Just Shut Up, Potter

Just Shut Up, Potter

By Draco Petulans / Greg Steele

"How on Earth did I ever let myself get talked into this?" Harry wondered fretfully as he entered the Great Hall early on the morning of the deciding game of the Quidditch tournament in this his fifth year at Hogwarts, the sunlight streaming through the high windows playing counterpoint to his bleak mood.

With Gryffindor trailing Slytherin by twenty points and Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson both missing, Harry knew that the pressure on him to provide a quick victory was immense. Not that a match between the two fierce rivals was ever anything less than intense, but this year Draco Malfoy, the new Slytherin captain, had thrown down the gauntlet by proposing that the captain of the team finishing second should play valet to the winning captain for a week after the final game. The tension building in the air took on an almost electric buzz that seemed to herald the approach of an immense thunderstorm.

Where exactly Katie and Angelina were, no-one knew. The rumours were, of course, rife. Ron seemed to prefer the theory favoured by most of the boys that they had run off together. Why exactly they might have done this hadn't been said, but the innuendo was rampant.

Harry himself didn't really see the appeal of that rumour, but then he supposed that that wasn't really particularly surprising. He smiled wanly at Ron and Seamus' incessant joking and the knowing winks they threw at him, but to be perfectly honest he wasn't interested in that sort of thing in the slightest.

What he was interested in was the game itself, and whether he'd have to play, well, manservant to Malfoy for a week once it was over. Quite what Malfoy would want him to do if that were to happen wasn't something that Harry wanted to think about. He'd been having enough trouble with his imagination on that front ever since their shock defeat to Hufflepuff three weeks earlier, in which Harry's mind seemed to have its own agenda, which unfortunately didn't include winning the game. Frankly it didn't bear thinking about.

Hermione had been marvellous, of course - organising replacements for the two missing girls. Whilst it was technically Harry's job to do this, he certainly wasn't going to argue with Hermione when she had got it into her head that she knew what was best for the team.

That Hermione, renowned for her complete lack of interest in Quidditch and indeed all things involving the riding of broomsticks, had decided to take charge puzzled Harry slightly, but wild horses couldn't drag him across her path as she bustled hither and yon doing, well whatever it was that she was doing.

He supposed that she knew what she was doing when she selected Neville and Colin Creevey as the team's replacement Chasers. Hermione had certainly seemed very pleased with herself afterwards and kept telling him that he'd thank her in the end. However, to be honest he personally thought that if anything this sealed the final nail on the team's coffin, and thus his own as well. "Better start looking into what type of bubble-bath Malfoy likes," Harry thought to himself. After all, if he was going to be forced to be Malfoy's slave for the week then he was damned well going to do it right.

"Actually," Harry thought to himself, "Once Hermione managed to get herself made our official manager we didn't stand a chance. I suppose that I should just be grateful that she dropped SPEW after that incident with Dobby and the caramel sauce in the summer holidays, or we'd probably all be wearing house-elf ears or something."

However, as Harry fingered the round plastic object hidden beneath his Quidditch robes he didn't feel particularly grateful. He was all for supporting charity and knew that it would be a great publicity stunt and all that, but he didn't see why he had to make a fool out of himself doing it, especially on such an important day.

He let out a forced laugh again, as Seamus wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, and wondered if there was any way to gag the randy Irishman without calling too much attention to himself. "Damn it, there I go again with the gagging and tying-up. And with Seamus? Ugh..."

***************

Draco, unlike Harry, appeared the very epitome of calm and confidence as he held court at the Slytherin table, shrouded in shadows. His boots, made of the finest Italian leather (what else?), shone and his hair seemed almost preternaturally tidy slicked back against his neck.

There was obviously no way that he could fail to win. Between the faultless strategy he had come up with, his new Nimbus 3000 and the presence of his ringer, Hugo Krum, the younger brother of the Bulgarian Seeker Victor Krum -widely acknowledged as being the best thing since bread-slicing charms- he knew that he had the game sewn up.

He wasn't actually calm. Once the match was over Potter would be his slave for the week, and that was something even Draco was prepared to get a little excited over.

For four years, four and a half whole years he had had to put up with Potter beating him at everything, and now it was payback time. What exactly he was going to do with Potter once he had him, Draco wasn't quite sure, but he had a few ideas, and he was pretty sure that Potter wasn't going to like them one little bit.

"No, Goyle, that's not what I've got planned for him. I'm pretty sure that Madam Pomfrey could get it back out, and besides, I might need my wand for later. You'll see, you'll all see!"

