Chapter Text
In a fantastic (if slightly clichéd) recreation of his very first quidditch game as a first year in Hogwarts, Harry James Potter stood on his broom and jolted off of it to catch the snitch. The crowd’s cheers were deafening as he tucked into himself and rolled neatly onto the sandy ground of the pitch. Those cheers quickly turned into gasps of horror and worry as he stood, holding the snitch in one hand while the other bent at an unnatural angle. Harry looked down in surprise. He barely felt it, but he could see that his fall hadn’t been as smooth a roll as he’d intended. The bone of his left shoulder was clearly dislocated and he was fairly certain his left hand was broken. Bugger .
“Oh shit!” He heard someone, probably Angelina, yell. And then he was laid down flat on his back. “Someone get the medic!” Oliver Wood stood with his hands on his waist. He looked inordinately pleased despite the apparent breakage of his star seeker’s hand.
The announcer (not Lee Jordan, to Harry’s continuous disappointment), was rattling off final scores and the last goal made by Donna Shafiq. He mentioned that Harry had caught the snitch, slipping in the fact that he was the boy-who-lived, much to Harry’s annoyance. Wood gave him an unapologetic look.
The team benefitted from having a resident celebrity among them. It meant that the stands were filled even for practices, and the sponsors kept tripping over themselves to give them money and merchandise. It was sickening.
Harry was pulled from his reverie by an extremely stern sounding:
“Out of the way.” He slumped back down onto the sand and resisted the urge to pound his head into the ground repeatedly. “Give the poor boy room to breathe!” Harry gave the Team Healer a dirty look and he smirked in response.
Draco Malfoy, dressed in lime green healer's robes over a form fitting white suit, conjured a cot and levitated Harry onto it, ignoring his protests that he could walk. Draco ignored him and began to stroll away.
“It’s my arm that’s broken, you tosser!” He yelled and Oliver gave him an amused look. “Let me down.”
“It’s protocol, I’m afraid.” Draco swished his wand and the cot began to follow him off the pitch. “Don’t expect special treatment, Potty. It’s the same I’d do for anyone.” Harry shut his mouth then, rolling his eyes.
Once they were safely in the Medical Center, a small windowless room just off the locker rooms, Malfoy set him down and placed a hand in the center of his chest. Harry grit his teeth at the contact which gave Malfoy enough time (and peace, and quiet) to cast a diagnostic. Harry toed off his shoes without thinking about it.
“Is that really necessary?” He asked tersely. “I have to get back out there sooner rather than later.”
“You’re rushing me so you can hurry back out to the sponsors waiting to kiss your arse?” Draco smirked when Harry slumped down onto the bed. “Does it hurt?” Harry gave him a deadpan look. “I’m only asking because I know your tolerance for pain is otherworldly.”
“It hurts.” He answered. Draco lifted his arm to check his mobility and the extent of the dislocation. Harry felt quite a bit of relief at the cool fingers pressing into his hot skin. “But not very much and more in the shoulder than the arm itself.”
“Detail your last incident for me.” Draco looked on expectantly. Harry grit his teeth and nodded. Draco made it a point to make the team relieve their last incident every time they had a new one. It was his attempt to cut down on incidents altogether. This attempt was working well for everyone except Harry and Donna.
“Tutshill Tornados, two weeks ago.” He answered almost monotonously. “The opposing seeker overshot by a few meters and— bloody buggering fuck , Malfoy!”
“You were saying?” The man asked innocently. His shoulder had been neatly popped back into place. Harry flipped him off, unconsciously using his left hand and hissing in pain. “You’re an idiot.” Draco grabbed his hand and set about examining it.
“Yes, well, you’re a swot.” He looked down at his hand, resting lightly atop Draco’s palm. Harry had the sudden urge to lace their fingers together. “Do you have to rebreak them?” Draco looked up and their faces were closer together than Harry was expecting. He reeled back, heart slamming into his throat. Had the boy’s eyes always been that peculiar mix of grey and blue?
