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The Golden Snitch	By : michaelserpent Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2960 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Golden Snitch
- 2-Enmity
- 1
- 2
A/N: [04.06.2004] This chapter has gone through
quite some major changes (improvements). The basic plot hasn�t changed,
however, so if you have read this in ff.net before, no actual need to read it
again.
.
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2. Enmity
Harry was in the Gryffindor boys� bathroom, leaning
against the sink, staring at himself intently from the mirror. A maniac gleam
was flickering in his eyes, and his tense mouth was curled into a disgusted
frown. He pushed his shaking fingers trough the tangled ebony locks that were
almost like glued against his forehead with the cold sweat.
And then he doubled over and vomited.
�Damn...� he muttered, wild thoughts swirling in his
confused head. �What the fuck did
just happen on the pitch? Damn Malfoy...�
Harry washed his hands and looked again at the mirror,
encountering his own deep, fearful green gaze.
�It�s not like I�m gay, or anything, you know. Because I�m not.�
His eyes didn�t confirm this statement, but instead
conveyed a good amount of doubt. He turned away and puked again.
After several minutes of horrid retching, Harry
finally straightened up and leaned his elbows against the mirror glass.
Blankly, he stared down at the drain, following his former breakfast
disappearing with the help of the silently flooding water. Then, gingerly, he
tried to encounter his reflection once more.
The eyes were still there, looking at him uneasily.
Harry thought they were ugly green, resembling some of Professor Snape�s most
ill-omened potions. But that could not be helped. Instead, Harry turned his
attention to his famous scar, which had always made his outer appearance so
striking. It was now nearly white, a good contrast to his bronze, tanned skin.
An unnerving thought of Draco Malfoy and his ice-pale demeanour took Harry by
surprise, and he shivered. Quickly, he covered the scar with strands of black
hair.
My life will be
nothing but hell from now on, Harry thought
silently in the darkness of the bathroom. I
will be dead as soon as Malfoy tells the whole school.
To his irritation, Harry heard the door creak open
behind his back. The intruder was Ron.
�Harry, mate, are you alright?� the redhead took
hesitant steps towards him. �Are you feeling ill?�
�Well, what does it look like, Ron?� Harry asked,
rather rudely, and glared at his friend through the mirror. �That I�m having a
party here?�
Ron looked at the washbasin and took a few steps back.
�Eww... Er... Are you sure
you don�t need Madam Pomfrey to take a look at you? I
mean, that Quidditch match was really violent.�
�I�m fine.�
�Alright, alright,� Ron shrugged. �Anyways, I�m glad
you gave Malfoy a hard handling today. He really deserved that.�
Harry felt his inners give a jolt, yet again, and he
readied himself to vomit the last droplets of his stomach acids. �Don�t mention
about it.�
�Come on, Harry, if you�re not going to the hospital
wing, you can at least accompany Hermione and I to the dinner table. You
haven�t eaten anything since the match.�
p>
�Mnothungry,� Harry muttered,
looking green.
Ron glanced at the washbowl and made a disgusted face.
�Well, yeah.�
< lan lang=EN-GB style='font-size:7.5pt;font-family:Verdana;
color:black;mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>�Uhhh.� Harry shut his eyes tightly. His reluctance to go to the Great Hall
wasn�t only because of his poor appetite. The biggest reason why he didn�t want
to go had actually nothing to do with food, no matter how edible Malfoy then
was. But Ron didn�t know that, at least not yet.
�You could at least come and drink some pumpkin
juice,� Ron suggested. �Would possibly settle down your
stomach.�
Harry thought about it, and decided that he couldn�t
avoid the awkward confronta for forever. Besides, the sooner he would expose
himself to the public humiliation, the quicker it all would be over and he
could start planning a dramatic suicide. �I�m coming, Ron. Just give me a minute,
okay?�
�Okay.�
Ron went back to the common room, leaving Harry
behind. Harry sighed deeply, trying to gather some of his Gryffindor courage,
but couldn�t be sure if he succeeded or not. At last, he leaned down and
spluttered fresh water all over his face. He knew he had to go. He had to face
what was ahead of him. Sooner or later, he would have to meet everybody anyway.