Draco let out a laugh as he chewed his toast, making him choke slightly and turn what he had intended to be a confident bray into more of a bleat, eliciting some rather strange looks from his fellow Slytherins. This wasn't the only plan of his that would go awry today.

***************

"You know that it's the only way, Ron. You know how clueless he is - he'll never work up the courage to do anything on his own, so this is the only way... Oh, hi Harry!"

Hermione turned to face Harry, wearing an expression of pure innocence. Ron didn't do quite so good a job at concealing whatever it was that was going on. He'd gone a rather delicate shade of pink that Harry thought would have suited him under different circumstances.

Harry might have thought that if it weren't for the fact that he was fairly sure that they'd just been talking about him.

"Hi, Herm. The only way that what?"

"Oh, the only way that we'll get our own back on Malfoy now that his father's back on the board of governors. Honestly, that idea of his about one of you playing the other's valet was the best luck we've had all year. Have you thought about what you're going to make him do once you've won?"

Harry coloured slightly as he told her that he hadn't really thought about it as he was concentrating on winning the game itself. That she looked like she believed him just about as far as she could throw him (without the aid of magic, of course) wasn't entirely unsurprising. Harry had always suspected that his mousey -haired friend was usually onto most of his little secrets long before he himself was. However, the slightly pregnant pause Ron had put into his oh-so-helpful suggestion that Harry could hex Malfoy into eating slugs made Harry wonder if Ron though slugs would be the first thing he would think of forcing Malfoy to eat. "Honestly, some people! As if I'd... no, best not think about his mouth. That way lies madness."

However, before Harry had time to quiz his friends further Professor Snape rounded the corner of the corridor, his robes wafting around him as he stalked towards the classroom, signalling the start of yet another interminable Potions lesson.

***************

Draco certainly didn't think that Potions was anything like interminable. He loved the subject. Professor Snape was an excellent teacher and, well, even if a lesson was less than riveting there were always other things to occupy his mind.

"Why doesn't he just wash his bloody hair?" Draco thought to himself. "If it weren't for that... Draco! What the hell are you thinking? He's old enough... and more importantly, he does have truly horrible hair!"

Still, even these errant thoughts about Professor Snape weren't going to spoil Draco's day. He had everything planned down to the last detail. From the triumphant smirk he would throw at Potter to just how much taunting he would be able to get away with before Weasley tried to do something about it.

Not that he was worried about anything Weasley might try.

Oh how he was going to enjoy himself later that afternoon.

***************

Lunch was a quiet affair at the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables. If breakfast had been tense then lunch was almost unbearable.

Hermione made a few last-minute changes to both her game plan and the little surprise she had set up. The rest of the team weren't all that happy with either, but went along with it more out of respect for Hermione than anything else.

"Now Harry, remember that you have to keep Malfoy from noticing it for as long as you can. It'll be no good if he sees it at the start of the game - we want everyone to be able to get a good look at his face when he notices it"

"That's all well and good, Herm, but I'm not sure that I want everyone to see my face!"

"Oh be a sport, Harry. You know how much publicity this'll get throughout the wizarding world, which is just what we need. Think of how much we could do for all those people who need our help, think about..."

"OK, OK, I give in! I'll do it!" Harry said with a laugh, "I just wish that someone else would end up in the limelight - plus, think about how it's going to look if we lose."

Hermione dodged the question by launching into yet another speech extolling the virtues of her current pet charity to the boys. By now Harry was quite sure that something was going on, he just wished that he knew what it was.

***************

Throughout the afternoon things progressed in much the same manner. Harry became by turns both more and more suspicious and edgy as the match grew closer.

The fact that Malfoy appeared to have all but put the game out of his mind didn't help matters. The only way that Draco seemed to acknowledge the upcoming match was in the number of sidelong glances he threw at Harry, a smug, confident sneer plastered across his face.

In fact, Malfoy had been shooting him looks like that for quite a while, thought Harry. It was one thing for the other boy to be sizing him up on the day of their game, but he wasn't quite sure what reason Malfoy could have for doing it every other day for the past couple of months.

Not that Harry was complaining, though he realised that he probably should.

After Care of Magical Creatures, in which Hagrid made a number of unsettling allusions towards uses for flobberworms certainly not covered in his lesson of a couple of years ago, there was Defence Against the Dark Arts which had taken on a slightly surreal air ever since Mrs. Figg had become their teacher at the beginning of the year. Harry had to admit that cats certainly had their uses, after all Crookshanks had saved his bacon on a couple of occasions now. Still, he failed to see how the best way to deal with furballs and the number of times a week to change the litter in their trays were going to help him fight off a rampaging Mountain Troll or an enraged Nundu. To be honest he wasn't even sure that their classes would be helpful in fighting off a Horklump with a sore head, or sore tentacles to be more accurate.