“No.” Draco tapped his wand against Harry’s wrist and the bone seemed to snap back into place.
“Christ.” Harry let out a breath of relief as a tingling feeling spread throughout his hand. He wiggled his fingers, pleased that they didn’t hurt too much. “Bang on, Malfoy.” Draco didn’t answer, staring at Harry’s unnecessarily thick medical file.
“Why is it always the left side of your body that gets injured?”
“I’m right handed.” He answered simply as though that made any sense. Draco hummed thoughtfully as though he understood. Harry’s eyes lingered on Draco’s for a moment.
“You’ve had three dislocations and two breakages for the season so far.” Harry looked startled. Surely it hadn’t been that many! “Are there any lasting effects I should know about?”
Harry thought of his difficulty sleeping and the fact that his right arm twinged whenever it rained and shook his head. Draco rolled his eyes.
“Potter.” Harry looked away. “Do I have to remind you of the disadvantages of lying to your primary care provider?”
“You are not my primary care provider, Malfoy.” Harry hopped off the bed and shoved his feet into his shoes. Draco looked amused. “Just—” He stopped himself before he could storm out of the room. Anytime he was being rude, he heard Mrs. Weasley’s voice in his ears, reminding him to have good manners. Bugger . “Thank you, Healer Malfoy.”
“Don’t thank me for doing my job, Potty.” Harry gave him a dirty look at the unimaginative nickname that had seemed to follow them from Hogwarts.
“You’d think after half a season of working with each other we might be able to conduct ourselves with some professionalism.” Harry muttered balefully and Draco huffed. Harry’s tone was hesitant, cautious, as if he was afraid to break the fragile truce that had formed between them following Draco’s hiring as the official Team Healer. “We don’t have to be friends, Malfoy.”
“We’re not friends.”
“But we have to be cordial.” He shuffled his feet. “Any more animosity and I might get pulled up for not being a good team player.” Draco was spared from replying when they were interrupted.
“Potter, you alright?!” Donna’s voice floated through the closed doors. “After party at that pub down the street.” Harry exchanged a look with Draco. It was as if a door had cracked open, revealing the possibility of something more and Harry didn’t want to leave just yet.
“Your adoring fans await.” Draco sneered. “Get out.” The healer lowered his head and busied himself with writing out another Game Incident Report to add to Harry’s already bulging file.
Harry stared at the man’s side profile. The room was peaceful and he’d honestly much rather stay here than meet Fredrick Hopsworth and his sycophantic group of rich arseholes. He took a step towards Draco and the man took a step back.
“Thanks again.”
He met Donna outside and she gave him an odd look once he fell into step beside her. She ran her fingers through his hair.
“You look sort of flushed.” She commented unhelpfully. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” He stuck his hand into the small pocket at his breast and pulled out his wedding ring.
He’d had a game last season where one of the snitch’s wings got caught in his wedding ring and he’d gotten knocked off his broom by a rogue bludger. The snitch had fluttered away, taking the ring with it and Harry hadn’t noticed for a very long time. Too long.
Witch Weekly had snapped a photo of him and Hermione on one of her rare lunch breaks, grabbing a quick bite at a cafe in Diagon. Hermione was pointing at one of the pain au chocolats and Harry was giving her an indulgent smile as he paid. The headline read ‘Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, ditches ring and takes long time friend and lover, Harmione Grunger out on coffee date’
Hermione had pinned it up as one of the most absurd misspellings of her name, and Harry’s fan mail had quadrupled for three days straight.
He’d gone back to Wimborne at one o'clock in the morning to try to find the ring. Since then, he always took it off before games and always put it back on afterwards.
Donna heckled him through his quick shower and chatted animatedly at him as he got dressed. She laced her arm through his as they walked down the street, stopping to greet and sign autographs for the crowd of people lining the street following the game.
