Quidditch
Today was the day : the first Quidditch game of the year, Serpents against Lions. Anticipation was at its peak, as students from all houses strolled around the tables of the Great Hall, exchanging bets and predictions. There hadn't been any matches the previous year and McGonagall made it a point of honour to reinstall the competition as fast as she could. It was a great way to consolidate the peace between houses, bringing the familiar glee to students and professors alike.
Yet, a dark-haired boy was feeling deeply miserable, kicking himself for even agreeing to this craziness.
Harry was regretting every decision he made in his life at this point. His stomach hurt badly and the simple idea of playing in a few hours brought nausea right to his nostrils. The queasy boy was seated at the Gryffindors’ table, but couldn’t for the life of him swallow something.
It wasn’t flying on his broom that uneased him, rather being the Captain and losing. He knew all eyes were going to be on him. Not on Harry, but on the Chosen One, the legendary wizard who had saved the world. He hated that, hated the sentiment of being scrutinised, each of his actions dissected and talked about. Just yesterday, the papers had written three pages of futile information on him. It was fucking overwhelming.
Merlin, why did he agree to take back his position? Because despite all that, you still love Quidditch above almost everything else, a little voice was whispering, nagging in the back of his mind. It was true, flying was his drug. Around him, joy and excitement were the main emotions, bubbling and nearly bursting in each corner of the Great Hall. No matter what, Quidditch had and will always be an excellent way to unite the whole population of the castle.
The red and gold team had stayed up till late last night, reviewing a final time the general strategy and the specifics for each player. Harry was relieved to be assisted by his best friend and Ginny in this arduous task. He wanted to believe they could do it, they could win the cup and leave Hogwarts on this bittersweet memory, this legacy. But that hope, blossoming in his chest every time he dreamt about it, didn’t prevent him from feeling like proper shit, as always on the morning of a match, especially the first one.
At Harry’s right, Ron was overjoyed, almost feverish, gobbling down an excessive amount of food while Hermione was watching him, appalled at the sight. She turned her face away from the massacre, rolling her eyes and smiled encouragingly. She motioned for Harry to take a toast in the basket in front of him. However, the poor boy’s stomach churned, his face growing pale by the second.
Hermione sighed loudly, interrupting Ron’s feast. “Harry, would you, please, eat something?” She asked, brows furrowed by worry. “You’re not going to last long on your broom if you go play with an empty stomach!”
Harry shook his head, groaning and tightly encircling his belly. “No, Mione, I can’t. If I eat even one toast, I’ll regurgitate it just after.”
“We wouldn’t want our Capitan to be sick, now would we, Mione?” Ron interjected, wiping his fingers hastily. “Let him be.”
Harry’s face paled even more, as he whined lowly. “Oh Merlin, Captain! Why did I agree to be the bloody Captain?”
But his friends didn’t hear him or didn’t care to respond, for they were now arguing on Harry’s behalf, as to what was better for him. A common thread at the Gryffindors’ table. People knew better than to interrupt, so they carried on eating their breakfast, ignoring the two teenagers childishly picking on each other. Ginny walked by and patted the brunet’s head empathically, before taking her seat not far from them (but far enough to eat in total tranquillity, clever girl).
“Ron, I don’t care whether he is the captain or sick, he will eat at least something before going out there!”
“Captain…” Harry whimpered, his body slumped over the table, face buried in his arms.
“But, Hermione! He has to be in the most optimal condition for us to win! It’s our first game of the season, we can’t lose!”
“Lose…” The distraught boy was now pulling harshly on some strands of his unruly hair. His friends were too engrossed in their fight to notice, Ron’s ears red with indignation and Hermione’s nose scrunched up in outrage.
“To hell with your ridiculous game! I won’t risk the health of our best friend again. Am I clear, Ronald?” The witch shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the redhead.
“And we need to win the Quidditch Cup this year, Hermione!” He countered back, arms crossed. “Slytherin is our strongest enemy so far, isn’t it Harry?”
“But Harry has decided to be reasonable this year, right Harry?”
Silence was their sole response. Disconcerted by the lack of reaction, they whirled around at the exact same time, only to be faced with a slouched figure, emitting incoherent mutters.
“Harry??” They called out together, approaching slowly the gloomy form.
Suddenly, the form straightened up swiftly, knocking Ron’s forehead in the process. Between cries of pain and concerned noises, Harry looked at his best friends straight in the eyes, glaring daggers at them.
“Please stop talking.” He growled. “I’m begging you to shut up or I’ll neither eat nor go to this fucking game.”
He didn’t want to add a headache to his nausea, thank you very much.
“But…’
“Shut up, Ron.”
That quieted instantly the redhead, who grimaced sheepishly along with Hermione. He was going to apologise in spite of the warning, when an amused voice resonated behind them.
“Is everything okay here?” Draco asked, eyes gleaming with mirth. It was fun to watch the famous and honourable Golden Trio bicker endlessly like littles kids.
