Title: Winner's Choice
Summary: "Just a simple rematch." Malfoy gave Harry a toothy smile. "Surely, you remember how to fly."
Oh, he remembered how to fly. "Game on. But," Harry added against his better judgment, "shouldn't there be stakes?"
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Epilogue compliant? Kind of. The fic takes place in an indeterminate period in the future. You can fill in the blanks.
Word Count: 1750
Author's Notes: You said you liked Quidditch, schmoop, and some struggle toward a happy ending. I tried to oblige.
The gleam in Malfoy's eyes should have been enough to give Harry pause. "I'm waiting." Malfoy rolled the Snitch between his narrow fingers before tossing it up into the air.
Harry’s breath caught, as he watched the Snitch flutter across the empty pitch. He hadn't played Quidditch in how long? It was a young person's game as he was so often reminded.
"Just a simple rematch." Malfoy gave Harry a toothy smile. (Did he ever grin like that when they were younger? Harry had to wonder.) "There are brooms in the shed. Surely, you remember how to fly."
Oh, he remembered how to fly. "Game on," Harry rejoined with a grin of his own. "But," he added against his better judgment, "shouldn't there be stakes?"
"Stakes?" Malfoy really was a horrible liar, still. "I hadn't considered--"
"Stuff it, Malfoy," said Harry, walking toward the Quidditch shed. He pulled open the latch, stepped inside, and breathed the scent of old leather and straw. Suddenly, he was a boy of eleven, palms sweating before his first game. No, he was a boy of twelve racing past Malfoy, arm stretched in front of him, the Snitch tantalizingly close at hand. Fifteen, his fist sinking in Malfoy's midsection. Sixteen…
But Malfoy hadn't played Quidditch their sixth year, and Harry decided then that that was all the more reason for a rematch. He grabbed a spare broom and tossed at Malfoy. "Winner's choice."
Malfoy caught it easily. "Oh, I like your thinking, Potter."
The din inside the Three Broomsticks was no match against the abrupt sound of Harry's heart pounding in his ears. "What did you say?" he croaked before reaching for his glass of ale and draining it in a single swallow.
Cleary enjoying himself, Malfoy poked Harry in the chest. "I said, as winner of our wager you have to do whatever I want, and I want you to get down on your knees and --"
"Malfoy," Harry hissed, eyes darting side to side. Anyone could overhear, not to mention the very idea was preposterous.
"Winner's choice," Malfoy said, no longer smiling. "Your words."
"I know. I thought you would ask me to wear a Potter Stinks badge or run around waving a Slytherin flag. Something decent."
"And where would be the fun in that?"
"You're serious," Harry said, incredulous. Sure, he was willing to admit that he had been secretly pleased when he ran into Malfoy earlier that afternoon. Both in town for the following day's Gryffindor-Slytherin match, Harry had found Malfoy wandering the Hogwarts Quidditch grounds, and he had leapt at the opportunity to play Quidditch against his onetime foe. But he had obviously misjudged Malfoy. This was no simple game, but a ruse to humiliate him. No doubt he would find Pansy Parkinson hiding behind a barstool, stifling giggles.
Never mind that they were no longer teenagers, and Malfoy was eyeing Harry over the rim of his whisky glass. He cut a handsome figure in his tailored robes, and his gently lined face hinted at a wry self-awareness that Harry didn't remember being there when they were younger. But he still had the power to provoke Harry. Malfoy gulped down the contents of his glass and replied, smirking, "I never took you for a coward, Potter."
"Coward?" Harry grabbed Malfoy by the collar of his fancy robes and shoved him back against the bar. "Look here." Rational thought had obviously left him, because what tumbled out of his mouth next wasn't: You fucking piece of shit. It was, "Fine."
Malfoy's eyes widened; then narrowed. "Fine?"
"You heard me. I've got a room upstairs, or perhaps we should do it in the gents. All the more tawdry."
"You'd like that, Potter."
"No, I think you would."
Malfoy glared at him before shoving him back. "Like I'd let you touch me."
He was gone before Harry had the chance to react, Apparating away with a crack so loud that Harry jumped. He wondered what the hell had just happened when he heard someone say, "You could do him some good."
Harry turned and reacted with surprise when he saw Madam Rosmerta standing on the other side of the bar. She had been listening. "But you-" he started. Surely, she had reason to distrust Malfoy, probably more than most.
But she only shook her head and walked away.
After spending a restless night in the room Harry let above the pub, he entertained the idea of returning home to London a day early. Certainly, there would a stack of papers waiting for him on his desk at the Ministry. There always was. Ginny used to harp about the long hours he worked, before she finally gave up and left him for Roger Brick, who had an easy laugh and never came home late for supper. Instead of having the expectations of the entire Wizarding World resting on his shoulders, he unstuck drains and toilets. Harry envied him. And liked him too, despite everything.