And the more he prolonged it, the worse it would become.

Far away from the Gryffindor tower, deep down in the dungeons,
Draco Malfoy was immensely enjoying himself. It didn�t matter that he already
was the target of constant admiration wherever he went; today was still very
special. Today, he was a hero. Today,
he was the Seeker of Seekers, the one who finally beat the infamous Harry
Potter.
Harry Potter... Draco grinned at himself. So
the Golden Boy was getting it up for other boys? Who would have ever known...?
Draco was now sitting in the Slytherin common room,
occupying the softest sofa around. He was feeling very refreshed, and very
self-satisfied. After the Quidditch match, he had taken a long, cold shower and
changed into his best, dark blue robes. He had combed his damp, soft hair
backwards, and tied it into an elegant pony-tail. He was positively beaming, and
his good mood was lightening up the entire dungeons.
�Awesome match today,� Pansy Parkinson sighed, for the
sixth time that afternoon. �Simply awesome.�
�Yeah,� Draco agreed. �It was.�
Draco�s seat was tightly surrounded by the sixth year
Slytherin girls, all of whom were praising him in turn, and flirting with him
mercilessly. Millicent and Daphne were sitting on the carpet in front of him,
whereas Pansy and Tracey had conquered the nearest armchair. Blaise, his all-time best friend and occasional lover, was
leaning against the wall and braiding his long, reddish-brown hair, looking
smug and very satisfied with Draco�s success.
�Potter was quite riled up today,� she said, her voice
smoothly floating through the cool cellar air. �I never knew he was capable of
such roughness.�
�Yes, he was quite rough, indeed,� Draco smirked,
trying not to laugh out loud at the closer memories of their interaction. Then
he suddenly paled, and threw his hands at this throat. �Damn him, he almost
crushed my neck with his elbow. Does it look bad?�
�It will nouiseuise,� Blaise
smiled, examining the pale, aristocratic skin. �At least, not
much.�
�So, did you actually hit Potter in the face?� asked
Theodore Nott, who was lolling against the backrest of Draco�s sofa. �I thought
I saw it, but then again, I�d like to hear it from you.�
�Yeah, I hit him. I really had to. He was starting to
become . un. uncontrollable,� Draco grinned. �And, I have wanted to do that for
a long time already, for fun, you know.�
�But it was so brave to do that in front of the whole
school!� Millicent fluttered her long black lashes at Draco. Tracey and Pansy
agreed, nearly swooning from admiration.
Draco rolled his eyes; girls were obviously girls, no
matter were they in Slytherin or Hufflepuff. But, in
favour of his own house, Draco had to admit that the Slytherin girls were a
whole lot prettier than Gryffindor... Harry Potter was in Gryffindor. Harry
Potter...
Draco started to chew his fingernails without himself
noticing. What exactly had happened today on the Quidditch pitch? Had that...
that accident of Potters been a
meaningless bodily reaction, or was there something serious behind it? Could it
be possible that Harry Potter, of all people, found Draco Malfoy attracting?
It was no news to Draco that both girls and bfancfancied him. He had
gotten used to that. It had started in his fourth year when Terry Boot had
taken nude pictures of him and spread them shamelessly around the school. Well,
at least he hadn�t been entirely nude
in those shots; luckily, he had been wearing a towel around his waist. But, nonetheless,
his gorgeous body had been presented to the entire female and male population
of Hogwarts, which had led to the fact that he was now the most wanted boy in the school.
To his own credit, he was also quite elusive.
However, all this attention had gradually made him become quite broad-minded.
He had received every kind of suggestions, onesthemthem which would have made
even the bitch Chang blush deeply. Useless to say, he was not homophobic, even
considered himself sporadically as bisexual. Hanging around with the known gay
population at Hogwarts was an interesting change to his usual pastime activities.
These fellows were both fun and open-minded, and often appreciated the same
things Draco found important in the world, such as beauty and cleanliness.