However, for once he was grateful for the chance to spend an hour or so with his own thoughts, such as they were. He'd tried on the offending item last night and whilst he'd thought that he looked ridiculous in it he had to admit that it really did bring out the fun side in him, something that hadn't seen the light of day for a good while now. He still complained mightily about the whole affair, but he had to admit that he was actually starting to look forward to playing Hermione's little prank. For once he wanted to wipe the smirk off of Malfoy's face.

However, as the afternoon drew to a close and he made his way towards the pitch he really couldn't believe that he was going to go through with this.

Malfoy and the Slytherin team were waiting for him as he stepped onto the pitch, his team looking quite the ragtag bunch with their Comets and Cleansweeps. The Slytherins looked like nothing less than a purebred hunting pack, shining Nimbus 3000s at their sides and their emerald robes merging into a sea of proud green.

Never one to allow himself to appear uncomfortable, Harry strode up to Malfoy and looked him in the eye before wishing him luck with a confidence he in truth sorely lacked.

"Luck, Potter? Surely you're confusing us with people who have to rely on that for their victories."

"So it's just Harry being lucky every time he's beaten you over the last five years?" Neville stuttered above the roar of the crowd.

"And what else do you suggest it was, Longbottom?" Malfoy returned with a sneer. Harry could see where this was going and tried to head Neville off before he gave Malfoy the opening he was looking for, but the other boy seemed to have been emboldened by the uniform he wore and the rest of the team beside him.

"Skill, Malfoy. I'd call it skill - no-one could be just lucky for that long."

"The how do you explain your own piss-poor performance these past five years, Longbottom? Just bad luck? No, it can't be that - you said so yourself, if must be that you really are as utterly useless at pretty much everything as you seem to be. I look forward to seeing you prove me right when we're up there." Spat Malfoy, before leading the rest of his team in a formation life-off.

"Don't let him get to you, Neville," Harry told the stricken boy next to him, privately thinking that this really didn't bode well for their chances in the game.

"Cannons to the left of them..." Harry though fatalistically to himself as he led his team into the skies above the pitch. "No, they at least stood a chance. This is more like leading lambs to the slaughter."

And slaughtered they were. The plan had been to pull Hermione's stunt as soon as the whistle was blown to start the game, but from the second it was, Gryffindor came under a seeming never-ending series of moves almost surgical in their tactical precision.

No-one had time to think of anything more than where the next assault on their hoops was coming from, ore more accurately where the next Slytherin player was. Their green-clad opponents flew with a deadly combination of fluid grace and breakneck speed, catching every lost ball and exploiting every hole the Gryffindors couldn't plug in their crumbling defence.

Harry watched as Slytherin took control, his team paralysed by their inability to mount a single offensive. They didn't stand a chance; Every player was needed in defence to try and counter the green wisps swarming around them and the other team were free to commit all their own players to attack, as the second a Gryffindor caught the Quaffle and tried to break out of the killing-jar they were caught in, they would be effortlessly caught and pounced on by one of the Slytherins.

As if to demonstrate this, Harry watched as Alicia Spinnet caught the Quaffle and tried to stage a breakout. To her credit she saw Blaise Zabini swooping down on her and passed to Colin who almost fumbled, but managed to catch the fast-moving ball as he strained forwards, only to be caught by a Bludger that seemed to come out of nowhere. As Colin lost control of his broom and cartwheeled towards the ground, Harry saw Vincent Crabbe hovering to his left, a look of single-minded triumph splayed across his dull features.

Colin may not have been Harry's favourite person in the world, but he wished that he could do more for him as he spun to the ground half a pitch away than simply dive to take up his position in their crumbling defence.

He reached their crumbling backline just in time to intercept Hugo Krum's shot towards one of their goalposts and was swung around by the sheer force of the shot. He caught a glimpse of Colin managing to right himself just before he hit the ground, escaping with only a few cuts and grazes as he skidded across the grass. He looked for support to his left and only saw Malfoy swooping down on him like some sort of vengeful angel, his hair flying and his eyes blazing with... was that concern? Surely not - if anyone found Colin more irritating than Harry himself then it was surely Draco. Still, rather than ponder this strange turn of events he passed short to Fred Weasley on his right, who span into a series of complicated manoeuvres designed to throw off the crowd of players converging on him at lightning speed.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at, Malfoy? Crabbe was aiming for Colin's head, that's against the rules and..."

"That's what you get for putting a bunch of amateurs out there, Potter. Just try and keep them out of Crabbe's way - he's getting over an unhappy love affair with Millicent Bulstrode and I've no idea how many other rules he's planning on breaking today."