Finding himself in a foul mood all over again, Harry poked at his sausage and eggs before pushing them away, no longer hungry. Perhaps a walk was in order, and despite the rain puddling outside he wrapped himself in a Gryffindor scarf and headed out.
The match wasn't due to start for several hours, but Hogsmeade was already bustling with people. Gryffindor and Slytherin banners hung from shop windows, and the dreary weather did nothing to dampen the ebullient crowds. Peace had gone a long way toward healing old wounds. Still, Harry longed for a familiar face. He had tried to convince Ron to come, and then he remembered that Neville had just started teaching Herbology, and he turned toward Hogwarts.
But by the time he reached the Quidditch grounds, the rain had turned torrential. Shrieking students dashed by, running for cover. Harry took one look at the darkening skies himself and ran for the Quidditch shed. Without a moment's hesitation, he grabbed a broom.
The rain made it hard to see. Only a quickly muttered charm to clean his glasses saved him from slamming into a lone rider hovering near the goalposts.
"Oi," Harry called out. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Go away," was Malfoy's reply before turning his broom around and zooming toward the other end of the stadium.
"No, I don't think so," shouted Harry, following behind. "I want a word."
"And I want you to leave me alone."
"I don't think you do."
Malfoy turned to face Harry. "Really?" He sounded skeptical.
Harry held up his hands. "Look, I don’t want to fight."
Malfoy snorted. "That'll be a first."
Harry sighed. Soaked to the skin, cold, grumpy, he wondered why he bothered. He reached into his pocket and tossed the Snitch into the air. Malfoy followed it with his eyes. "I want a rematch", Harry said.
"Stakes?" Malfoy asked.
Harry only gave it a moment's thought. "Winner takes all."
Harry positively glowed. "I won."
"Fuck you," Malfoy muttered as he watched Harry unlock his room above the Three Broomsticks.
"That can be arranged." Harry retorted.
"You're not funny."
Harry pushed the door open. "And you're not naked."
"Details," Malfoy said, walking into the modest room. He took a look around and sniffed. "I see I can count on you to get the best accommodations."
"There is nothing wrong with this room. It's warm, cozy." He pointed his wand at the hearth and a roaring fire erupted.
Malfoy made a face. "The bed is small."
Harry reached for Draco's hands. "All the better. Too many clothes," Harry reminded him, pulling him close, nuzzling his cheek.
"You never said please. "
But Draco was pliant in his arms. Harry reached between them and started the long task of unbuttoning Draco's robes, baring his chest and shoulders. He laid a line of kisses along Draco's left collarbone. "I missed you."
Draco sighed. "You make it difficult."
"Me? You're the one who left me in the middle of the Three Broomsticks with a hard on the size of a bloody basilisk!"
"You mocked me."
"You called me a coward!"
"You are! We always have to play these games because you are too embarrassed to admit we are a couple."
Harry was honestly perplexed. "I thought you liked the games. They were your idea."
"Because it was the only way to get your attention." Draco snapped, folding his arms in front of his chest.
"Draco, I'm not embarrassed, honestly, I'm still trying to get used to this. That's all" He gestured toward Draco. "This was… a surprise."
Draco glared at Harry before looking away. He was silent for a moment, brooding, and Harry looked longingly at the pale skin showing under Draco's open collar. He wondered if he had fucked everything up again when finally, Draco spoke, "You still owe me."
"What for?" Harry's heart leapt in his chest even as he feigned innocence, his fingers quickly resuming their task of undressing Draco, baring him down to his navel. Harry drew a lazy finger across Draco's abdomen. "Is there something you want, Draco?"
Draco gritted his teeth. "You know."
"Do I?" Draco's erection bulged through the fabric of his trousers. Harry's hand dropped down, cupping it.
"Your knees, Potter."
Harry happily obliged. He tugged Draco's trousers and underclothes down, and licked his lips at the sight of Draco's cock; pink, thick and leaking copiously. He took him whole, slurping as he sucked, his hands on Draco's hips, holding him still. Harry had never had a male lover before Draco, he was still learning, but he thought he was doing all right. Draco was moaning loudly. Harry wondered if the other guests might hear. He sucked harder, and Draco gasped.
Thick come coated the inside of Harry's throat. He swallowed, relishing the bitter taste. That was new.
Harry looked up, still on his knees. He wiped his mouth with his hand. "Demanding," he joked, but his voice sounded rough, shaky.
"Shut up. Just do it."
Harry rose to his feet and pushed Draco back against the wall. "Like this?" he said, pressing his body into it as he attacked Draco's mouth, his hands clutching Draco's shoulders, fingertips pressing into his pale skin.
Draco nodded and moaned again, completely at Harry's mercy.
Harry pulled Draco onto the bed and climbed on top. Harry's tore his mouth away. "I won," he said.
Draco stared up at him, eyes uncomprehending.
"I won," Harry repeated. "cuz I have you."