The Quidditch Star And The Commentator

“Harry James Potter once again..” the commentator coughs “Sadly.” He says quietly, not quiet enough because apparently, the whole stadium hears, including Harry “Tricks the opposing team! Wonderful, really. His skills.”

Harry quite literally feels a vein pop in the side of his neck. His face blurring red, he suddenly turns around from the snitch and flips off the area where the voice came from.

“Potter!” One of his teammate's calls, Harry takes a deep breath, swiveling around and going right back to catching the snitch.

Harry suddenly heard the most heart-stopping laugh, the commentator, and suddenly his heart was leaping, it might not even be working, might not be leaping, might just be stopping in place. He stopped in the air, just in the middle of the pitch.

The laugh was ethereal, so beautiful, but something in Harry refused to accept the fact he actually wanted to hear that laugh again. His face turned red, out of anger, obviously.

It was a close call, too close. Harry had almost lost the snitch to the fellow seeker. Harry was livid, he had to find out who this prick was, what did he have against him? He was fairly loved and talked well about, so, what did this person have up their sleeve, they certainly had some kind of hatred for Harry, and damnit Harry had to figure out what it was that he did.

The game ended with his team winning, he stomped his way to the locker rooms, throwing his gloves on the bench as he went to the sink to wash his face, he was furious, even now, the commentator had a bad thing to hide between his good words about Harry.

“You almost had us lose the game, Potter.” His teammate called out.

Harry clenched his jaw, closing his eyes as he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Harry shouldn’t be this mad about a commentator, after all, he wasn’t friends with him so why would he care what this man had to say about him? But for some reason he did, and he knew the reason.

It was because he recognized the voice, but he couldn’t recognize which face matched the voice, because the voice never revealed itself. He’s sure, he’s so sure that he could know who it is without even having to hear his voice.

His voice was like a siren stuck in the back of his head, always consistent, never leaving his head for one second of the day.

That laugh stayed, it left an imprint in his mind, an impression so big that he’d never forgive the man if he ever laughed that way again, even if the man stopped with his nasty words and apologized.

Harry turned around and smiled “Sorry. Got caught in the moment.” Harry said, a smile plastered on his face but a fist clenched so tight he thought it would bleed.

Harry strutted forward, out of the door to the press box, determined to find out who this man was, this man who was an absolute prick, this man who always had a bad thing to say about Harry in between a compliment, this man who has a gorgeous laugh, but obviously not gorgeous because Harry wouldn’t even admit or accept the fact he found the laugh beautiful.

Harry once said that his father didn’t strut, and nor did he, but as soon as those words left his mouth he knew it was a lie, because he knew his father, his father strut, and so did Harry. Evidence presented itself from the way he carried himself to the press box, strutting.

His mother and father would express their disapproval if they found out he was marching—strutting to the press box to find out who this bastard was.

Harry slammed the door open, and the people who currently were in the press box turned around abruptly and startled “Who is the new commentator.” Harry asked, well, more like demanded.

“I’m sorry..?” One of them asked and then suddenly realized “Ah, yes, ahem..him. Well, he’s asked us to keep his identity a secret, so sorry, Mr. Potter.”

Harry was so ready to run around to find out who this twat is “Alright, thank you.” Harry said, a smile on his face as he left the room.

Harry might not know who this man was but he knew one thing about him, whoever he was, he was a fucking coward, that’s one thing Harry is positive about, it might not be a very big lead to who this man was but it was something.

No more games means no more listening to that commentator bitch about him, no more games means not being granted to hear that gorgeous—horrible laugh, no more games means no more getting angry because Harry was usually never angry, it takes a lot to get him angry, but this guy, oh this guy, he could do it just by talking. His voice was irritating like a fork scratching a plate, but his laugh was a different case.

Three months of no games means he won’t be able to find out who this sick arse is. This man had been going out of his way for three games to shit on Harry, really, this man had a lot of time to waste if he was this good at insulting, he must’ve insulted lots of people to warn this type of knowledge.

For the three games that the commentator had appeared, an insult never failed to arise when given the opportunity.

Harry grumbled as he started walking to his friends until he stopped right in his tracks when he heard that voice, the commentator. The voice was different, was he changing his voice while commentating? Harry didn’t care, and he didn’t show it for he had another thing to care about. He had to run towards the voice and find out who this man was, the voice made his stomach pit. He was a hundred percent sure this was that damned commentator, so he did what every sane person would do, he ran towards the voice on a mission.

Harry ran fast, really fast, yet that didn’t stop the absence he got when he finally made it in less than a minute. The commentator had already left. Damn, his luck.

The man who had a horrible voice but a heart-wrenching laugh, that’s what Harry decided to call him from now on, or git for short.

Well, the git, unsurprisingly came back, and this is where Harry is now, in a game, trying to push back the urge to snap his neck off.

“Well, Potter, excellent tricking, but they aren’t children, now are they?”