And Draco knew these boys well. There were two particularly amusing queer
cases in Hufflepuff, namely Justin Flich-Fletchley and Wayne Hopkins. They were the only Hufflepuffs Draco could stand to be in the near proximity
of, and they sure as hell made a big number of it every time. Then there was Carlos
Montague from his own house, a very appetizing seventh year, with whom Draco
had experienced his first male-to-male kiss. But now, Draco thought Montague
had rather eyes for his best friend, Justin Etre, who
was still as oblivious as an old boot. Ah... Boot. Terry Boot
from Ravenclaw. Possibly the most infuriating
person Draco had ever met, right after Potter and Weasley. It wasn�t enough
that this boy was responsible for spreading out the photographs, oh no. Terry
had also written Draco a love letter, which still made Draco shudder with
disgust. A love letter! No self-respecting man ever wrote love letters! Needless to say that Draco never answered it.
But enough of that. The
subject at hand today was Harry Potter. The Golden Gryffindor
Lion. The famous Boy Who Lived.
Draco narrowed his eyes, re-playing their fight again in his mental eye.
Was Harry Potter a poof? No fucking way. That was one of those things that were
simply not possible in this universe, even the magically enhanced universe.
Draco decided to forget about today, and live on as if nothing had ever
happened. After all, he had been feeling just as excited as Potter, right? And
he sure as hell wasn�t about to admit himself that his own reactions had been
evoked by that black-haired geek of Gryffindor.
�Are we going to eat any time soon?� Gregory Goyle�s
loud voice echoed from the stony walls. �It�s the lunch time, and I�m hungry.�

Everyone laughed, and the whole
group exited the premises in a cheerful mood.

When entering the Great Hall, Harry Potter was sure
that everybody was looking at him funnily. He felt his cheeks redden, but
continued his way determinately at the table. Nearly every other Gryffindor was
already there, eating and chatting together. Hermione and Ron were sitting next
to each other, talking good-humouredly in whispers, and Harry found a free seat
opposite to them. He slid in his chair, hoping that no-one would notice his
entrance. In vain.
Not two seconds passed before Seamus Finnigan addressed him, his mouth full of red caviar. �Awful
match it was today. You really look like a wreck, Harry. But I can�t blame you.
That hateful, stuck-up pure-blood brat! Bet he�ll tease you the rest of the
month about Slytherin�s taut but gorgeous rising
to the victory, as I heard him say just a minute ago to one Ravenclaw.�
�Uhh... Right,� Harry grimaced,
swallowing hard. He tried to act nonchalant, and reached for the potato bowl �choosing
six potatoes byrsigrsight.
�Wow, you must be really hungry, Harry,� Colin Creevey noticed, taking a photo of his full plate. �Exciting match today, Harry. Dennis and I have sore throats
for... cough!... for yelling so many encouraging words
to you, Harry! And don�t be depressed at all because of our loss. You were
still a hard opponent to Malfoy.�
�Eh, yeah, thanks,� Harry muttered, poking the crab
pincers in front of his nose indifferently with his fork, trying to keep his
thoughts away from anything referred to �hard�, �taut� or �rising�.
Hermione was giving him worried glares, and Ron was
outright staring at him in his anxiety. Harry was sure Ron had told Hermione that
he�d seen him vomiting in the bathroom. Harry decided to avoid looking at
Hermione, because he really didn�t want to answer any questions she was bound
to make. Actually, he didn�t want to talk to anybody right now. He rolled over
a sweaty little fishfish that had somehow ended up on his plate, and bit his
lower lip.
Then he ventured a secretive, careful glance towards
the Slytherin table.
There he was, sitting like the owner of the world
between his devious friends, Zabini and Goyle: Draco Malfoy, the slimiest git
of the entire world. He was laughing, and obviously still harboured a healthy
appetite. Had not their previous encounter shocked him at all? Had it not made
Malfoy feel repulsed? Harry was confused, but tried not to show it too openly. How
could Malfoy behave as if nothing had happened? He flinched when he heard
fractions of the Slytherins�s conversation; words such
as �heated�, �excitand and �embarrassed� did not exactly bring his mind at ease.
