Biting on Tin Foil

Biting on Tin Foil

"SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor lead by eighty points to twenty!"

Draco Malfoy cursed. Gryffindor's three female chasers seemed to ride with the wind that day. Now where was that bloody Snitch?

He turned around to see what Potter was up to, when he caught something glinting on the lawn. A cautious glance assured him that the other seeker was indeed still cheering his teammates. Draco's lips curved into a wild grin, then he aimed his Nimbus 2001 directly towards the grass.

The dive made his breath catch in his throat. He could hear the blood rush through his own veins, felt the tingle in his stomach as the ground sped towards him. A mad joy began to dance inside him, and he felt like whooping loudly with victory. Only a mere foot distance between himself and the Snitch... a few inches... now his fingers were grazing the flimsy wings of the golden ball...

WHAM! His hand was knocked out of the way. Draco lost hold of his broom, his body making brutal contact with the ground. The last thing he saw from the corner of his eye was Harry Potter triumphantly holding up the Golden Snitch. Then suddenly everything was black.

* * * * *

"Potter..."

Draco opened his eyes with a groan. The afternoon sun streaming through the infirmary window bit a hole into his skull, and he clamped them shut again quickly.

"About time you woke up, dear. I already fixed the nose and your broken leg, and this concussion really is nothing to waste all day in bed over."

Somebody pressed a hot mug to his lips, and against his will Draco swallowed, feeling warmth ebb through him with every sip. The cracking headache receded to a dull throb, until nothing was left of it.

"The Cup..." Draco's voice faltered. "What happened?"

"Oh, Gryffindor won." Madam Pomfrey sniffed disdainfully. "I already had to treat a bunch of Weasleys for upset stomachs from all the food they stuffed themselves with, I really wonder when those boys will learn..."

Draco grimaced and stood up from the bed he had lain on. He noticed that he was still wearing his green Quidditch robes, smudged with dirt and shredded where they had been cut open to access his leg. *Bloody fitting.*

Madam Pomfrey let him go without a second glance. Draco trudged towards the Slytherin dungeons, dodging the celebrating Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, then changed his mind. He felt as if a hippogriff had trampled on him already; the last thing he needed now was a common room full of contemptuous Slytherins, and Pansy Parkinson's hysterical fits. Draco headed for the quidditch changing rooms instead, longing for a hot shower to drive every thought out of his mind before he had to face his classmates again.

The water was scorchingly hot, but Draco let it run over his body until all of his senses were numbed, glad that the showers had been bewitched never to turn cold. He stayed under the spraying fountain until his skin began to wrinkle.

Rubbing himself dry with one of the smooth towels lying ready in the changing room, Draco slipped into the robes he'd left there before the match and opened the door towards the corridor. He froze when he saw an all too familiar figure approaching the Gryffindor locker room.

"Potter."

The snarl had escaped him before he could help himself. Harry turned around to him, a goofy smile plastered on his face.

"Malfoy," he greeted his arch enemy cheerfully, and made motion to walk through the door. In a flash, Draco had pinned him against the wall.

"Come to jeer at the loser, have you?" he growled. Harry merely laughed.

"Honestly, Malfoy, the thought that the world might revolve around something other than the Greatness of Draco has never begun to cross your mind, has it? How should I have known you're here? Or, more importantly, why should I have cared?"

Harry struggled slightly. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to let me go, I've got a Firebolt to fetch and a party to get back to."

Searing anger was burning its way through Draco's insides. More than anything right now he wanted to knock that smug grin off the other boy's face.

"Just you wait. I'll teach you not to mess with me, Potter," he hissed, pushing Harry harder into the wall.

His words didn't have the desired effect. On the contrary, Harry looked as if he was going to burst out laughing any second. Draco gritted his teeth. The fact that Harry didn't take him seriously only fueled the mad fire burning inside him. He'd always been able to shake Harry's countenance with something, but right now he couldn't think of anything to

chase away this disgusting expression of self-righteousness, this sickening air of satisfaction.

Draco could almost watch the glee oozing out of Harry's every pore, and it made him want to retch. He needed to act, before the moment passed and Harry would go back to his party, leaving him here with a mad passion eating him up from the inside.

Slowly he began to lean forward, until he could feel the other boy's hot breath brush his face. Draco hesitated for a split second before pressing his lips against Harry's. He heard the other boy gasp and closed his eyes, one of his hands wandering up Harry's robes and running ever so lightly up the side of his face, evading the glasses and tracing the fine lines of the infamous and horribly overrated scar. His lips tingled as he leaned in, tilting his head slightly and applying more suction.

An eternity seemed to have passed before Harry managed to raise one of his hands and push Draco away.

"What... you... what the hell?"

The look on his face made Draco want to crow with satisfaction. Confusion, disgust, even something that Draco would have loved to interpret as yearning flickered in Harry's eyes before he evaded the Slytherin's stare. Draco savored the memory of this image, playing it in his mind over and over again, like sipping a good wine that dazzled his senses. The

infamous Potter, totally flabbergasted. Over something as simple as a kiss.

"Knew you'd enjoy it," Draco replied matter-of-factly, his eyes sparkling with delight. The horror dawning on Harry's face was more exquisite than he could ever have imagined. Harry pushed past Draco and ran down the hall.

Draco almost whistled as he made his way towards the Slytherin common room. The memory of the lost Quidditch match still frustrated him considerably, but the look on Harry's face just now... He should have thought of kissing him ages ago.

Fin.