Flint and Football
“Hi, um. . . Zabini?” Harry said.
“Blaise is fine.”
“Right. Malfoy should be expecting me.”
“I'm aware,” Blaise said, still blocking the entrance.
“So. . . Can I come in?”
Blaise stared at him a moment longer before stepping aside.
Harry walked in and tried not to think too much about it.
“Draco’s in the shower. He'll be done soon,” Blaise said. “Tell him I’ve left with Pansy.” He walked out the door before Harry even had the chance to react.
Harry opted to look around the room. It was set up like his and Ron’s was, with two small double-sized beds pushed up against the wall on opposite sides of the room. Their dressers were at the foot of the beds and two study desks were right before the door.
Harry hadn't had the chance to put much up on his walls but Malfoy and Blaise’s room was blooming with personality: green and purple bedsheets, sports banners, the national flag, and several band and movie posters.
Harry would never have guessed Malfoy liked Sex Pistols. And was that a Beautiful Thing poster? And Marc Almond?
“You're early.”
Harry turned around.
Malfoy was half-naked, a towel very loosely wrapped around his waist and his hair wet and messy.
Harry had never seen Malfoy’s hair not slicked back. It suited him.
“I thought it might leave a good impression,” Harry said.
“What?” Malfoy said, and Harry could just make out the irritation in his voice. “You don't need to be early. This isn't an interview. Sit down.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Harry sat.
Harry watched as Malfoy walked over to his dresser, pulled out some clothes, and reentered the bathroom.
Malfoy walked back out a few minutes later, his hair still messy but no longer dripping. “We’ll start with maths to get it out of the way.”
“Sounds good.”
~*~*~
Malfoy groaned, pushing back his now-dry hair with his palm. “How are you so bad at this? It's second nature to everyone I know. Even Weasley can make himself presentable when it's called for.”
Harry raised a brow. “Everyone you know is rich.”
“Granger isn't.”
“Hermione’s good at everything. She doesn't count.”
Malfoy sighed. “Maybe this is too much all at once,” he said. “You have to unlearn a lot of behaviours first. Fortunately for us, you have time.”
“I do?”
“Yes. Mr Snape had the intelligent idea of providing me with the dates of all your planned interviews for the semester. Your next one is on the 27th of October. That gives us 5 weeks of preparation time.”
“So when do we start?” Harry asked.
“Now, of course,” Malfoy said, giving him an incredulous look. “Stop by your room and put on a jacket. Meet me at the football field in ten minutes.”
~*~*~
“Draco! Here to play a game, mate?” a boy yelled as Harry and Malfoy approached the field.
Harry looked at Malfoy just in time to see him roll his eyes.
“Who's that?” he asked.
“Marcus Flint. Our house football captain. He's quite obtuse.”
“Meaning?”
“Stupid, Potter. Now, let me do the talking.”
Flint walked over to them, the football under his arm. “Draco, haven't seen you here in a while. You're our best player! You can't just stop coming to practice!”
“Some of us have exams to study for, Flint,” Malfoy drawled. “Or rather, care enough to study.”
“Those exams get you nowhere,” Flint said, waving him off. “With football, you can get scholarships, play professionally even. Exams just get you six more years of sitting at a school desk.”
“True, but you have to be good to get a scholarship.”
“You're very funny, Draco.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Flint grinned, his metal braces glinting in the low sun. “Why the animosity? We've known each other for years. Or are you trying to look cool in front of your new boyfriend?”
“Shut up, Flint,” Malfoy said. “Potter and I are here for more important matters than this. We won't get in your way.”
“Very well then. Need a ball?” Flint said and he tossed the ball towards them.
Malfoy didn't even flinch as it flew past him. “We can manage getting our own ball, thanks.” Without waiting for a response, he swiftly walked by Flint, barely sparing him another glance.
Flint only seemed to be entertained by that and he watched Malfoy walk further away before he met Harry’s eyes. “He's a real bastard, isn't he? Why’s a newbie like you hanging around a prat like Malfoy?” Flint stepped closer to Harry and Harry instinctively took a step back. “Actually, why’s Draco hanging around a commoner like you?”
“Is it that obvious?” Harry huffed.
“Yes, and that accent confirms it,” Flint said. “What's your deal? You give good head?”
Harry flushed. “Malfoy and I aren't like that. He's just teaching me how to act in front of the cameras.”
“I see.” Flint looked him up and down. “He has his work cut out for him.”
“Clearly.”
“Potter! Do not converse with him! We have training to get done!” Harry heard Malfoy call out.
Flint let out an amused breath and rolled his eyes. “Ever the drama queen. Good luck, Potter.”
Harry almost replied with a thanks, but caught himself. He gave Flint a half-smile and jogged over to Malfoy.
The blond had found a ball for them and he kept it still under his foot as he took off his jacket. He looked back up at Harry. “Do you play?”
“I was on the team at my last school,” Harry said. He followed Malfoy’s lead and pulled off his jacket.
Malfoy smiled. “Great. Get in the net.”
Harry’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “I can't play goalie. That's the one position I'm horrible at.”
“Don't argue with me, Potter. This is a part of your training.”
“How is this a part of my training?”
Malfoy let out an annoyed breath and without answering Harry’s question, he walked onto the field, kicking the ball along with him.
Harry didn't think it would kill the boy to answer some of his questions. He sighed and followed the blond once again.
Malfoy stopped at the border of the goal area.
“Net,” he repeated. “Then I'll explain.”
Finally, Harry thought. He made his way over to the net and turned back to Malfoy. “I'm waiting!”
“You have a very nice frame, Potter,” Malfoy said.
“What?”
