the warm Indian summer day and watching first years practice with their broom sticks. He had just turned away with a reminiscent smile when Madame Hooch came striding purposefully towards him, leather boots swishing through the green grass.

"Hullo Madame Hooch," Harry greeted her with a smile, meeting her shocking yellow eyes.

"Mr. Potter!" Madame Hooch stopped before him, looking him up and down. "You've grown! How old now?"

Harry smiled nervously. "Seventeen, Madame."

"All grown up, eh!"
Harry merely blushed, and bobbed his head.

"I came here to speak to you about the Trials."

"Oh."

"Hufflepuff has chosen not to enter, given their track record, and Ravenclaw's veteran player graduated just last year.. That leaves Gryffindor--" she smiled at Harry, "--and Slytherin." Her smile faded as her hawk-like eyes hardened. Apparently, she was remembering the exploits of a certain Slytherin seeker over the years.

So was Harry.

Gryffindor and Slytherin. Fantastic, Harry thought dismally. That means Malfoy and I will be competing solely against each other. A shadow of doubt flitted across his face.

"But of course, you knew all that!" Madame Hooch bustled on. "I was really meaning to tell you that I've reserved two hours on the pitch for you and Slytherin's seeker--who is he now? Ah yes, Lucius' boy, Draco--to practice each day. You two may take turns, or practice together, I leave that entirely up to you." She looked at him piercingly. "What do you think?"

Harry swallowed hard. "Great, Madame Hooch. Thanks. Um. I'm late for class." With that, he bobbed his head briefly in her direction, then retreated across the sprawling lawn. Bloody brilliant. Two hours a day alone with Malfoy, so we can try to pummel the living lights out of each other on the pitch. Harry decided that Madame Hooch wanted one to kill the other, an easy way to decide which one to send on. It's bound to happen too. Good plot, Hooch.

~*~

Snape turned with a flourish and smiled tightly as Harry exploded, as unobtrusively as he could, into Potions class.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, so glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence. What, did you get caught in the hall by a horde of fans? Sprain your hand signing autographs? Poor, dear boy." With that, the professor turned back to the diagram on the wall of The Properties of Mandrake Roots as the class erupted into cruel snickers, none laughing quite so loud as a certain blonde- haired Slytherin sitting in the back with his feet propped up casually on a desk--a feat only he could accomplish safely, without fear of being force-fed poison by Snape.

"Scarface!" Malfoy leaned forward, hissing words through a malicious grin as Harry settled himself beside Ron.

"Bite me," Harry hissed back, making an obscene gesture as he settled his books.

Unsure whether it was his ears playing tricks on him or not, Harry spent a good half of the class toying with the impression that Draco had whispered "Gladly," in response.

~*~

Well, Harry thought with a resigned sigh. Here goes nothing.

Stepping out of the shadows of the castle into the streaming sunlight, Firebolt in hand, Harry eyed the Quidditch pitch before him. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

Yet.

Kicking off from the ground, Harry spiraled lazily upwards, confident on his old Firebolt. Flying laps around the stands and weaving through the goals reminded Harry just how much he had missed Quidditch over the summer. Feeling his confidence and exhilaration mount as he looped and spiraled effortlessly above the green grass, picking up speed, Harry began to think that maybe he could stand a chance against Malfoy, that he might just take the missing place on the Professional team. Provided Malfoy doesn't keep up his old tricks.

At that exact moment, something large and heavy whizzed past his ear, causing Harry to veer to the left. With a muttered curse, he glanced around him and saw a rock falling back to the ground. Looking down below him, he saw a figure on the pitch, small and indistinct, but with a head of very evident blonde hair.

"Potter!" the voice floated up, barely distinguishable from the wind whistling in Harry's ears. "Get off the pitch!"

"I'd like to see you make me!" Harry shouted down, blood pounding through his veins, adrenaline coursing through his system. He hadn't realized Draco had his broom with him. Blonde hair slicked back in the glistening sunlight that frosting the well- buffed broom beneath him, Draco leveled himself beside Harry and simply regarded him coolly, his eyes glittering.

"Spunky today, are we, Potter? Very well, if you want to be with me so much, we can practice together." Draco smiled, showing dazzlingly white and pointed teeth, blatantly daring Harry to retaliate.

Before Harry could deliver an expletive- laced retort, Draco dived at him. With a yelp, Harry angled away and shot off like a bullet, pursued by a grinning Slytherin seeker.