“Why so much violence in the morning?” Theo pondered, appearing next to his classmate, eyebrow raised. He was yawning and rubbing his eyes, still sleepy.
The innocent but accurate question seemed to revive the three stunned students.
“Draco! Theo! Please save me from these two pigheaded nightmares!” Harry implored them, holding out his hands in a pleading act.
“Oi! We’re not that much of a burden, moron.” Ron huffed as he made room for the newcomers.
“Yes, you are.” Draco stated, sitting beside him and grabbing a teapot.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes…”
They continued their never-ending squabble, while Theo plopped down next to Hermione. He gratefully accepted the cup his doting friend handed him and silently observed the scene unravel. As for Harry, he was still holding his stomach and cursing the entire universe under his breath.
“Pff, they are hopeless.” Hermione commented, her tone (fondly) annoyed. She focused her attention on the boy beside her and nudged him lightly. ”Hey Theo, I didn’t think you would come to the game with all the noises and the crowd.”
It was a fair remark, the Slytherin being the nervous mess that he was, especially with events like the one today.
“Drac’ convinced me to go watch at least one Quidditch match before leaving Hogwarts. Now I have friends to cheer for, so we’ll see how it goes.” He replied, shrugging.
When Theo had confessed he’d never once attended a Quidditch game, it was like he had somehow personally insulted his friend and his entire family line. The offence plastered on Draco’s face would have been funny if it hadn’t quickly devolved into a devilish grin. Then, his friend had spent the whole evening harassing and pestering him, insisting Theo had to come. The exhausted boy had finally agreed to go, only to permanently shut him up. He wasn’t going to sacrifice the tiny bit of sleep he was able to have, for Merlin’s sake!
Only, what Theo didn’t know (fortunately for his sanity), was that Draco, being the sneaky Slytherin he was, had insisted this much for a good reason. Of course, he wanted his friend to experience once in his lifetime the feeling of ecstasy that a great Quidditch game could provide. But, furthermore, if bringing Theo meant a very distracted Harry, well, it was always a bonus for the green and silver team.
“Thanks Theo, I’m glad you’ll be there.” Said Harry beamed, picking himself up from the table. “ I’m sure you’ll bring me luck - his eyes widened and he hastily added - and to all of us, of course.”
“Of course.” Hermione repeated, smirking and teasing the reddening wizard, unbeknownst to Theo’s usual oblivious self.
He was peacefully finishing his breakfast, when Ron, who had seemingly won the daily Weasley-Malfoy contest (if retorting endlessly “yes”, “no”, counted as an official contest), called for his attention.
“Wait, Theo, did I really hear you say you’ve never been at a Quidditch match before?” The redhead enquired, in a loud whisper, louder than necessary. The same offence as Draco took possession of his freckled face.
Theo felt all eyes on him and squirmed awkwardly on the bench. “Hum, yes?”
“Merlin’s beard, it’s a tragedy!” Ron yelled, gaping and gasping dramatically.
Because of that, a lot more people stared at their little group, making Theo even more flustered. He honestly wanted to hide under the table. Hermione (his saviour) reprimanded Ron for his loudness, as she tried to soothe her petrified friend. All the while, Draco and Harry glowered at the unwanted ogling (who was more effective, we’ll let you guess). Resuming the conversation, the gracious blond nodded complaisantly.
“That’s what I said.” A smirk curled his mouth.” I’m a bit hurt you’ve never once gone to see and support me in the past years, bad friend.”
“Would it have been worth it?” Theo mumbled, looking down at his plate.
“No.” Hermione confirmed, unequivocal certitude shining through her tone. “There are clearly better ways to spend time.”
Her resolute claim made everyone snort. It wasn’t a secret she herself wasn’t a Quidditch fan. Her dedication to attend was only to support her friends, which Theo found very admirable.
“Hermione! That’s treason!” Ron jokingly scolded her, provoking laughter even more.
Once they calmed down, Harry, green eyes glinting with mischief, stated slyly : “Well, you missed me humiliating Draco’s miserable ass.”
“Hey, now! It’s not true Potter!”
“Yes it is. He always beats the shit out of you in Quidditch. Accept it, Blondie.”
“Go die in that corner in silence, Ronnie.”
“I’ll gladly do it, with how much this conversation is decreasing my intellectual quotient.” Hermione grumbled underneath her breath. It was so low that only Theo heard it, causing him to stifle a giggle.
Witnessing the entertaining chaos all round him, the quiet boy fully smiled. “Maybe I did miss something…”
Opposite from him, Harry responded with a brief nod and a grin of his own. He looked wickedly handsome, Theo found himself thinking involuntarily. Huh? Wait, what?
“Traitor! Come with me, I need to reset your Slytherin priorities.”
Draco’s exclamation brought him back to reality, preventing him from examining that strange thought in more detail. He compliantly followed his friend’s action, raising himself from the Gryffindor table (weird to think now he had sometimes breakfast there). Draco grabbed his arm, dragging him in his steps.
