Rating:: PG
House:: Astronomy Tower
Ships:: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters:: Harry Potter
Genres:: Slash Romance
Era:: The Harry Potter at Hogwarts Years
Stats:: Published: 02/21/2008

Updated: 02/21/2008

Words: 3,695

Chapters: 1

Hits: 889

The Potter Move

Gilbert Wimple

Story Summary:: When two opposites meet one on one for the first time in six years, they discover there is more to fighting than a golden Snitch.

Chapter 01

Posted:: 02/21/2008

Hits:: 889

'I had a dream - that we flew on golden wings
and we were the same - just the same - you and I'

(Bryan Adams)

Turn left. Keep it at a sharp angle. What had Ron said at the strategy meeting; about 45 degrees? Okay; turning 45 degrees, let's see; followed by a deep descent. Let yourself fall about ten feet, perform a loop tail first, then pull the broom sharply to a halt in mid-air. Repeat. Ten times. Or fifty times; whatever it takes to get it right. Harry bit his bottom lip in concentration and groaned. The sweat was running freely down his back now and his hot face made his glasses mist over. He wished he had left the robe in the tower and settled for Dudley's old t-shirt and baggy trousers. At least the over-sized clothes would have let a little air in to cool him down. Being this hot and frustrated was a rather new experience to Harry. Flying had always come easy to him, and even the more impressive moves usually only left him slightly out of breath. Even his Firebolt which always performed flawlessly seemed to protest mildly when Harry pushed it to do the umptenth try for the newly invented Weasley Feint. The hot spring sun sending its sharp rays from a cloudless sky didn't make the ordeal any easier.

It was Sunday, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team had booked the pitch for the afternoon. Harry had left lunch early to fly a little by himself before the others showed up. Ron, being this year's Captain, seemed to be adopting some of former Captain Oliver Wood's regime. That is; lots of strategy planning and working hard on new moves, some of them requiring so much energy and concentration the team would surely lose most matches should they implement them: They'd be too busy doing the acrobatics to notice what the other team was up to.

Harry halted in mid-air, poised for another try. He was of course happy on Ron's behalf, having made it as Captain of the Gryffindor team. And no doubt Ron enjoyed it immensely. So much that he took it a little far sometimes, like this new feint which Harry doubted would be very useful against the Slytherins next Saturday. But it was not worth his friendship with Ron to protest too loudly. Better have a little talk with Ginny, maybe tonight. As the team's best Chaser and Ron's strong-headed sister she might be able to talk some sense into him. It was worth a try; at least Harry wouldn't have to be the one who confronted him.

Harry checked his watch. Just twenty minutes till the rest of the team showed up. Hovering about three hundred feet over the smooth grass of the Quidditch pitch, Harry looked around at the superb view of the castle and grounds. So far not a soul was in sight, everyone were still in the main hall enjoying their steak and kidney pie. In the distance the deep green lake glittered temptingly. A chilling bath would have been something. But he hadn't left lunch early to take a swim. On the other hand, to go on perfecting the totally useless Weasley Feint seemed a cruel option right now. So he opted for what he'd always loved about Quidditch: Flying freely and working up enough speed to whip up a soothing wind; not thinking about technique, fancy feints or checking up on angles and spinning degrees. Nope, just being a Seeker on his faithful broom instinctively doing whatever was necessary to spot, pursue and catch the golden Snitch. The broom seemed to agree with him, because on his bidding it glided swiftly and effortlessly to the ground.

Harry wasted no time in opening the casket containing the Quidditch balls, releasing the Snitch. For a split second it hovered a couple of inches in front of his nose as if to goad him on, then shot up in the air and immediately disappeared against the bright sun. Harry mounted the broom and took off towards the deep blue sky. The feeling of utter freedom was exhilarating, and the fresh wind caused by the high speed made the hot air which just moments ago had felt suffocating, suddenly seem bearable. He flew across the pitch from one end to the other, then doubled back, scanning the air for a tiny sparkle of gold. As he got closer to the first goalpost, he wondered idly if it was worth the try flying straight through the loop, just for fun. He circled the goalpost, critically examining the width of the loop. Just as he decided it could wait (it would be kind of embarassing getting stuck and hanging there when the others showed up) something lightly brushed the top of his head, almost landing in the mop of tousled black hair. It moved so fast he could barely make out its fluttering silver wings before it arched sharply to the right and zoomed off. Harry shot after it, excitement surging through every inch of his sixteen year old body. It was sheer thrill feeling the power and speed of the Firebolt, watching the space between himself and the glimmer of gold grow smaller by the second. But just as Harry was about to catch the Snitch, things happened in rapid succession. If Harry had looked down, he would have seen there was no longer one, but two shadows racing across the grassy ground: The dark, almost black shadows of two riders alongside each other, chasing a third, whirring speck of grey. But Harry didn't look down. He had his eyes locked on the golden ball just in reach. As his right hand closed around the Snitch, so did someone else's left hand. It was a hand slightly smaller than his, more slender, and with paler skin. But it felt just as strong. And just as determined.

