Routine
Naturally Potter, the stubborn git, turned the seekers matches into a morning routine and always dragged Draco with him.
Not that Draco was complaining, mind you. He loved quidditch. And flying without the pressure of the expectations of whole Slytherin house on his shoulders let him fly freely.
In the beginning he was wary. Potter didn’t have any reason to actually play with Draco. He could just say it in the Great Hall to pretend they were on friendly terms. But Potter wouldn’t be Potter if he were to back down on a self-induced challenge.
Now, Draco couldn’t deny that he was genuinely enjoying himself. He was even excited every morning Gryffindor’s Golden Boy would show up to escort him to the pitch. Potter and he were an even match, who would have thought. Draco was self-aware enough to admit that Potter had more talent than him. So, the first time Draco caught the snitch before Potter could surprised him so much he nearly fell off his broom. But it kept happening again and again.
The Gryffindor was a good sport, too, because he didn’t brag about capturing the snitch and wasn’t angry when Draco caught the golden ball. Potter was rather smiling broadly and seemed to genuinely just enjoy the flying. So, Draco himself didn’t mind that much when he lost to Potter.
And when Draco caught himself being infected by Potter’s smile or admiring his lean form on the broom, nobody had to know.
Well, nobody but Blaise and Pansy. Obviously, Draco needed to vent his very important observations about Potter. He was going to marry the guy, after all. It’s only natural to share every new discovery and analyse it down to its smallest detail with your best friends.
“I tell you his eye colour is nothing like a fresh pickled toad. How the female Weasel came to that comparison is beyond me. It’s a completely different shade! Honestly, it’s like she is colourblind. Everybody could tell his eyes sparkle in the sun like emeralds. And the shade always changes depending on the light, obviously. Just this morning Potter’s eyes were a very light grass green while they are more a deep, rich forest green in the Potions classroom. Maybe I should show the Weaslette an emerald and a toad, and hold both next to Potter's face, so the poor girl may learn the difference.”
Draco rambled on and on in the Slytherin common room while Pansy groaned and thudded her head repeatedly against the table she was trying to do her homework on. In the last hour or so she only wrote three sentences.
“If you weren’t my best friend and had to hear my moaning about Blaise before we got together, I would kill you.” Pansy lifted her head briefly to throw a murderous glare in Draco’s direction and let her head thump onto the table again.
Thankfully Blaise chose that moment to enter the common room. Cradling Pansy’s face in his hands he cooed “Oh, darling, my sweet, is the bad bad Draco torturing you again with his swooning over Potter?”
Pansy pulled her mouth into a pout and nodded. “I beg you, my hero, rescue me from that monster!” And with that she fake fainted into Blaise’ waiting arms. Both fell laughing onto the ground while Draco just rolled his eyes.
Positioning themselves on the chairs again, Blaise asked “What did I miss?”
“Oh, nothing much, dear. Just me failing to get any homework done because our Slytherin Ice Prince is melting away for a certain ‘emerald eyed’ Gryffindor. You know, the usual.” Pansy sighed deeply, ignoring Dracos huffed “Tch”.
“Yeah…so he hasn’t admitted it yet?” Blaise asked, rubbing his girlfriend’s arms gently.
“Nope”, Pansy said, popping the p.
Frowning Draco asked, “Admitted what?”
“I honestly can’t believe he hasn’t realized it. He is so obvious about it.” Blaise sighed exasperated.
“Realized what?” Draco’s frown deepened.
Pansy sighed, too. “Tell me about it. He is so smart, but if it comes to love he knows nothing.”
Draco spluttered. “L–lo–love? You think I’m in love? With whom?”
Blaise gave Draco an incredulous look. “Potter, you dunderhead.”
Draco coughed violently and then choked out “I’m not in love with Potter! I– okay, I admit he’s nice to look at and less of a self-righteous git now, but I certainly do not fancy him!”
“Oh, darling. Potter is all you talk about. It was fun when we plotted something to prank him with, but now it’s just…” Pansy fluttered her eyelashes and pitched her voice very high. “Oh, and you wouldn’t believe what I saw while flying today. There was this light wind that blew Potter's hair out of his face. By the way, does he ever brush his hair? It looks utterly ridiculous, so wild. I bet it is soft.”
“My voice is not that high!” Draco screeched, very low pitched and manly, thank you. “And seeing Potter’s scar was a very impotant event! It’s unfair, really. How can someone have a fucking scar in the face and still look that damn handsome? Nobody else would look sexy with a bloody lightning bolt and –“
Draco's eyes widened in horror. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” he whispered and glanced to his friends.
Blaise nodded sympatically, Pansy just gave him a smug smile.
“But I – Just last week, I – That can’t – “ Draco tried frantically to search his memories of a conversation he held with his friends without mentioning Potter and was overcome instead of images of Potter, his stupid broomstick, his stupid scar, his stupid smile.
“Merlin, no” Draco gasped, realization dawning. “I fancy Potter!”
“Duh.” Pansy patted Dracos hand. “Now, that you finally realized your crush on your fiancé, can I finish this damn essay? You know what, let me see yours, Draco.” Pansy snatched his bag, searching for the essay while Draco sat in shock-induced paralysis.