“Don’t listen to him, Theo!” He heard Ron shouting behind them.
They arrived at the huge wooden doors, Hermione halting their course for an instant. She had followed them, wanting to check a book in the Library before departing for the game.
“I guess I’ll see you in the bleachers.” She announced, waving them goodbye. “I’ll be the desperate one. Hard to miss.”
“We’ll see you there, then.” Draco nodded, while Theo was letting himself be guided. He didn't know what sort of preparation they had to do before a Quidditch match, or anything else, really.
“Good luck to you two, hateful Gryffindors!” Draco shouted in the direction of the two players, still at the table. It appeared that Ron’s answer came with a pretty distinct finger, whereas Harry abruptly left the table and jogged hurriedly towards them.
“Wait Theo!” He stopped himself in front of them (or rather him, as the blond had already exited the hall), exhaling and blowing on his dishevelled hair.
“Yes?” The shorter wizard enquired, curious.
Harry opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but quickly shut it. He looked uncertain, which was a bit surprising. The frustrated boy groaned and finally spoke, rubbing his neck.
“I’m really happy you’re coming, you know.” He said, with a bashful smile. It was like Harry tried to contain it, restrain the lift of his lips, in vain.
Theo gulped, his throat tightening. Previous thoughts came back in a whirlwind, dizzying his mind. How had he never noticed the small scar on Harry’s left cheekbone? Or how his jaw clenched and unclenched in a very fascinating movement? How his lips were captivating when he smiled, but hypnotic when he smirked?
What the fuck?
“O-okay.” He managed to stammer, blushing both at his thoughts and his friend’s piercing eyes. Was he hallucinating or a knowing glint had briefly emerged for just a second?
The bashful smile slowly turned in a sly grin (Not that Theo was entirely focused on Harry’s lips, of course. He noticed, that’s all). “Here, take this.” Harry handed him a piece of cloth.“It’s my favourite scarf. That way you can support Slytherin and Gryffindor, without provoking another war.”
Theo accepted it without any words, not trusting his voice at the moment. His brain was a mess and the proximity with the smirking boy didn’t help. He put the scarf around his neck, appreciating the soft fabric against his skin. Suddenly, Harry tilted forward, his face only a few centimetres away from Theo’s. He could feel his breath caressing his nose. His whole body felt weirdly hot and tingly. A part of him wanted to shorten the distance even more.
“Plus, I’ll know where to find you.” The low voice murmured in his ear, blowing softly, making Theo shiver.
Theo twirled his head around, gasping, but Harry had already pulled away. He only winked at him, wicked grin still on his lips. “See you in an hour!” The smug boy told him above his shoulder, leaving. “I’ll be the one on the broom. Winning.”
Theo was left alone in front of the doors, strained breathing and cheeks burning. “Y-yeah…”
What had just happened ? Did he- Did he just…
Meanwhile, Harry returned to the table, feeling very proud of himself. He was immensely pleased with the effect he seemed to have on Theo.
“I think I’ll have that toast now.” He announced to his best friend, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
“Merlin, even more sexual tension. Great..” Ron groaned, giving him a toast nonetheless.
They were walking along the deserted corridors, when Draco, tired of the odd silence, finally interrogated the flushed face.
“Alright, Theo?”
The quiet boy sighed, touching his cheeks. “I… I don’t know.” His mind was still a mess, ready to implode. He couldn't even articulate what was going on inside of him. For the first time in his life, he was utterly lost. All thanks to Harry Potter.
“Is it Harry's scarf around your neck?” Draco asked, changing the subject.
“Yes.”
The blond shook his head with a groan. “Wow, piss on him to mark your territory, it’ll be better. Pff, possessive brute.” He muttered inaudibly, mainly for himself.
“What did you say?”
“Oh, nothing. Only that it was very nice of him to lend it to you. It’ll be windy outside.” They arrived in front of the pear painting. “Come, we need to prepare you properly for your first Quidditch game. We’re making history here!”
“I truly don’t know how you rope me into this…” Theo pondered thoughtfully, entering their dormitory.
“Bribery and sweet talking, honey. My specialty.” Draco joked, winking (this one didn’t provoke any reaction in Theo’s body or mind, bizarrely).
“You should definitely work for the Ministry. You’ll do wonders with your specialty.”
His friend scoffed. “Hah. Be realist, Theo. Nobody wants an ex-Death Eater there. Not that I blame them.”
“But you could see yourself working there, no?”
“Perhaps… I- I think it would be too much similar to my father for me to feel fine with it.”
Theo slowly nodded, sitting down on his bed. “Yeah, I understand. I would rather be Avada Kedavra-ed than return to the Nott Manor and manage it like my father.”
“Lucky we don’t have to.”
“To be honest, I see you more as either a Potion Master or a Magizoologist.” Theo stated, watching his roommate rummaging through his wardrobe. A victorious cry escaped him when he finally found what he was searching for. A green sweater with a serpent adorning the front.