"Agility, Potter! It's the most important feature in a good seeker!" the mocking voice just reached his ears before it was torn away by the whining wind. Snarling to himself, Harry angled his broom straight up, shooting into the air. Draco angled away, then drove in from the side, forcing Harry to spin wildly to avoid getting body checked off his broom. Turning on a dime as Draco whizzed away, Harry became the pursuer, diving down and coming up at the speeding black broom from beneath. Draco pulled away, looped around and sped towards Harry again.

"Shit!" Harry yelled as he made a frantic and clumsy dodge. "Malfoy, you're insane!"

In response, the Slytherin seeker spun and made another dive at Harry, still grinning. Tired and caught by surprise, Harry was struck by Malfoy's shoulder and sent careening to the side, gripping his broom with frantic hands. The Slytherin broom swooped back like a predatory bird as Draco closed in on the dazed Harry. Slamming his broom into the swaying Gryffindor's, Draco reached out and grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt, pulling him close as their brooms locked together, plummeting downwards.

"You're out of shape, Potter," Draco hissed, eyes narrowed. "Now get off my field." With that, Harry was shoved savagely backwards. Arms flailing wildly for something solid to grip and finding only Draco's robes, Harry plummeted downwards, as the ground rushed up to meet him.

~*~

Slowly, he woke. Senses flooded back to him one by one. The feeling of sharp grass prickling the bare skin of his arms. The smell of dirt beneath him. The sound of wind and birds singing nearby. Pain. A heavy weight on top of him.

What the...?

Forcing open his eyes, Harry stared up at an impossibly blue sky, wisps of clouds scudding by a painfully bright sun. With a groan he raised his head, working his elbows up to support his seemingly unnaturally heavy weight, and looked down at the weight sprawled across his midsection.

"Malfoy?" he gasped aloud, horrified.

The young Slytherin lay face-down across Harry. With another groan, Harry worked himself into a sitting position, contemplating the blonde boy in his lap.

"Draco, you bastard."

Growling and nursing bruises, Harry pushed the warm weight off his legs, rolling the limp Draco onto his back. Eyes closed and lips parted, he looked almost cherubic, Harry mused to himself, especially with his blonde hair shaken from it's perpetual confines and falling softly on the closed eyelids, the porcelain cheeks...

Harry's softened face held a look of tenderness, before a look of revulsion invaded his features.

What am I thinking?

Fascinated with the emotions it produced deep within him, Harry continued to study the face of the young man he was kneeling over. He had never been so close to Malfoy when he was perfectly calm, when his mind wasn't clouded with anger, and this apparently left the floodgates open for various other emotions.

As he watched, Draco slowly regained consciousness. The eyelids fluttered restlessly, then parted slowly, revealing two silver streaked eyes that immediately came to rest upon Harry's face. The mouth that had been parted so softly moments earlier twisted into a grimace of pain, and the porcelain cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment.

"Wuh-What the fuck, Potter?" he groaned out, looking up at Harry, but making no move to get up.

The harshness of his voice brought Harry back to reality. "You knocked us out of the sky, you prat," he spat, running his hand through his hair in a vain attempt to tame it. "Hope you're satisfied." His lip curled as he regarded Malfoy with the same old air of resigned distaste.

A strange look ran across Draco's face, so starkly that Harry was shocked to see something beyond the mask that Malfoy usually sported, unfathomable though the emotion was. "Satisfied?" he croaked. "God, no." He blinked slowly, then sighed heavily. "I'd be satisfied if you didn't regain consciousness, but that would stain my record a bit. A murder, hm, Potter? Don't want your body-- dead of course-- in my hands."

They locked eyes suddenly. Silence prevailed between them as Harry marveled at how beautiful those silver eyes could be; how he had never noticed before. They were like mercury. Beautiful, but lethal. He wondered at the way his breathing quickened, how no anger rose in response to the pointed words. How he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, the way lightning bolts of adrenaline and fire shot through him. All because of those eyes. Looking at him.

"Potter?" it was no more than a whisper, but the voice sent shivers down Harry's spine. Suddenly, Draco's eyes flicked away, leaving Harry feeling an inexplicable empty ache. "You're bleeding all over my robes." The trademark drawl returned.

Harry pulled himself a few inches away, looking at his throbbing left shoulder, where blood seeped lazily through the subdued red of his Gryffindor sweats. "Shit."

"It's soaking right down to your elbow." Quickly, as if he did it without thinking, Draco reached for his arm, snagging the cuff of Harry's shirt to pull it up.