Had Malfoy told his friends what had happened?
Harry needed to know. He needed to make sure that
no-one knew. And if someone did, they would have to be obliviated.
However, at least it seemed that the word had not
carried into Gryffindor, yet. Of that, Harry was relieved. He really didn�t
want his friends to know. He would do anything to be spared from the resentment
and antipathy of his housemates. He would do anything to keep Malfoy�s mouth
sealed.

Anything.

Several hours later the clear, azure sky had gone
hiding behind a mass of dark, grey could. Harry was alone, sitting by the
window in his dormitory room, listening to the distant rumble of the
approaching storm. The next day, the first two lessons would be Potions with
Professor Snape, and with Slytherin. Harry found this fact both appalling and exciting
at tame ame time. Appalling, because there were little things he hated more
than the Potions classes and Snape. Exciting, because maybe he would be able to
talk to Malfoy. Maybe, he would be able to ask the Slytherin how many people
already knew about the embarrassing Quidditch match. Meaning, how many people he
would have to use the Memory Charm on.
But how to actually talk to Draco Malfoy? Harry massaged his aching left shoulder, where Malfoy had sunk his
nails at some point of their fight, and grimaced at the darkening evening. Talking to Malfoy
was something he had never in his life done before. That is, he had never
started a real conversation with him. Never tried it and never wanted it; simply
never cared enough to make the effort. The only occasions they had been �conversing�
were the situations where Malfoy had been provoking either him, Hermione or Ron
with insults and jabs. And now, Harry would have to try and say something reasonable,
even important to him. How could he possibly manage to do that? What
could he possibly say to him?
�Um, hullo, Malfoy? Wanna have a word?� Harry practised, and immediately felt
sick. No way he was going to be so civil.
Frowning, he tried again.
�Hey Malfoy, do you have a second? I�d like to talk to
you for a minute.�
Harry shook his long, black curls and sighed. He
sounded ridiculous.
�Malfoy. I want a word. Now.�
Hmm. Better.
�Malfoy, you jackass, do you happen to have the
courage to come and talk to me for a while? Alone, without
your lard-ass bodyguards?�
Garh! No way! That
sounded outright perverted. Malfoy could understand him quite wrong. The
previous try was better.
Harry looked out of the window again, appraising the
rumbling skies. He scowled as he suddenly noticed an elegant eagle owl passing
his view. It was carrying a large package towards the Slytherin end of the
castle. Distantly, Harry recognized it as Malfoy�s owl.
�Hmm.
Maybe I should write him a letter?� he mused out loud. He grabbed a piece of
parchment and played with his quill.
Malfoy, you
insufferable git,
Tell me this
fucking instant if you have told anybody what happened at the Quidditch pitch
today. Anyone at all?
Because, if you
have� You�ll soon find your stupid show-off eagle owl delivering you a package
of shovels �for you to dig your own grave.
-H.P.
Harry read across the lines, satisfied, before he
suddenly dropped his quill and slammed his hands across his mouth. He was
horrified of what he had just written. Had he just threatened to hurt Malfoy? To... to kill Malfoy? Images and words from their
earlier fight flooded into his brain, making him shudder.
�Give it to me, Malfoy, or I swear I�ll kick the life
out of you!�
It was his own voice, ringing with unrestrained rage
in his memories. Had he really said something like that, and meant it? Had he really said that to Malfoy, not the opposite way around?
Harry closed his eyes, cold feeling seeping through
his whole body, sweat of distress emerging on his scarred forehead. What was wrong with him? He never was this
aggressive, not really. Perhaps he had started to really hate Malfoy at some
point of the term? Truly, madly and deeply hate him? This kind of behaviour was
not typical of him at all. He was supposed to be good and kind, a true
Gryffindor hero.
But, then again, in his heart he knew that he was not
at all like that.
He was not the perfect Golden Boy everyone had made
him out to be. No... He had a darker side. A side nobody had yet managed to
find.
Nobody... except Malfoy.
.
.
TBC
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The Golden Snitch