Involving a Baseball

'I had a dream last night.' Draco is startled by Potter's voice behind him, and he turns without thinking. There is no chance that Potter would ever address Draco, of all people, with his dreams, and Draco doesn't know exactly why he turns. But Potter is looking straight at him. 'You were in it.'

For a minute Draco wonders if this is one of Potter's famous nightmares and is a little afraid. Potter is looking at him as though he's just realized Draco exists, and is rather intrigued by the idea. Of course, Potter always looks vaguely surprised to see him, as though he has forgotten Draco in between their meetings and is nastily shocked by the realization that Draco is still around. But today there is an active interest in Potter's eyes.

'As if I care about your sordid fantasies, Potter.' Draco sneers, regaining his composure. Potter isn't thrown by the remark, however, and moves a few steps closer.

'Not like that, Malfoy.' Potter leans against the wall of the corridor. He closes his eyes and smiles a little. 'It's actually kind of funny. You were playing with a baseball. Throwing it up in the air and catching it, by the Whomping Willow. And it was night.' Potter opens his eyes and watches Draco, who wonders why he is still standing there and is insulted Potter considers him so little a threat he would close his eyes in Draco's presence. 'It was the most amazing thing. Draco Malfoy, playing with a ball in the moonlight. It made me wonder if you were ever that young.'

Potter gives him a little grin and Draco feels himself giving a weak smile back, more out of confusion than anything. Before Draco can come up with a reply, a cutting retort to save face, Potter is walking away.

Draco wonders what the hell just happened.

~o0o0o~

Everyone knows the story of how the Great and Wondrous Harry Potter refused Draco's friendship and his hand when they were eleven. No one ever mentions it around Draco, even Crabbe and Goyle aren't that thick, but he thinks about it often.

He thinks of how he saw Potter first. Before Weasley or Granger had any claim to him, Draco had met him. He thinks of how stupid and betrayed he felt, offering Potter everything and being left hanging while Potter chose the Weasel over him. He thinks of every time Potter bested him over the years, without even seeming to notice he was leaving Draco in the dust. As though Draco didn't matter.

Mostly, though, he's glad he's one of the few people who realize how very one-sided their legendary rivalry is. Draco is always the one who picks the fights, who throws the first hex. He's always been the one chasing Potter, tormenting Potter, making Potter's days just a little bit darker, because that's all he knows to do. When he was eleven, he offered his hand; at sixteen, it's a fist.

~o0o0o~

A few days later Draco finds a package on his seat in Potions, 'Malfoy' scrawled across the top in a messy hand. When he rips off the plain brown paper he finds a white ball with red stitching, and knows beyond a doubt that it is a baseball. He looks up to see Potter watching him with interest.

Draco suddenly thinks of the coming war, of Father and the Mark waiting for him, of inter-House unity and Muggle sports. He thinks of scaly monsters and green-eyed boy heroes, of second chances and being young.

Draco wonders if the baseball is a hand. He wonders if he'll take it.