"I -oh, ow--hey! Gerroff me!" Harry twisted away in pain and surprise as delighted goosebumps appeared the moment Draco's cold hand touched him.

"You're a big prissy git, Potter, just--"

"Ow! You--"

"Hold still!"

"Get away, you silly prat, I--"

"Fuck, Potter, just let me help!" The surprising exclamation tore through the air and hung between them, as they both froze in response. Again, Harry met the silver eyes as Draco gripped his arm firmly. The Slytherin seem just as surprised at the words as Harry. Hurriedly, Draco dropped his eyes and wrenched up the sleeve, studying the swollen and bleeding shoulder. Harry took the opportunity to bend his head close to Malfoy's and study the wound as well. It was worse then he thought.

"That's a lot of blood..." He groaned.

The old smirk returned. With a snort of laughter, Draco wrinkled his nose with a crooked grin, still studiously avoiding Harry's eyes. "Don't faint on me now, Potter."

Instead, Harry forced himself to stare down at the raw and bloody skin, still oozing blood sluggishly down his arm. "We must've been out for a long time, look at how caked up the blood is..."

"Yes, thank you for pointing that out, very attractive." The worlds trailed away and died as Draco suddenly raised his eyes to Harry's face, so quickly that Harry jumped, as the shocks ran through him again. His heart sputtered, stumbled, faltered, then crammed itself forcefully somewhere in the direction of his throat.

"You should get your ass to Madam Pomfrey unless you want another scar for people to gasp over."

"It takes more than a tumble from the sky to get this kind of scar."

"Curious, I thought you'd enjoy the attention, more people 'ooo-ing' and 'ahh-ing' over--"

"I don't."

The hardness of Harry's voice seemed to surprise Draco. Those eyes dug into Harry's again, making him supremely uncomfortable and thrilled all at the same time.

"You're quite insecure about your sexuality, aren't you, Potter?" The mocking tone had returned.

The suddenness of the unwarranted attacked surprised Harry, and it showed in his face briefly, before being replaced by fury.

"It doesn't help that I woke up with you on top of me!"

Malfoy snorted derisively and returned his gaze to the bleeding shoulder. "You pulled me down, you flaming homophobe."

"You shoved me off my broom."

"You grabbed me."

"You attacked me!"

"You were in my way."

"It was my turn on the pitch!"

"No, it was mine."

"We're supposed to share!"

"You're a little bitch."

"Oh, stuff it."

A myriad of emotions swirled like restless clouds behind the gray eyes, then suddenly died. The cold glitter returned, the heavy lids hooded the eyes lazily and the glowering eyebrows lowered themselves once more, returning the open face to the ice mask Harry knew so well. It was familiar, yet disturbing to see that face again.

Frantically, Harry searched for something to say.

"Fuck," he intoned, brilliantly.

"Very deep, Potter," Draco snarled as he pulled himself erect, finally tearing his eyes away. The moment was gone, the mask of cool disdain had returned. "This never would have happened," Draco said loudly, "if you had buggered off when I told you to."

Harry felt his anger build. Narrowing his eyes, he growled: "Don't presume to blame this on me, Malfoy. You're the genius that started it."

Draco hauled himself to his feet with a grunt -of pain?--and straightened his grass stained Quidditch robes. He tossed his head and turned his back to Harry. "If you hadn't panicked like a brainless lass and grabbed my robes--"

"I still would've fallen."

"Exactly," the young Slytherin eyed Harry over his shoulder. "But I would've been fine."

"Oh, you're rich, Malfoy, you really are," Harry struggled to his feet, ignoring the pain that throbbed in his left shoulder and the points of lights dancing before his eyes. "Fuck," he repeated, utterly at a loss for anything articulate to say.

Malfoy laughed. Nothing more than his regular cold chuckle, but Harry found it calling back memories of the warm weight in his lap, the parted lips--

"Oh, bloody hell." Harry shook his head to clear these thoughts from his mind and immediately regretted it, as pain lanced through his skull and more points of lights joined in the hallucinogenic dance swirling before his eyes.

"Jarred, Potter?" Malfoy had walked a few paces away and turned to watch him, smiling.

Harry gazed dazedly at the sharp smile, the glittering silver eyes. "Oh, fuck you."

Draco cocked his head, a dislodged tendril of fine hair falling in his eyes. "Seems to be the word of the day, isn't it? You're amazingly articulate, O Boy Who Lived." And with that, the lithe Slytherin glided away soundlessly through the grass.