The Tipsy Toad, right at the edge of Chudleigh, was lively. Harry felt the familiar crawl of anxiety up and down his spine. Donna, who was aware of how uncomfortable Harry was in crowds, grabbed his arm tighter. They entered the pub.
“There he is!” Frederick Hopsworth spoke loud enough that the entire room came to a standstill. “Give it up for the boy who lived!” Harry flushed as an almighty cheer rose up. He turned to Donna.
“Hey, stab me in the eye, will you?” She grinned up at him.
“But how will you consume absurd amounts of alcohol from a St. Mungo’s hospital room?” She asked innocently. Harry thought for a second and wrinkled his nose.
“Alright, fine. Get me drunk, Shafiq.”
“Get the boy who lived a drink!” She yelled to the room at large and a glass of something was put under his nose.
He had to endure Fredrick first, chatting with the man about the game, and their likelihood of winning the league. Frederick was about three drinks ahead of Harry and was practically falling into his personal space. Harry suspected the man’s avid support of the Montrose Magpies had more to do with the astronomical crush he had on Harry than anything else. He left the man in the care of one of his friends and ducked away, intent on getting good and drunk.
Harry was five drinks in and pleasantly drunk. He was smiling like a loon at anyone who happened to say hello to him, and was locked in a rather droll conversation about quidditch pitch dimensions with Oliver, Angelina and a man from the team’s logistics crew. He didn’t mind too much.
Everyone was happy and bubbly. The night had really only just begun and Harry knew that left unchecked, they could go on for hours just drinking and talking and laughing. They did it often.
“Ultimately,” Angelina hiccuped. “It’s at the team’s detriment if their home pitch is…” She trailed off, squinting at something across the room. “Is that Healer Malfoy?” Harry stiffened. The logistics man who’s name Harry could never remember whirled around. “He never comes to the after parties.”
“It is.” He looked up and down. “Ooh he got fit .” The man looked like his mouth was about to start watering. “Merlin and Morgana both, I’d like to climb that like a tree.” Harry choked on a sip of his gin and tonic.
“Valmont.” Angelina sounded exasperated. That was his name. “You can’t say things like that in front of Harry, you know he has delicate sensibilities!” Oliver laughed and elbowed Harry in the side.
“Do you?” Valmont asked, peering at him. He flushed. “I rather thought delicate sensibilities went out the window after getting married.”
“I do not have delicate sensibilities.” Harry protested. Oliver laughed again. “Malfoy and I went to school together.”
“Hogwarts?” The three alumni nodded. “Gorgeous castle, that. I visited there, you know, with Ludo Bagman before the Triwizard tournament.”
“Ugh.” Harry’s happy drunkenness was fading quickly. He put his head down on the table. “Don’t remind me.”
“Fourth year is a bit of a sore spot for our Harry.” Angelina explained, sounding a bit solemn. She lifted Harry by the hair and he gave her a look. She nodded and he slipped away from the table with his empty glass. “That was the year that You-Know-Who was actually resurrected despite what the Prophet was…” She began talking as soon as he was gone. He weaved his way through the crowd towards the bar.
“You look like something crawled up your arse and died, Potty.” Draco drawled as he took a seat. He slid a glass of something across and Harry grabbed it, taking a healthy sip.
“After parties are not always what they’re cracked up to be.” Draco nodded, taking a sip of his own. Harry chanced a glance around them and found that everyone was engrossed in their own conversations.
He felt like this a lot, that he was a part of this world but not in it. There were times he still felt like that eleven year old boy stumbling around Kings Cross, trying to find his way to Platform 9¾.
“You do know you’re not obligated to come to the after parties, right?” Draco asked softly. Harry shrugged.
“It helps build team morale.” He repeated the words Oliver had drilled into his head dutifully. Draco scoffed. “Helps establish a level of trust.” Harry continued. “We’re on that field every week for hours, and we have to have each other’s backs.”
“Who are you trying to convince, Potter?” Draco asked honestly. Harry stopped short, glass halfway to his lips. He let out an exhausted sounding laugh.