Before Harry had time to process this rather unsettling information he caught a glimpse of gold fluttering beneath him and on his right. Performing a neat turn he dove beneath Draco and shot towards the snitch, every ounce of concentration levelled on catching the shining elusive ball as he drew closer to it.

This was their chance; if he caught the Snitch now then Gryffindor would still win, despite the appalling number of goals they'd conceded so early on in the game. However, as he neared his target Draco appeared out of nowhere and cut across his field of vision.

Once he'd pulled out of the dive he'd been forced into to avoid his fellow seeker's desperate blocking action, he looked around for the Golden Snitch but the only thing that caught his eye was Draco's pale-blond hair. The other boy swung around to face Harry, a look of breathless exertion and, was that excitement, on his face. Maybe even appreciation.

Who'd have guessed?

"You're not going to get it that easily, Potter." Malfoy told him. Though before Harry could come up with a suitably acerbic reply, Malfoy added "nice move, though" before flying off in search of the rest of his team.

Puzzled by this latest surprise Harry turned back to the game in time to see Krum sweep past their defence, looping above their heads as they came to intercept him, before placing the Quaffle neatly in the hoop.

The scoreboard now read 170-10. Slytherin had obviously managed to score whilst he was trying to catch the Snitch. George Weasley's freak shot from halfway across the pitch and into one of the Slytherin goals the only contribution Gryffindor had made to the afternoon. It was now officially hopeless. Now they had to score at least twice for that to win. The Dream Team, bloodied and thoroughly beaten, had been well and truly defeated, trounced by the Slytherins' superior equipment.

Lining up beside their goal, the Gryffindors surged forwards, Neville clutching the Quaffle, Harry, Fred and George flanking the team as they flew out to do battle for the middle of the pitch.

Neville passed to Seamus, who had replaced Oliver Wood as keeper, and nearly crashed into a fast-moving Morag MacDougal. Seamus pirouetted neatly to the left, avoiding Zabini and passed back to Alicia Spinnet before Krum could catch up with him. A well-placed Bludger from Goyle took out Alicia as she flew, but Fred managed to keep the move alive by catching the Quaffle as it fell and then dived forward, Harry, George and Colin following him as they drove through the middle of the pitch towards the Slytherin goals.

Harry saw Malfoy before Fred and yelled a warning to his teammate. Without wasting time to look for the danger approaching him, Fred passed to Harry who caught the ball and drove forward, taking the rest of the Slytherins with him as he raced for the goals, leaving his team straining to catch up.

Harry realised that there was no way he could make it into shooting distance, but if he could just keep the Slytherins off him for long enough for his team to catch up then there was a chance.

He spun away from Zabini, who had caught up after his near collision with Neville, then beneath Goyle who seemed to manage to make even his top-of-the-line broomstick look like an ancient Comet Two Sixty as he clumsily tried to intercept the fast-moving seeker. However, as he levelled out, Harry found his field of vision obscured by a solid wall of green surrounding him at incredible speed. This was the moment of truth - he knew that he'd never make it past the collective might bearing down on him.

Harry tossed the Quaffle behind him as he ran into the wall of opposing players, careening left as he glanced off someone he was sure was Malfoy from the flash of gold he saw as he spun towards the ground.

As he righted himself and wrested his broomstick round to face the goalposts he couldn't believe what he saw.

Alicia had the Quaffle and was speeding towards the goal. The rest of the team was following, blocking off the approaching Slytherins. They'd caught up in time to reach the Quaffle he'd desperately thrown towards them and had a clear run on the goals, but there wasn't much time left. The Slytherins were making short work of his team's efforts to block them and Alicia had scant seconds to shoot before they caught up with her.

Just as Jamie Higgs, the Slytherin keeper, crossed her path Harry watched as Alicia released the Quaffle towards the goals. It was still too far out for the shot to stand much of a chance but luck seemed to lift the ball through the hoops as the crowd erupted into rapturous applause.

It was now or never, as Harry remembered Hermione's bloody request and he reached into his robes for the little plastic orb inside them to put it on his face. Seeing him, his team made to do the same but there was no time for the Gryffindors to celebrate. Krum caught the ball as it flew out from behind the hoop and dove back towards the pitch.

As his team scrambled to head off the chaser intent on exploiting their open flanks, Harry saw the same glint of gold at the edge of his vision, but he could see Malfoy flying a little above him and to his right, so it could only be the Snitch in front of him.

"Please don't let him see it. Please, not now - I don't want to have to try and catch it just so that he doesn't. We'll lose if I do. Just look the other way, please..."