“Hmm, I could picture that easily.” Draco replied, grabbing his wand. “And for you either a Runes Master or an Unspeakable.”
The wizard elegantly traced an intricate pattern on the sweater with his wand, faintly murmuring something. The animal suddenly became alive, hissing and sliding on the jumper.
“I’d have to survive today for that…” Theo complained, his fingers unconsciously toying with the scarf around his neck. It had Harry's smell.
“Oh, don’t be so glum, it’ll be fun!”
The brunet frowned. “You using the word fun with a genuine smile, is giving me the creeps.”
“Why do I even bother?”
“Because you looooove me.” Theo mocked him, sticking his tongue out. He wanted to annoy him as much as Draco had pestered him last night. Childish maybe, but worth it definitely!
“That I do.” His friend sighed, but smiled softly. “Come here, dickhead. We have to make a proper Slytherin out of you.”
The Gryffindor’s locker room was booming with chatter and laughter. The players were scattered all over the room, waiting impatiently for the correct time to finally rush onto the pitch. A comforting view for Harry, who was leaning against the wall, appreciating the lighthearted and busy environment. There wasn’t a better sensation than the burst of this vibrant energy, threatening to break free at any moment, and shatter every obstacle in its path. He could feel it, slowly but surely taking control of each muscle, his blood pumping faster and faster, his head spinning, asking, begging to explode. A hand on his shoulder made him jump, his quickening breath exhaling sharply.
“You’ll have to make a speech, you know.” Ron, dressed in his Keeper uniform, was inspecting him. He seemed as eager as Harry, his limbs fidgeting restlessly.
“I know.” The captain groaned, grazing his jaw. There was no doubt he loved Quidditch, his team and the rush of adrenalin that came with flying, but a speech? Nop, it wasn’t his forte. “Don’t you want to do it? Or Ginny?”
Ron sniggered at the idea of Ginny motivating them. She would insult them for sure!
“Nop. You are our dear and beloved Captain. It’s our first match of the season and the team needs the usual pep talk.”
“Dear and beloved, huh?” Harry echoed, snorting. Of course, his best friend would lure him with compliments.
“Precious, treasured even.” Ron added, exaggerating the pronunciation and smiling broadly.
Harry elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up, grinning nonetheless. You could always count on the redhead to annihilate the severity of the moment. Harry was grateful for that, to have him always at his side, backing him up. He glanced around once again, observing the dynamic of the room, the cheerful expression mirroring on everyone’s face.
“We do have an exceptional fucking team this year, don’t we…” He declared, proud of his players.
Ron grasped his arm, the same pride reflected in his eyes. “That we do. Go ahead, Captain, they’re waiting for you.”
“For us.” Harry corrected him, before heading to the centre of the room.
He cleared his throat loudly, demanding the attention of everyone. They all stopped talking, a respectful silence floating through the air. It was a bit jarring, in comparison with the previous brouhaha. Every eyes, shining with anticipation, was concentrated on him, their brave and admirable captain. Harry inhaled deeply and began.
“So… You all know why we are here for today.” He looked around, scrutinising each teenager dressed in the standard gold and red uniform. Before he could continue, responses to a question he didn’t really ask fused from every side.
“To win the competition!”
“To crush our opponents!”
“To make the Slytherins miserable!”
That last sentence, yelled by one of the Beaters, made everyone cackled. It wasn’t untrue anyway. Harry shook his head in false despair, exchanging an amused glance with his best friend. Sometimes, he really felt like a paternal figure towards this team of amazing players and people.
“Yes, yes, all of that, but most importantly…” He tried to resume, but was interrupted again.
“To unite Hogwarts and bring happiness to the students.” Ron shouted across the locker room, teasing him.
“And enjoy ourselves on the broom!” His sister completed with a final tone, smirking.
Everybody cheered loudly at her words, deafening hollers reverberating against the walls, shaking the room. When they calmed down, laughing at Harry’s exasperated face, he jokingly glowered at them.
“Why do I even bother to make a speech if you keep interrupting me?” He asked, more to himself than to the thundering group.
“Well, the pleasure of interrupting you is quite satisfying.” Ginny provided kindly.
Harry scoffed, passing a hand in his untamed hair. “Fuck all of you and let’s go win this goddamn match!”
“YEAH!”
Not long after these crucial words, they all gathered in close ranks in front of the outside door, awaiting the usual call of their name. Harry and Ron placed themselves last, quietly picking up their conversation again.
“No more stress?” The redhead questioned, his gaze assessing his friend’s external state.
“I’m good.” Harry assured him. “It is always my stomach aching in the morning and your…”
“... and my limbs fidgeting in the last hour.”
They chuckled together. “We haven’t changed much.” The brunet reflected out loud, remembering all the previous times they had said this sentence in the past.
“Well…” Ron drawled. “You do have your crush right outside, waiting for you, without taking into account the fact that it is his first Quidditch game ever.”