Taken by surprise, Harry hit the brakes in mid-air and was almost thrown off the broom, but he instinctively managed to hang on to both it and the Snitch. So did the other Seeker. Harry turned around to have a look at the intruder.

'Malfoy!'

'Potter.'

They looked each other in the eye. It was hard to determine which glare was more hostile; Draco's ice grey, or Harry's bright green.

'Get lost.'

The other boy simply smirked.

'I was here first,' Harry repeated angrily, 'in case you haven't noticed.'

The smirk didn't leave Draco's face as he took his time shaking his head to allow those long silken strands of hair to settle nicely after the speedy ride.

'I've noticed.'

'And?'

'Don't like the competition?'

'Let go of my hand!'

Draco raised his eyebrows haughtily.

'To your information I'm not holding anyone's hand. I'm grabbing the Snitch.'

'I'm grabbing the Snitch! You let go!'

'Certainly not. I caught it fair and square.'

'Oh, come on.'

'Hard for you to fathom that my Seeker qualities matches that of yours, Potter?'

There was a hint of an edge to the familiar soft drawl now.

'Hardly. You swooped down on me out of nowhere, giving you an unfair advantage.'

'It's called stealth, Potter. An excellent quality in a Seeker, won't you say?'

'I'm not talking to you. You better let go of the Snitch and go back to wherever you came from. My team is due any minute now. You don't want to be the centre of their attention.'

They were flying slowly side by side as they argued. Harry tried to pull the Snitch out of Draco's hand, but only succeeded in making him hold unto it even harder. Draco's fingernails dug into Harry's skin, fingers intertwining his to avoid releasing the ball. Despite the coolness of Draco' s skin, Harry started to feel hot again. Damn sun. He should have taken a dip in the cool lake while he had the chance.

'Give me the Snitch Potter, nice and steady, and I'll leave you alone to play with your brave little friends.'

'And exactly why should I let you have it? You don't deserve it!'

'Really? Then why is it nestling comfortably in the palm of my hand right now? It didn't fly there of its own accord now, did it?'

'I don't know why I keep trying to reason with you Malfoy. Exactly what part of -you're not allowed to be here right now and that Snitch was released by me so I could practise with it- is it you don't get?'

'Wow; and here I was under the impression you Gryffindors are so dimwitted you can't construct a sentence of more than five words at a time. Congratulations.'

'Ha ha, very witty Malfoy.'

'Tell me something I don't know, Wonder-Boy.'

Harry groaned. Maybe the Weasley Feint had its purpose after all. What was it; a sharp turn to the left, followed by a steep descent? It might just do the trick of shaking Malfoy off. Harry stole a quick glance at him. Crap. He was watching Harry's face way too closely, as if trying to read his mind, ready for any sudden moves. His hand was securely wrapped around the Snitch, touching Harry's hand in a rather intimate way. Harry swallowed. It almost felt - nice. Who'd have imagined Draco's skin would feel so soft? Harry's eyes travelled down to the two hands clasped together. Draco caught the eye movement and smirked, making Harry blush. Not that it made much difference to his complexion as he was already feeling rather hot. Exasperated, Harry tried negotiating again.

'Why won't you let go of the ball Malfoy?'

'I'm getting rather tired of explaining it to you Potter. It's rightfully mine. I caught it.'

'Why do you care?'

Draco stiffened slightly, then hissed back:

'What an arrogant thing to say. Perfect Potter has of course caught the Snitch so many times and reaped the glory so often he has forgotten how great it feels to squeeze the damn thing in his hand...'

Harry blinked.

'... To feel the tiny wings beat against the palm of your hand, tickling the skin, making you happy for one single, exhilarating moment. To know that you have the power to let it snuggle there for a while, or to let it go... You couldn't let me have that pleasure for once, could you? You had to let your sweaty, filthy hand get in the way, ruining my moment of glory.'

At the last words Draco raised his voice and sneered contemptiously, but somehow the sarcasm didn't have quite the intended effect. Maybe it was the slightly desperate way he squeezed the afore-mentioned, sweaty hand.

Harry looked silently at Draco for several long seconds, taking in the absurdity of the situation. Then he bent forward on his broom, his body starting to shake. Draco tensed up, gripping Harry's hand a little tighter, just in case. But Harry didn't bolt or try to tear the Snitch away. Instead, he sniffed. The sniff was followed by a strangled sob. A look of incredulity passed over Draco's face. Was the daft Gryffindor going to cry? Draco looked closer. Harry's eyes were kind of misting over, and his face was contorted, as if in pain.