“I’m not even sure anymore, Malfoy.” Harry took a sip of his drink, his frustration palpable. "I feel like I've worked so hard, sacrificed so much, that I’m entitled to a little bit of happiness or fulfilment.” Harry felt the words pouring out of his mouth but was powerless to stop them or at least edit them to make himself sound less pathetic. Draco leaned in, grabbing the back of Harry’s bar stool and pulling it and Harry towards him. Harry looked startled but his protests died in his throat as their thighs brushed together.
The bar was getting louder and rowdier with every passing moment. Draco probably just wanted to make sure their conversation remained private and Harry’s heartbeat was stuttering and skipping beats for no reason.
“Of course you’re entitled to happiness, Potter.” Draco tapped the rim of his glass with his fingernail. “After what you did for our world, you deserve everything you want in life.”
"I used to think so too, but lately, it feels like I'm just going through the motions, you know?" He bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to think about the fact that Draco had not let go of the back of his chair and was now lightly brushing the nape of his neck. It felt almost absentminded, like Draco himself wasn’t aware he was doing it. Harry stole a look at him and found that the man seemed lost in thought. Harry was staring so hard, he startled when Draco began to speak.
“You know what I think your problem is?”
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.” Harry joked with a wry smile. Draco signalled to the bartender and the man brought them another round of drinks. Firewhiskey for him, gin and tonic for Harry.
“You loved Quidditch so much at school that you thought it would be a good idea to go pro.” Harry nodded slowly. This was true. “But now, it’s become like a job. Takes all the damn fun out of it, doesn’t it?”
“It’s still fun.” He tried to argue. He felt a twinge of discomfort in his left hand as though his body was punishing him for the lie.
“But not as fun.”
“Not as fun.” He agreed. “I honestly think I might enjoy it more if I wasn’t obligated to make nice with the likes of Fredrick Hopsworth before and after every game.” He cast another roving eye around, but no one was close enough to overhear him. Satisfied, he took a sip of his drink.
“God, he’s a cunt.” Harry burst into surprised laughter, spraying gin and tonic out of his nose onto the bar. Draco looked infinitely amused but the bartender gave him a disgusted look and levitated a rag over to them. Draco looked puzzled at how muggle it was to wipe up a spill instead of tergeo ing it but said nothing.
“Sorry…” He called apologetically and began to wipe up the spill. “Clearly associating with you gets me into trouble, you tosser.”
“I didn’t make you spew the contents of your mouth onto that ghastly man’s bar top.” Draco protested, smiling in spite of the absurd situation. He had to admit, Potter wasn’t an altogether bad drinking companion.
“ Ghastly?! ” The man yelled, clearly offended. “I don’t care if your sodding team won the bloody world cup, get out of my bar!”
“Oh my god.” To his horror, Harry felt another laugh bubbling out of him. “He’s so sorry! I’m sorry!” He clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle his extremely inappropriate laughter. The man narrowed his eyes.
“Out!” He cried again. Harry stumbled over his own feet, fisting his hands in the back of Draco’s lime green robes and pulling him away from the bar. Angelina gave him a strange look as they rushed past her but he waved awkwardly and staggered out the door.
“You-you’re,” Harry cut himself off with another breathless laugh. He doubled over with his hands on his knees. “Fucking Godric.”
“I’m, I’m,” Draco looked down at him, still chuckling. “Fantastic? Incredibly funny? Insanely gorgeous?”
“None of those things.” God help him, he could not stop laughing. “I was going to say, you are a very mean young man!” Draco snorted. “Calling the poor man ghastly to his face?”
“It’s not my fault his face looks like that!” Draco argued. There was a clatter as someone dropped two bins on the ground. “Oh, for heaven's sake…” Draco groaned. Harry spun around and the bartender was standing there, staring at them, a look of absolute fury on his face.