“You really know how to reassure me, don’t you Ron.”
“Anytimes, mate.”
“You weren’t so much better when it was Hermione.” Harry countered shrewdly.
“Ugh, don’t remind me.”
“Stop talking about Theo and I will.”
Ron snorted, disbelief spreading on his freckled face. “You’re always talking about him, why should we stop now?”
After a beat of heavy silence, Harry answered, his voice small and serious. “Because I want to impress him, not disappoint him.”
Recognizing the significance of these words, Ron patted his back encouragingly. “Don’t worry, he’ll be dazzled. There is no one more skilled on a broom than you.”
“That’s my kind of encouragement.”
They smiled at each other, as a loud voice calling their names outside signalled them it was now time to go and win.
“Did we really have to paint those things on our cheeks?” Theo grumbled, as his hands itched to scrub his face. Draco had drawn green and silver lines on them, in honour of their house’s colours.
They were dashing through the crowd of students, all gathered in the bleachers. Draco was making his way through, bumping shoulders and shooting quick apologies, while Theo scrambled on his feet, trying not to lose him. It wasn’t his fault he was of a short stature! They had previously spotted Hermione on one of the higher benches, looking miserable like she said. Fortunately, she had done her duty, for a free space, wide enough to squeeze two people, surrounded her.
“Well, you decided to betray your own house by wearing this filthy red scarf, so yes.” Draco retorted, shoving someone aside and extending his hand to help Theo escalate these infuriating huge steps.
“Hate you.” He took the offered hand nonetheless, still sulking. Everything was a bit too noisy and the feeling of another body pressed against his own was going to suffocate him soon enough.
“Come on, hurry! We’re going to be late and our seats will be taken.” Draco berated him, still holding his hand, to avoid Theo falling and being murdered by someone else’s feet. Not a very recommendable death.
“You’re too enthusiastic for me. Anyway, I'm pretty sure Hermione is guarding our seats and we both know nobody would ever dare to cross her. Especially when she has this I-am-your worst-nightmare-incarnated sort of face.”
“That is… true.” Draco reckoned with a little smile.
Finally, they arrived at the right level and were able to rapidly join the ferocious witch, who growled when she saw them.
“Finally! I thought one of you was stuck in the toilet or something…”
“Eloquent.” Draco commented, sitting down. Theo, located right between them, sighed helplessly.
“I try my best.” Hermione replied instantly with a sweet, but vicious voice.
No, that wouldn’t do! They were going to verbally rip each other out again and Theo was stuck at crossfires, without the possibility of an escape in direct sight. He didn’t want to die today, thank you very much. As if it wasn’t enough that he had come to this fucking already!
“Please, don’t go on a bickering tangent for the next forty minutes. I will not survive, if so.” He warned them, his hands keeping a safe gap between them. Well, the warning sounded more like the supplication of a condemned man, but what else could he do?
“I’m sorry Theo.” Hermione apologised immediately, her menacing posture deflating. “Are you feeling okay? Do you want us to move to a less crowded area?”
“I’m good for now. It’s just… there’s a lot of people.”
“Take my hand at any time if you need to ground yourself.” Draco suggested to him, with a reassuring smile.
“I have water and earplugs, in case it becomes too much.” Hermione added, jiggling the bag on her knees.
“Thank you. Both of you. I don’t know what I would do without you.” Theo breathed out, closing his eyes for a moment of calm.
“Probably have a panic attack.” Draco’s voice stated graciously.
“Don’t say that, idiot! He’s here because of you, when he would probably be safe doing something more interesting, if it weren’t for your obstinate ass.”
“How dare you question my ass?”
“Here it comes…” Theo murmured, desperate, still lulled by the secure darkness of his closed eyes. He didn’t even need to open them to know what was happening. Why? Why had he given into Draco’s pleas? Fuck, sleep wasn’t worth this torment!
“Is it really the only word you caught?”
“Well it was the last one.”
“So? Are you that much of a stupid oaf?”
“It’s better than being a horrendous pest!”
A loud voice reverberated all around the Quidditch pitch, making Theo open his eyes begrudgingly. He glanced at the grassy ground, curiosity overpowering his self-preservation instinct.
“Stop flirting and look at the pitch, they’re arriving.” He informed them, intent on finding Harry and Ron’s silhouettes. From his point of view, the bunch of vague shapes bursting onto the pitch looked all the same, apart from the distinct colours of their uniforms. They looked like little toys or dolls.
“We weren’t…”
“Oh, yes, I see them!” Hermione yelled with excitement, as Draco glared at her (because she was speaking or because she wasn’t, not to him, that was only for him to know). The roar of the student’s screams at the players’ arrival drowned any other potential words.
Merlin, it was going to be terribly long.