'Pull yourself together, will you,' Draco hissed into Harry's ear, his otherwise drawling and confident voice a bit shaky. If Harry was going to fall apart in his arms, he'd have to let go of the Snitch, honestly.

'What? Never had a proper laugh Malfoy?' Harry gasped as the sobs grew louder and finally broke into peals of laughter.

Taken aback, Draco couldn't quite hide the sheepy look that spread across his pointed face. The pale cheeks turned a lighter shade of pink before he managed to resume some control over his features. Draco put on an affronted look.

'It beats me why you're not a permanent resident at that special ward at St. Mungo's, you know? In fact, I'm surprised they don't have a whole wing reserved just for Gryffindors like you.'

Harry looked up and wiped his tear-stained eyes, pulling away a lock of unruly black hair in the process. He glanced at Draco, whose face was still flushed. Maybe there was more to Malfoy than that expressionless, hard mask and those cold, grey eyes. Which right now, somehow looked less cold. Perhaps it was the bright sunlight that did it. Harry smiled. For the first time in six years, he actually grinned in Draco's presence.

'Well, Malfoy, you have to admit it's rather funny.'

Draco didn't reply, but the icy glare faltered. If he stretched his imagination a little, Harry could almost believe he saw a slight upturn at the corners of Draco's mouth. The ghost of a smile. Encouraged, Harry continued.

'Just look at us. Two blokes hanging on to each other hands for dear life, flying closely together. Well, what do you think it looks like if someone was to walk up on us right now?'

Draco considered the idea for a second, turning his head in the direction of the forest. Harry didn't know why he looked away; if it was to hide the faint blush or if he was afraid of meeting Harry's eyes, then drawled;

'Nice try Potter. I'm not letting go of the Snitch.'

'You like holding my hand that much Malfoy?' Harry teased.

'You wish.'

Draco still refused to look at Harry.

'What if I did?' Harry replied silently. He held his breath the instant he realised he'd said the words out loud. Draco turned his head and stared blankly at Harry's face. For a split second, Harry thought he saw something moving at the bottom of those silvery pools of water (which, when Harry came to think of it, were quite enchanting when they weren't filled with the usual mirth), but then Draco looked away again.

Neither of them said anything for several seconds. Harry reluctantly tore his eyes away from the other boy and looked around. They had moved a little closer to the ground now, close enough for Harry to count how many seats there were in each row. Some of them were really worn down. There were the odd burn marks, and the more frequent dents from rough dragon boots. Some of them definitely needed a replacement. Harry shook his head. When had he started to care about the state of the Quidditch stands?

Harry's attention was drawn towards Hogwarts castle where he could see the main gate opening and a small group of people emerging, a tall and lanky redhead leading the way down the steps in the direction of the Quidditch pitch: The Gryffindor team. Draco had also spotted them. He tightened his grip around the Snitch and Harry's hand as if to say that Harry getting reinforcements did not change his resolve. He was not letting go, despite the painful, not to mention embarrassing predicament he'd soon find himself in. Harry thought that in Draco's case, this was rather brave. After all, keeping up appearances had always been the vain Slytherin's number one priority. Also, oddly enough, his faithful cronies were nowhere in sight. There was no one to defend him. Or was there? Harry bit his lip. He stole another look at Draco, then sighed softly. There was nothing else for it. Quite imperceptibly, he squeezed the other boy's hand before slowly and carefully letting go.

The golden ball shuddered, its fragile silver wings whirring like helicopter blades in Draco's palm, threatening to escape through the gap between his thumb and forefinger. Just in time, Draco closed it. He stared unbelievingly down at the Snitch in his hand, then slowly looked up at Harry, clearing his throat.

'Why?'

'You win.'

Draco looked like he didn't want to win. He glanced at Harry, not saying anything, as if for the first time ever he couldn't think of a catchy reply. Then he shifted his attention to the Gryffindor team getting steadily closer. In a moment or two, they would be close enough to spot the two Seekers. With an effort Draco sat up straighter on his broom, smoothing down his windswept hair. Draco looked over at the dark forest one more time. When he turned back to Harry, the familiar cold expression was back in place. So was his lines.

'Well, I'm glad you're finally admitting I'm your superior Potter,' he drawled.

'If you say so,' Harry replied lightly, fighting back the urge to smile. He headed for the ground, closely pursued by Draco who looked like he wanted nothing more than to punch Harry for daring to agree with him. They alighted on the green grass just as the Gryffindors rounded the gates to the pitch. Ron stopped dead in his tracks, causing the others to bump into him.