“You're a good height, broad shoulders, good posture. However it seems you instinctively try to lessen the amount of space you take up, most likely as a trauma response.” Malfoy rolled the ball under his foot. “This should help reverse that. The whole point of being goalkeeper is to block as much of the net as possible.”
That actually made sense to Harry.
“So I will try to score against you and you have to block the ball. Understood?”
Harry did, but he wasn't particularly keen on having a ball repeatedly kicked towards him. While he hadn't lied about being on the team at his former school, he'd had to take a break after an incident with Dudley and his friends.
“Ready?” Malfoy said and Harry saw him begin to wind up his foot to kick the ball.
“Wait!” Harry yelled.
Malfoy placed his foot down, clearly irritated. “What is it now?”
“I need an incentive,” Harry said quickly.
“Your incentive is that you get to stay at Brighton.”
“I need a better one.”
“Such as?”
Harry wracked his brain to think of something he really wanted and Malfoy could do for him. It didn't take him long to think of one.
“I want to be able to call you Draco,” Harry decided.
Malfoy was surprised at that. “You can call me Draco. I don't hate you nearly as much as I hate Flint.”
“I want to earn it. Like how you and Blaise are friends and you and Hermione work together.”
“I don't refer to Granger by her given name.”
“That's the other thing. I want you to call me Harry as well.”
Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is absolutely ridiculous. . . but if it will motivate you, I have no reason to oppose.”
“Right. This is the very last time you'll hear me say this, Malfoy,” Harry said smugly. How hard could it really be to block a few kicks? Even a slice of swiss cheese could do it.
“God, you talk a lot. Let's start,” Malfoy said and with barely any warning, he kicked the ball.
~*~*~
Harry's goalkeeping skills had not improved since he'd last played the position. He'd only managed to block two of Malfoy's twenty-something kicks, and both times had been by accident. One of even had left a nasty bruise above his hip.
“We'll have to continue tomorrow evening,” Malfoy said as he sat on the edge of the bed.
That elicited an audible groan out of Harry. “Please no. That was terrible.”
Malfoy hummed as if to agree. He lifted Harry’s shirt up and Harry watched as the boy placed an ice pack on the swollen red skin. It stung his skin in an unpleasant way and Harry winced at first, but soon welcomed the cool sensation as it calmed the peppering of his skin. He closed his eyes and sighed, lifting his head to rest comfortably on Malfoy’s pillow.
“Guess this means I'm stuck calling you Malfoy,” Harry joked, trying to draw the attention away from his spectacular failure.
He opened his eyes to find Malfoy’s silver eyes staring right back at him. Harry didn't know what came over him but he suddenly felt shy, his cheeks flushing, and his gaze quickly averting.
“Potter, I have no qualms with you calling me Draco. It would be a good idea to be less formal around each other,” Malfoy said. “I will start referring to you as Harry as well.”
Harry didn't think he'd ever heard Malfoy call him Harry before. He'd always felt disconnected from his last name, having no family sharing it and the family he did have actively ostracising him because of it. But Harry was different. Harry was his. And on Malfoy’s tongue, it sent soft feelings of warmth down Harry’s body and out through his cheeks.
“Harry,” Mal—Draco. Draco said.
“Hm?” Harry answered, refusing to look back up at him.
“I think it would be best if we combine this with a less direct approach.”
Harry finally looked up. “A less direct approach?”
Draco nodded. “Yes. Perhaps seeing what you're supposed to do will make it easier for you to emulate it.” Draco tilted his head and his fingers gently traced his collarbone as he thought. “I suppose you could shadow my friends and I for the time being. I doubt Pansy would have a problem with it but Blaise may need some convincing.”
Harry thought back to Blaise's iciness earlier. He hated to admit it, but Blaise intimidated him. “I don't want to be a burden on you or your friends,” he said. “Blaise already doesn't like me.”
Draco frowned at him. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, earlier, he didn't exactly seem pleased with my arrival,” Harry admitted.
Harry didn't know what reaction he had been expecting from Draco, but it certainly wasn't a soft laugh that required the blond to turn his head to the side and cover his mouth. Harry’s cheeks turned pink.
“What?” he said, sitting up slightly, ignoring the pain that emanated from his side.
“Nothing. It's just a little amusing to imagine Blaise staring you down,” Draco said.
Harry hadn't found it very funny.
“What's his deal?” he asked.
“His deal. . .?”
Harry just managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes. How fancy were these people anyway?
“Is there a reason he goes around staring people down?”
“Oh,” Draco said. “Blaise isn't very trusting. It can be quite hard for him to adjust to people, and vice versa. But no worries. The way I see it, this is the single best arrangement to prepare you for your interviews. Blaise can voice his disapproval to his heart's desire. He has no ultimate choice in the matter.”
Draco’s tone suggested that he was serious about the matter and fully intended on carrying out his plan regardless of his friends’ potential disputes.
“You should get some rest,” Draco said finally. “Typically I would escort you to your dorm but that comes with the chance of encountering Weasley which I am not very keen on doing. But I do wish you good luck on getting back.”
Harry watched as Draco stood from the bed and walked over to his desk. Draco began to pack up their maths books and Harry thought about how he didn't want to leave. He knew the sun was setting and Blaise would be back soon but Draco was nice to talk to, even if they hadn't talked about much more than arithmetic and his training. Harry wanted to know so much more about Draco and he wanted Draco to know him.
“I think we should stay together until after dinner,” Harry said quickly. He sat up properly this time. “Just to make sure I'm well enough to eat.”
Draco raised a brow, amusement decorating his face once again. “You really must get better at lying,” he said. “But yes, perhaps it would be best to keep an eye on you a bit longer. Bruises are a very serious ailment.”
Harry might have been embarrassed if he wasn't too busy biting his lip in an unsuccessful effort to hide his grin.