The match had eventually begun, along with the crowd’s clamorous reactions at any tiny movement a player made. It was a pretty weird experience. Theo swore the bleachers shook violently from top to bottom every time they howled like animals. He was surrounded by crazy people, screaming bloody murder, chanting like fanatics. He wasn’t scared per se, just a tad… frightened. It seemed sports, Quidditch especially, revealed people’s true personality, at its very core.
Theo wasn’t even following the scores at this point, only tracking attentively the brooms’ swift and fluid motions. It was a beautiful spectacle, displaying the great talent of the players. Theo thought it looked like a dance, a dangerous and blistering dance in the air. He had easily spotted the red-headed silhouette, remaining in the same place, circling around his three goals like a guard dog. Apparently, Ron was a pretty good Keeper, if he stuck to the joyous exclamations and frustrated cries. Finding Harry had been more complicated, the Captain and Seeker flying above the rest of the players in blurry movements, seemingly searching for the Golden Snitch and surveying the game at the same time. But once he did, Theo hadn’t been able to look away, gripping the comforting scarf every time he moved.
Did people realise how dangerous this sport was? For fuck’s sake, Theo couldn’t imagine what would happen if one of them just simply fell off his broom. With this height and speed, they would smash against the ground so hard, it would probably end with some bloody pulp.
Thirty minutes had gone by now (not that Theo was counting, of course), Hermione and Draco’s cheers and insults heckling his ears. He was most likely the only person still sitting, even the professors were hopping up and down. From what he could understand (and trust him, it was difficult), Gryffindor was leading the score. Suddenly, Harry’s broom accelerated at a frightening speed, towards a precise point on the pitch, under the spectators’ astounded eyes. He was going right for the ground! Harry was descending sharply, in a spiral fashion, his whole body stretched out in a vertical line. One of his hands had even left the firm hold he maintained on his broom.
Fear instantly submerged Theo, his breath punched out of him by the possibility of an impending collision. What the hell was he doing? He was going to crash! His heartbeat pounding in his ears, blocking every other noise in the background, Theo watched with horror his friend’s silhouette hit head-on the fucking ground in a loud and hauting bang. His heart skipped a beat, his mouth and eyes widening in utter shock.
A deathlike silence took possession of the Quidditch pitch, nobody moving, everyone holding their breath. Even the other players were still and silent in the air. There was only the curled up figure of Harry’s lifeless body laying on the ground.
But then… then an arm, slowly, weakly, rose, overcome by tremors. A golden flutter escaped from the tight fist, flying away, unaffected by the world stupor.
And all hell broke loose.
Harry sluggishly woke up from his unconscious state, a rush of alarmed thoughts overwhelming his head precipitately. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know where he was, his sense of smell and memories were thankfully intact. The first thing he noticed was the harsh and throbbing pain in his right shoulder, piercing through his body. He couldn’t move (not that he wanted to, with all the burning ache), but he could feel the smoothness of the Hospital Wing’s bedsheets under his hands. Proof that he had been here too many times!
The sore boy fluttered his eyes open, then shut them immediately, the brightness of the day assaulting him. Once he got used to it, he finally studied his surroundings : he was indeed in the infirmary, laying down in a bed, white curtains in his horizon. At his sides, he noted the presence of three hunched figures.
“Harry!” Hermione’s shrill voice resonated at his left, slaughtering his brain.
“You’re alright, mate?” Ron’s worried voice boomed at his right, not helping with the sharp pain.
After a few pathetic attempts, Harry managed to lift up his torso, the strong hands of Ron helping him rest against the headboard. From his new position, he could clearly see the three concerned faces of his friends, encircling his bed. Harry tried to smile, but could only wince in pain. His throat, raw and dry, burnt. Draco, understanding the issue first, placed a glass of water to his mouth and aided him in drinking it. Once he finished, relieved from the burning in his throat, Harry coughed and articulated in a hoarse voice:
“Hi…”
That seemed to do the trick, as Hermione’s face lightened up in solace and both Ron and Draco lightly chortled. Harry was fully smiling now, ignoring the pain and dizziness, only wanting to reassure his friends. Luckily, he wasn’t dead yet! Glancing around, he became acutely aware that someone was missing.
“Don’t worry, guys, I’m good. You’re not getting rid of me any time soon!” He joked, scanning his injuries. “Just a few cuts and bruises, and probably a dislocated shoulder.”
He wanted to ask, but Hermione spoke before he could voice anything.
“Oh, Harry!” She cried out, almost sobbing. “You were coming down so fast, it was terrifying! I really thought you were dead for a second.”
Shuddering, she sat down next to him on the bed, gripping tightly his hand, like she was afraid he would suddenly vanish. The two other guys were sitting on some chairs, as near to the bed as they could, their knees brushing with the edge.
“Fortunately for us, Flitwick was quick enough to materialise some sort of mat, so you wouldn’t squash on the ground.” Draco sighed, his tense demeanour slowly loosening up.
“And you caught the Golden snitch with one fucking swift move too! You’re a bloody legend, Harry.” Ron proclaimed with a huge grin, a mix of pride and relief illuminating his eyes.