'A piece of advice Malfoy. I'd fly off if I were you, rather than stay here right now. I can't guarantee your safety with Ron around.'

Draco did not move.

'I see. So I'm supposed to be afraid of that goofy, clumsy friend of yours? Does that mean I'm safe from any antics coming from the golden hero-boy then?'

'Stick around a bit longer and you'll find out,' Harry answered coolly.

'Nothing would please me more,' Draco drawled, 'but I'll be nice and let you have the pitch all to yourselves.'

'That's awfully considerate of you,' Harry smirked.

But Draco didn't listen. He was already walking towards the exit. Halfway across the pitch he met the Gryffindor team square on. Draco side-stepped to pass them, but Ron moved swiftly to block his way.

'Haven't I told you to leave Harry alone, you miserable twit?'

'Weasel. Nice broom you've got there. Cheap naturally, but obviously quite new since it has not yet been worn down by innumerable generations of fat Weasley bottoms,' Draco sneered back at him.

Ron's hand flew to his pocket, whipping out his wand.

'Ron, it's okay.'

Harry's voice carried through the air, soft and calm. Ron, wand still held high, looked surprised over at Harry.

'What? Ferret boy's been bothering you again, I can tell. Let me...'

'...It's not worth it. We're here to play Quidditch anyway. Let's not vaste important practise time on worthless pastime.' Harry had caught up with the team and was now standing alongside Ron and Draco.

'You mean worthless, evil prats of course,' Ron replied, returning his attention to Draco. The rest of the Gryffindor team nodded in agreement, closing in on their sworn enemy.

'Nah, not really,' Harry said, just as calmly. The happy, content feeling of just moments ago when he had been flying surprisingly peacefully with Malfoy of all people, still lingered.

Two pair of eyes tore away from each other and instead stared at Harry: Ron's angry, bewildered ones and Draco's cool, searching ones. There was a second of silence, then Draco stepped out of Ron's way.

'Well, as much as I'd love to continue this nice little chat, I'm afraid I shall have to excuse myself as I have slightly more important matters to attend to. Weasel; ride safely. We'd want that broom to last, or the next generation of pathetic redheads shan't be able to provide amusement at future Quidditch matches.'

And with that he thrust the Snitch back into Harry's hand, turned on his heels and walked away with his head in the air: The very picture of pride and measured elegance. He didn't look back, not even once. Harry caught himself hoping he would have. He was acutely aware of the Snitch tickling his palm, still cool from Draco's hand. Harry shivered despite it being the hottest day so far this year.

Then Draco was gone, and Harry was unmercifully jostled back to reality by Ron mumbling something that sounded very much like -'mental, both of you' as he pocketed his wand and started shouting directions. Soon the Gryffindor team was busy practising the Weasley feint along with a dozen other moves. Because according to Ron, you never knew which one would come in handy. Plunging headlong into a spiraling Llewellyn dive, Harry thought he knew which move might. It definitely involved some friendly arguing; and more than likely, some serious chasing. The newly invented Potter move. Harry broke off the dive milliseconds before hitting the ground, laughing softly at Ginny aiming a punch at him for his reckless flying. He spent the rest of the afternoon sweeping the air rather aimlessly, trying hard but not being entirely successful at wiping that stupid grin off his face.

Inside the castle, a fair-haired boy was leaning against the wall of a disused classroom on the third floor. Pink-coloured spots dotted his pale cheeks, as if he'd been running (which he hadn't). The boy kept staring at his left hand with a mixture of fascination and disgust, remembering the foreign sensation of someone else's hand in his; a hand with impossibly hot skin. Just the thought made a thin layer of perspiration break out on the boy's forehead. He bent his head and slowly, almost fearfully, raised the hand to his face. He closed his eyes, maybe to shut out the disturbing sight of redhot marks still imprinted on his delicate skin. Or perhaps the coarse but sweet smell of sweat and dirt and Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish grew stronger that way. Either way, it made him grimace. A grimace which, if one was a bit careless, might easily be confused with a smile. But anyone knowing Draco Malfoy would of course not make such a silly mistake.

The boy didn't wash his hand until the day after. Damn professor Snape for insisting on impeccably clean hands for Potions.

Notes:

For a canon reference to the Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish, see 'PoA' p. 14-15, (Bloomsbury).

Incidentally, the Llewellyn dive is not to be found in the limited collection of moves and maneuvers mentioned in 'Quidditch Through the Ages' by Kennilworthy Whisp. But it is nevertheless very befitting its bold and reckless inventor, the famous Quidditch player Dai Llewellyn who, due to his violent death, also had a whole ward at St. Mungo's named after him. But that's a wholly different story.