But deep-down Harry knew that he was hoping against hope. Malfoy was an excellent seeker, Harry would never have got so worked up over their games if he wasn't, and the chances of him missing the glittering Snitch were almost non-existent.

True to his prediction, Malfoy's head snapped round, guided by a seeker's intuition, and he swung his broom in a tight about-face towards the Snitch and took after it, Harry doing the same from the left - if the game was going to end now then it would be on his terms, not Malfoy's.

Draco sped towards the snitch, his hair flying, knowing that Harry was doing the same somewhere on his left, all his concentration focussed on reaching the Snitch before him. He didn't even look to his left as Harry drew level with him, somehow coaxing his Firebolt to keep up with his own superior Nimbus 3000.

However, there was something wrong with the face beside his and even Draco couldn't suppress the urge to take a quick look.

That quick look really wasn't so quick.

In fact it went on for a good while as Draco's face went through a procession of reactions, from startled realisation, through surprise and onto blank incomprehension. Harry couldn't resist taking a quick look at Draco and wasn't disappointed in what he saw. The shock on Draco's face was enough to elicit an almost Malfoyesq smirk on his own as he enjoyed ruffling Draco's feathers for once.

And so it was, as the two seekers sped forwards, neither paying attention to where they were going that the Snitch was caught.

Neither captain was all that happy with this, though Draco was probably the more surprised of the two as the Snitch, having changed direction as he gawped at Harry, planted itself down his throat as he opened his mouth in incredulity at Potter's antics, and he fought valiantly to stay upright as he choked on the golden globe lodged in his windpipe.

As he hit the ground, still choking on the Snitch, Draco thought to himself that this was utterly typical; he'd finally beaten Potter and won their little bet and he was going to asphyxiate on the sodding Quidditch pitch before he could enjoy it.

His vision was beginning to become tinged with tiny stars dancing against the blackness closing in from all sides when he felt a pair of strong arms around his waist. He barely had time to register that it was really rather nice to feel whoever the firm torso, and pretty much everything else of whoever this was who'd decided to deliver the coup de grâce against him before the arms pulled inwards and Draco decided that this really was the final indignity. Here he was, choking to death on the Quidditch pitch and he was apparently being taken advantage of by some sort of insanely possessive sadist intent on finishing him off.

However, just before he lost consciousness entirely the arms gave another almighty squeeze and he felt the snitch dislodge itself from his throat and fly out of his mouth.

The first thing he saw as he came round a few seconds later was that damned red nose only centimetres from his face, framed by the concerned face of Harry James Potter.

The next thing he saw was the explosion of what seemed like a hundred camera flashes. That wasn't entirely surprising, as that was exactly what they were.

He heard Harry mutter something about whether this was enough publicity for Hermione and her damned good causes, then ask if he was OK.

"Do I look like I'm OK? First I end up with that bloody ball stuck down my throat then some demented hippopotamus decides to crush my ribcage just to finish the job!"

"That demented hippopotamus was me, and I'll have you know that I saved your life. If I hadn't got the Snitch out of you when I did you'd have choked to death on it."

"Is that right, Potter?"

"Yes it is, and I'll thank you not to call me any more..."

Draco wasn't sure what possessed him to do it. He had a pretty shrewd idea that it had something to do with how utterly absurd Harry looked, trying to lecture Draco on what sort of behaviour was right ad proper under the circumstances with that ridiculous nose attached to his face by a piece of string run behind his ears. Whatever it was that possessed him to do it, he quickly reached up for the nose, drew it back on it's elastic string and let it bounce back to hit Harry square on the nose.

"Ouch! Malfoy! What the hell are you pla..."

"Oh, shut up, Potter." Draco said, before reaching up to pull Harry's face towards his own, his look of annoyed discomfort from Draco's earlier action melting into shock, then pleasure as he realised just why his lips had suddenly become inextricably locked with Draco's own.

Draco didn't seem what happened to Harry's face after that, as he closed his eyes to savour the experience, after all, it wasn't every day that you got to kiss Harry Potter, now, was it?

"Actually..."

Draco broke off the kiss and smiled as Harry's look of confusion resurfaced just in time to be caught by the multitude of cameras surrounding them.

"What... I... Draco, why..."

"Do shut up, Potter. Now, if I remember correctly I think that I have you all to myself for the next week or so, right?"

"Umm... yes." Said Harry, the beginnings of a smile forming on his lips.

"To do with as I please?"

"Well, within reason of course."

"In that case, follow me, Potter. I've got something that I want you to take a look at. for me"

The End (Thank goodness!)