“You two are deplorable people.” He said, pointing off into the distance. Harry was holding his breath to try to temper his giggles. “The apparition point is over there. If you’re still here when I get back with the next set of bins, I’ll show you just how ghastly I can be.”
Harry grabbed onto Draco again and pulled him away. Once the bar was out of sight, he broke, laughing uproariously.
“You are boiled as an egg, aren’t you?” Draco asked, sounding amused. “Makes sense that my presence is only tolerable when you’re pissed.”
“Why are you trying to insinuate that this petty rivalry is one sided?” Harry asked playfully, finally letting go of the man’s robes so they could walk side by side. “Like I hate you but you don’t hate me?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Because you made my life a living hell for at least five years of…” Harry’s voice trailed off as Draco’s words registered. “You don’t hate me?”
He looked up and was startled at the intensity in Draco’s eyes. His mouth dried instantly and he felt sobriety wash over him.
“I’ve never hated you.” Draco answered. They strolled to a stop as they reached the apparition point. The street was still empty, with every one in Chudleigh celebrating at the bar they’d just been kicked out of. “Annoyed by you, yes.” Draco smirked. “Jealous of you, possibly.”
“Jealous?” Harry let out a sound that was a cross between a gasp and laughter. He cocked his head to one side. “What on earth do you have to be jealous of?”
“Are you joking?” Draco raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Defeated the Dark Lord at one year old,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Only Hogwarts student to make the quidditch team in First Year?” He scoffed. “Found and defeated Salazar Slytherin’s monster in second year?”
“Allegedly.” Harry interrupted and Draco laughed. He ducked his head, feeling a blush crawl up his neck and face.
“So, yes. Jealous.” Draco crossed his arms over his chest. “But only a little.” Harry looked down. “I was a terrible person back then, high off my own self importance and inflated ego.” Harry tucked his lips in to keep from laughing. “I did things I deeply regret." Harry nodded, his eyes showing no trace of anger.
"I remember, Draco. I remember the childish taunts and the petty pranks.” Harry thought of those awful ‘POTTER STINKS’ badges and couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him then. “But they were just that. Childish.” A woman opened her door to call for her kneazle and the thing trotted across the street. Draco turned to look, the moonlight throwing his side profile into relief. Harry was struck by how beautiful he was and tamped that thought down along with all the other inappropriate ones he’d been having about Draco since the incident on the Quidditch pitch. “We’ve grown.”
“You weren’t childish back then.” Draco turned back to Harry. “You have always been so nauseatingly and unfailingly good and a part of me was a little envious that goodness and kindness came so easily to you.”
“Malfoy,” Harry stepped closer and Draco jerked like he’d wanted to step back but aborted the movement before he could. “Goodness isn’t something that comes naturally to me.”
“You shouldn’t say that just to appease me.” Draco muttered, kicking his feet. Harry stepped closer.
“I’m not.” He smiled kindly. “You know, someone once told me that everyone has light and dark inside them, and what matters is the part you choose to act on.”
“Sounds like a very Gryffindor thing to say.” Harry laughed. “So you choose, then?”
“I choose.” He nodded solemnly, looking up at the blonde haired man. “I choose everyday.” They were so close that Harry could reach out and touch Draco, so he did. He grabbed the other man’s hand and squeezed. “You can choose too.”
“Your faith in me is admirable, Potter.” Draco squeezed back. He was a little flustered that Harry was willingly touching him but he would rather kick himself in the bollocks than show it. “If possibly misguided.”
“Be worthy of it then.” Harry was looking up at him so earnestly and Draco bit his bottom lip. He’d never really understood how this man had such a hold on the wizarding world, how wizards would bend over backwards to help him whenever possible. But with Harry looking at him like that, he got it.
Oh, how he understood now.
“Something to mull over then.”
“I’ll be mulling over the fact that you were jealous of me in school.” Harry answered, letting go of Draco’s hand.