Well, shit. Harry took a deep breath and smiled, up at the sky, looking around for the snitch, finally, the snitch was just out of reach, he reached out for it until the commentator spoke.

“Isn’t that too easy?”

Harry snapped his head back to stare at the press box, easy? This prick knew nothing about Quidditch, and yet Harry felt the need to educate him.

“You might just want to take those words ba—“

“Fucking hell, Potter!” His teammate’s call.

Harry flinches and spins around on his broom only to find the opposing seeker closer to the snitch than Harry, no, Harry would not allow him to get the snitch just because he was furious at an arsehole. And so, that’s what he did, he made sure the opposing team lost at the expense of his team winning, but that came at a price.

Harry had lost his balance when he caught the snitch, for the first time in years. He fell and broke his fucking wrist, how wonderful is that? If the commentator hadn’t been playing tricks with his mind this would’ve never happened.

Harry winced and stumbled forward as his team was called to be the winners, his teammates and coach running to him. Harry waved them off and went to the infirmary.

He winced as Poppy wrapped his wrist, telling him not to put too much weight on it for a month. He stayed lying on the bed, his eyes closed, his breath hitched.

“Potter.” A familiar voice came from the left side.

Harry immediately turned his head to look at the left, a tall man, with a slim stature, pointy features, grey eyes, whitish-blond hair, and an expression on his face that read displeasure and guilt. Harry didn’t look for too long before he turned his head.

The man sat down on the chair beside Harry’s bed, resting his clasped hands on his knee.

“Well, I have to say—“

“You’re the commentator.” Harry breathed, his voice raspy.

The man looked startled and stayed quiet for a bit until he nodded “I am, yes.”

Harry half-heartedly laughed, laying his arm on his eyes as he breathed “You know, you’re not very nice. This?” Harry held his wrist up in the air “Because I got distracted by you.”

“I know, I apologize. That wasn’t my intention.”

“Then what was? To piss me off until I snapped your head off? What is the matter with you?” Harry snapped his head to look at the man once more “I don’t understand what I di—“

Harry stopped right in his tracks, he hadn’t done anything to this man, except maybe, decline his friend request, but so what?

“Draco.” Harry hitched.

“Hello, Scarface,” Draco said, his eyes soft as his smile reached his eyes, the skin around his eyes softening.

“You’re..? You’re the new commentator? Why the bloody hell are you doing this? Just to spite me?”

“No,” Malfoy said with a soft laugh as he shook his head “It’s funny to see you get angry at a person you have no idea the identity of.”

“You’re such a coward.”

“Is it because of me hiding my identity or because of what happened before?” Draco asked softly, too soft. His voice breaking.

“Before. You left.”

“I left.”

“Why?” Harry asked as he turned his head to look up at the ceiling, no longer able to stare at Draco.

“I couldn’t love you while I was arranged to marry a woman I barely knew.”

“I hate you.”

Draco went quiet, too quiet, Harry wondered if maybe Draco passed out? Left again? “I don’t hate you.”

“Well, I do.”

“Why?”

“Because you left.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Harry’s voice broke because he knew it wasn’t Draco’s fault, it never was.

“Then tell me what you’d like to hear, baby.”

“Tell me we still have a chance.” Harry’s eyes fogged because Draco truly was the first person he felt this way about only to be abandoned but Draco didn’t want to abandon him.

“Would you like us to still have a chance?”

Harry thought about that, stuck to that, his mind only filled with that one question would you like us to have a chance? Did Harry want to still have a chance with the man that left him almost ten years ago?

“Yes.”

“Then that’s what we’ll have. A chance, if nothing else, we’ll have a chance.”

Harry finally managed to break his gaze from the ceiling to stare at Draco, his breath hitching instantly, he was beautiful, so gorgeous, his beautiful cold eyes that only turned soft for him, those pointy features that could prick him but wouldn’t, that soft expression that only ever looked at him when he was so very upset.

“Don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t, I promise, baby.”

“Is that a lie?”

Draco went quiet once more “No.”

“We have a chance, yeah, Ferret?”

“Yes, Scarface, we do.”

“That’s—that’s absolutely amazing. Yes—well..ahem, thank you.”

Draco laughed so softly his voice was nearly above a whisper “For what?”

“For giving us a chance.”

“I’ll give us a chance in every universe.”

Harry smiled “So will I.”

“That’s lovely.”

“You’re lovely.”

Draco smiled at Harry and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Harry’s lips.

Harry froze and leaned into it, a smile curling up on his lips as he held onto the side of Draco’s face and kissed him, it wasn’t a hot kiss, just a soft sweet one that was hard to keep ahold of from Harry’s grinning.

They finally pulled back as he stared at Draco, starry-eyed, the same eyes reflected back “Maybe just lessen the amount of insults?” Harry asked, a grin planted on his face.

“Never.” That was all Draco said until the two of them blinked at each other and burst out laughing.

Truly, they were the commentator and the quidditch star, two stars aligned. Matching gazes stared right back at each other, a matching grin on each face as they laughed.