“A legend that almost died today, Ron!” Hermione chastised her friend with a furious expression.
“ Almost being the key word here, Hermione.”
“Am not dead yet, guys.” Harry tried to say, in vain. As usual, the two were already lecturing each other. Happiness blossomed in his chest at the familiar, soothing the pain.
“What are in those potions by the way?” Draco asked, diverting his attention. The graceful boy was intensely inspecting the vials and their content, stacked on the bedside table.
Harry grimaced, scrunching up his face to convey his ignorance. Merlin, he couldn’t even shrug anymore!
“I should check if there are proper ones.” The blond stated, beginning to uncap one of the recipients.
“No you won’t, Mister Malfoy.” A thunderous voice refuted him, surprising everyone. Madam Pomfrey, the matron of Hogwarts, was standing a few steps away from Harry’s bed, hands on her hips and brows furrowed. She promptly approached the reckless player, examining him carefully.
“Madam Pomfrey! Is Harry okay?” Hermione enquired, still worried about her friend.
“I am.” The patient groaned, but everyone ignored him, focused on the nurse.
“He will be, once he takes those potions.” She assured them, removing the vials from Draco’s hands, swatting him away.
“You’re sure it’s the right dosage?”
“Mister Malfoy, are you seriously doubting my competence in healing an injured student?” The witch stared at him, unimpressed, one eyebrow raised, waiting for the answer.
The wizard gulped and smiled tentatively. “No, absolutely not, Madam. I was only looking at the potions.”
“Hmm. You’re not very convincing.” She handed another glass to her patient, filled with a muddy-looking liquid. “Here, Mister Potter, drink those and you’ll be back on your feet tomorrow, like nothing happened.”
Harry did as he was told, finally able to move his left hand. Only a few seconds after, he fell against his pillow, completely asleep, snoring soundly. He lost consciousness on a last thought, filled with confusion and interrogation.
“Wow, that’s pretty effective.” Ron commented, while they all watched Harry’s face relaxed, pain forgotten.
“Mister Potter will stay for the night, he needs the rest. I induced an immediate state of sleep for a better absorption of the other potions.” The nurse announced to the rest of the students. “I recommend you all to come back tomorrow morning.”
“Of course, thank you Madam Pomfrey.” The nurse nodded and gave them one of her rare smiles, before returning to her office. “Come on guys, we should go.” Hermione urged her friends, whispering.
“Yep, let’s go eat, I’m famished.” Ron agreed, getting up and stretching his tired limbs. He had played a Quidditch game only an hour ago, so hunger and exhaustion were not far from wiping him out.
“You’re always hungry, Ronald.” Hermione teased him, holding his arm to support the redhead.
“That I can agree on.” Draco hummed. He was going to follow the wobbly duo and exit Harry’s space, when he abruptly halted in his steps and turned his face towards the dark corner of the room. “Hey, Theo, you coming?”
Suddenly, Theo’s face came to light, as he leaned forward, shadows no longer hiding him. He was still silently staring at Harry’s asleep form, when he answered.
“No. I’ll- I’ll stay for a while.”
An air of understanding flickered an instant on the blond’s face. “Okay, see you soon.” He murmured gently.
He got out of the Hospital Wing, leaving a quiet boy to himself, lost in his contemplation.
“Hmmmm.” Harry was waking up again, but this time in a much better state than previously.
“Fuck the light hurt.” He mumbled, opening his eyes. His shoulder wasn’t hurting so badly anymore. From the bright aspect of the room, he correctly deduced it was still the same day.
Propping effortlessly his back up against the bedhead, he glanced around. Not many changes, except for a new silhouette in his immediate vicinity.
“Theo? Is that you?” He asked quietly, his words resonating sterner than intended in the silent room. He had fallen asleep wondering where his friend could be, but now that he was finally here, a hint of reproach was lurking in the background.
Theo didn’t respond, only stared back, his blue eyes almost black, darkened by an unidentified emotion. He was seated next to him, arms crossed, demeanour totally closed off. Traces of green paint were smeared all across his cheeks, his hair completely dishevelled by repeatedly running his nervous fingers through it. His breathing was the only concrete proof he wasn’t a figment of Harry’s imagination.
“Theo, are you alright?” He insisted, a bit confused by the lack of reaction.
The immobile boy finally moved, exhaling deeply. His face was blank, as were his eyes, clouded by an indecipherable storm.
“Are you joking right now?” His voice was emotionless, cold even. “If I am alright? I should be the one asking you that question.” The tone was sharp, cutting, syllables tasting acerbic on his tongue.
Harry’s green eyes opened wide, not expecting those biting words. “Wow, sorry! Didn’t want to make you mad. I was just asking, that’s all.”
“That’s all…” Theo repeated incredulously, scoffing. “What in the flying fuck passed through your head, exactly?” He almost yelled at the bewildered patient, who blinked in disbelief (it wasn’t every day the very quiet Slytherin raised his voice like that).