“You realise if you mention that to anyone I will disembowel you and put you back together.” Draco sounded serious, but his eyes held a teasing glint that made Harry feel warm all over.
“Can you actually do that?” Harry asked curiously. Draco gave him an enigmatic smile and pulled his wand out of its holster.
“Do you want to find out?” He met Harry’s gaze again and the two men stared at each other. Draco brought his hand up to squeeze his upper arm and Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. “Goodnight, Potty.” The man disapparated with a crack.
Harry took a deep breath, the frigid night air burning his lungs, and let it out shakily. Then he pulled his own wand out of the back pocket of his jeans and apparated home as well.
The house was dark when he walked in and he closed the front door, trying not to make too much noise even though he knew Ginny would still be awake. He placed his shoes by the door and walked up the stairs.
“That you, Harry?” A voice called from the study. He paused on the top step and took another deep breath.
“Yeah, Gin.” He walked up the hallway and pushed open the study door. Ginny was standing over their model quidditch pitch, peering at the plastic player figurines as they zoomed around on their brooms. “Sorry I missed dinner.”
“I’ve missed many dinners for those awesome post game after parties.” She commented, changing one of the chaser’s positions. The figurine looked up at her and made a rude gesture before turning back to the game. “Are you hungry?”
“Did you cook?” He could keep the incredulity from his voice. Ginny rolled her eyes, moving one of the beaters so they hovered opposite each other.
“Don’t be daft. I can order something.”
“Are you asking because you forgot to eat and are now hoping that I will go pick something up?” Ginny looked up at him and grinned. Harry shook his head.
That might have worked on him about five years ago when he'd been bright eyed and bushy tailed, eager to help whenever possible and desperate to work to earn the love he’d been shown by the Weasleys.
“Worth a shot.” She moved another one of the figurines around. “This isn’t working.” She muttered mostly to herself. “Nothing is working and I have to finish this new play for next week.”
“Who’s it against?” She looked up and frowned at him.
“You, if we win tomorrow’s game, you idiot.” She laughed. Harry snorted. “How do you function in society, being so oblivious?”
“It’s a talent, obviously.” He walked into the room, wrapping his arms around her waist. She leaned back and let out a content sigh.
“Are you spying on our plays for your team, Mr. Potter?” Harry leaned down and kissed her neck. She moaned softly, bringing a hand up to bury in his hair.
“I’m trying to entice you to bed, Mrs. Potter.” She giggled, the way she always did when he called her that. “Finish your plays in the morning.”
“I have drills in the morning.” She complained. Harry dragged a hand up, cupping her breasts in both hands, kneading them gently. She moaned again. “And we have a match with the Tutshill Tornados in the afternoon.” He sucked a bruise into her neck and she hissed through her teeth. “You are being very distracting.”
“Because I’m trying to distract you.” He glanced down at the plays, making a promise to himself not to analyse them too much. He failed almost immediately. “That chaser could be closer to the goal.” Ginny’s eyes flew open and she peered down. “And those two beaters should not be opposite each other.” She leaned down and moved the figurines around. The chaser seemed even more disgruntled that it had been moved again and shook its fists at both of them. Harry snorted.
“That actually works a lot better, thanks.” She pulled away from him to walk to the other side of the table, analysing the pitch at eye level. “I’ll come to bed in a bit.”
“Ok…” He smiled for a moment, just looking at her. She was a vision, even with hair piled on top of her head and rumpled pyjamas. They'd had quite a few nights like this, where one of them was out or busy. Harry found himself going to bed alone more often that not. He didn't mind it too much though. He loved how dedicated Ginny was to Quidditch, even as he lost his enthusiasm for the game with every season.
Harry turned away and walked into his bedroom. He shed his clothes quickly, collapsing onto the bed.
He fell asleep over the covers, dreaming of a tall muscular frame, platinum blonde hair, and slate grey eyes, and was infinitely lucky that Ginny was dead to the world by the time he rolled over and whispered ‘Draco’ into the back of her neck.