“Flying, precisely.” Harry grinned, eyebrows raised.
“Don’t be sarcastic now, Harry!” Theo snapped through gritted teeth.
“Sorry to disappoint.” He chuckled, really liking this irate version of Theo.
The curly-haired boy was dazzlingly charming with his fuming expression and blazing eyes. He was puffing, his sharpened cheekbones rosy because of the emotion. On his lap, his knuckles were whitening, as he dug his nails into the soft skin of his palms, in order to restrain himself from punching this imbecile.
“Yes, you disappointed me. You could have died, dumbass! I saw you fall onto the ground with my own eyes. I swear to God I’ve never been so scared in my entire life! And you were completely still, your breath barely perceptible, you wouldn't even move or react to our cries.”
Theo was now panting, a shiver travelling along his spine, as he remembered the scene in vivid details. The dread must have shown on his face, because Harry promptly apologised, internally wincing at the sincerity of Theo’s pain. Merlin, he hadn’t realised how severe it must have looked from an outside point of view, especially for a first-time watcher!
“I’m sorry I scared you. Trust me, it wasn’t my intention.” He wanted to impress the guy, not traumatise him.
“Be serious for one minute in your life, moron!”
“Well, be nice to me then.”
Theo sighed, slumping in his chair. His anger had deflated, weariness taking over. “I won’t be nice when someone I care about just had a fucking near-death experience, right under my eyes. Merlin, I’ve never met a person so reckless. And it’s not a compliment.”
“You care about me?” Harry echoed, gaping at the boy, stupefaction flooding his mind and face. It wasn’t that he was shocked by the fact in itself, rather by the way Theo easily admitted it instead, like it was the simplest truth in the world.
Perplexed, Theo frowned, not understanding what word wasn’t clear enough. Maybe he had a concussion as a consequence of the crash? It wouldn’t be surprising after all.
“Of course I care about you, you jerk! You're my… you're my friend, Harry. I don’t want to see my friend hurt or dying. Is that so hard to believe?”
“No, no, no. I truly am sorry. I should have warned you that Quidditch could be a bit… life-threatening.” He smiled sheepishly. “But I’m okay, see.”
“It’s not…”
“It’s not an excuse, I know. Sorry.”
“Stop apologising.”
“Fine. I promise I’ll be more careful next time, alright?”
Theo nodded, going back to his usual silence, as he observed attentively Harry adjusting himself against the bed. They stayed like that for an extended period of time, just staring at each other, engulfed by the depth of their own feelings. It was nice, the atmosphere less strained, more breathable.
“So, does that mean I’ve disgusted you with Quidditch forever?” The athlete eventually asked with a teasing voice, unable to stay quiet for too long.
Theo snorted. “Maybe.” He was sure as hell never going to play Quidditch himself! As for watching, well… it was a pretty entertaining sight, he couldn’t deny it (the close-fitting uniforms helped a lot, but shhh).
“So, no more matches?” Harry carried on, curious. The real question troubling him was: had he smoked all his chances to demonstrate his talent and amaze his crush?
“I guess I should go nonetheless. Someone has to be present to remind you not to risk your life every second.” Theo replied, attempting to sound casual (nonchalance wasn’t part of his emotional palette, he was too anxious for that shit).
“Good. Come here.” Harry tilted his chin towards his side, waiting for the other boy to join him on the bed. He was faced with utter puzzlement, as Theo looked at him, inquisitive. “What? Would you be so cruel as to refuse to hug a wounded man?”
“You’re hurt, Harry.” He managed to reply, flushing a little. Comforting him, okay, but embracing him on the same bed, with little to no space? That seemed a bit extreme and… oddly intimate .
“Not on my left shoulder.” Harry cheekily countered, grinning, knowing he had won.
Theo conceded to a hug, grunting in agreement. Maybe a part of him wanted to hold his friend to make sure he was truly there, and not lifeless on the Quidditch pitch. Or maybe he secretly missed the smell of the scarf, so encompassing and grounding. Whatever the reason was, it motivated Theo enough to climb on the bed and slip himself against Harry’s left side. An arm instantly held him firmly at the waist, as he pressed his head against the remaining good shoulder.
He could hear the rhythmic sound of Harry’s heartbeat, rumbling in his chest. He could smell his familiar scent, the warmth welcoming him. Theo felt safe here, at peace. Nothing else mattered but the strong and serene embrace.
“You really are an idiot.” He muttered, while his fingers brushed the bruises on the collarbone.
Harry shuddered slightly at the touch, then smiled. “Yeah, I really am. But I’m an idiot that cares about you too.”
Confronted with his own words, Theo hid his reddening face even more, his soft hair tickling the other’s neck.
“Shut up.” He groaned, embarrassed. Harry’s laugh shook both of their bodies simultaneously.
At least now, he knows for sure, thought the injured boy to himself, that I really care about him too .