Title: The Falmouth Falcons’ Star Seeker
Summary: I went to that party hating Malfoy, and by the time I was ready to leave, I was scared to leave his side
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Word Count: approx. 4,000
Author's Notes: I’m sorry this isn’t exactly what you wanted, frayach, but I tried to squeeze in at least one thing you wanted. I enjoyed writing it regardless!
"You can't back out, Potter! This game determines our playoff position! Without you--"
Harry glared at his captain. "We're eleven for eleven. If we lose this game, we still advance into the playoffs and we'll still get a good position. I am not playing."
"But we won't have the best position," Oliver said, jabbing a finger in Harry's direction. "Potter, we already beat the Magpies! The Magpies! The Falcons are like a walk in the park. You really can't be considering backing out for this one game?"
"I never took my vacation time," Harry reminded him, brushing aside all of Oliver's protests. He wouldn't budge on this decision. He couldn't. "I want it now, before the playoffs start."
"Well, I'm not granting it."
Harry gaped, his mouth opening and closing twice before he said, "But--"
"No, Potter," Oliver snapped, and Harry's mouth slammed shut. "We've given you a lot of leeway this season. A lot of it, but this isn’t for the good of the team. After today, you can take your vacation, but I will not grant it to you before."
"Fine!" Harry stood up, grabbing his broom roughly off the bench beside him. "The minute the game ends, I'm leaving for two weeks."
Oliver grabbed his arm. There was a moment of silence when the captain said nothing. Harry waited. "Harry. What's going on? Really? You've never wanted to miss a game before in the four years you've been on this team."
Harry looked up at his captain. His green eyes hardened for a moment. "Malfoy," he said, and then wrenched his arm free and went into the changing rooms.
The crowded ballroom felt impossible to navigate. Harry had lost Ginny twenty minutes before to a player from the Harriers and hadn't seen her since. The music swelled into a crescendo, and the noise drowned out all the chattering from the players around him. Unsure of why he was at Malfoy Mansion in the first place, Harry tried to make his way towards the terrace. Every team in Europe that had been invited was in attendance and finding a familiar face was harder than Harry had imagined possible.
It was just like Malfoy to throw a birthday celebration and invite everyone. He pushed his way through the milling crowds, catching snatches of conversations, many of them about the extravagance of the party. As if Malfoy needed his ego boosted any further, he already thought he was a God amongst mortals, and his thousands of women fans were not helping that theory. Harry made it out onto the terrace and gazed out across the rolling lawns. Everyone outside was down on the lawn, and he was glad for the momentary reprieve. With sure steps, he strode out and leaned against the stone banister. Wind ruffled his hair. Early June was hard to predict weather wise, but Malfoy seemed to have gotten lucky this time.
"Potter, you look tense."
"Stuff it, Malfoy," Harry growled, loosening his tie. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and disappeared beyond the collar of his shirt.
Malfoy said, "That's not the proper way to treat your host, Potter, especially when it's the host’s birthday."
"Oh yes, how could I forget that little fact." Harry turned to face the blond prat. Something jostled oddly in his stomach, and he wrote it off to the quiche he had sampled earlier. "Happy Birthday, Malfoy."
Malfoy leaned back against the banister, and rested his arms on the rough stone. He stretched cat-like and smirked. Harry turned his attention back out onto the grass where there was currently a pseudo Quidditch match occurring, and vainly tried to ignore the twenty-two year old beside him. It was harder than he anticipated.
“You know something, Potter. I don’t think I even saw a card for me in my massive pile of gifts.”
Harry gritted his teeth. Keeping his head bowed, he could still see the aristocratic snot. “It’s because you don’t deserve one, ferret face.”
“Oh, harsh. How long have you been waiting to say that to my face?” Malfoy chortled as if that was funny. “Be honest, Potter. You are a Gryffindor after all.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “You’re mistaking us with Hufflepuffs.” When Malfoy made no move to go away, Harry snapped, “Haven’t you got other people to bother? Or more autographs to sign? Your public is waiting, Malfoy. They adore you.”
The gleam in Malfoy’s eyes set him on edge. It was almost predatory. Harry could feel the firm pressure of his wand against his arm and that was the only thing keeping him rooted to the spot.
“You mean like you,” the blond man whispered before going indoors.
Harry jerked, his hands tightening on his Firebolt until his knuckles turned white. His gaze darted around the pitch. Screaming fans lined the stands, waving flags of blue and gold and grey and white. Several were holding up signs. Their multicolor scarves fluttered in the cold December wind, and more than one person was wrapped in a blanket. Harry drowned the cheers out. Whistling could be heard and, a split second before a Bludger would have smashed his skull in, he rolled over on his broom. The Bludger smacked into his boots instead.
Miserable pain shot up from his foot into his leg, and Harry groaned. Broken. He didn’t dare test the theory. Righting himself on the broom, he turned to see Malfoy darting off in the opposite direction. The Falcons' Star Seeker, it made him want to gag. Yes, he would admit that Malfoy was a fair flyer, and did belong on the pitch, but “Star Seeker” did not sit well in his stomach. Nothing about Draco Malfoy sat well in his stomach, and the desire to search him out was beginning to overcome his own common sense.
He shook his head, clearing those thoughts. He needed to focus and win so he could go on his vacation through Christmas. It was a hunch, but he suspected that he was going to need one after this game. The Falmouth Falcons were not the hardest team in the league, but they played dirty, and that made them hard to beat. The tactics they used were just barely legal, and they almost always got away with them. He heard a member of the Cannons had to be carried off the field after "accidentally" being walloped by two Bludgers simultaneously. It sickened him that nothing could be done about it either: both Beaters claimed innocence, and neither of the referees in the match had seen it happen. The Cannons didn’t even get a penalty shot.
Squinting, he searched for the tiny gold winged ball. If he were honest with himself, he’d be grateful if Malfoy would just find the bloody thing and end the game. Perhaps his flippant attitude had a little to do with the fact that the Chasers had just gotten the Quaffle past the Falcons' Keeper twice in the last five minutes, but the majority of it was to get Malfoy away from him. Before he did something stupid, and he would do something stupid.
A fission of awareness rushed up his arm as the blond brushed past him so close Harry almost fell from his broom. His toe ached, and now his arm tingled.
“Lovely day, Potter.”
Malfoy chuckled. “I think you mean, ‘yes, Malfoy, it is indeed a lovely day.’”
Harry whipped his broom around so he was staring Malfoy head on. “No, I meant fuck off. Stop trailing after me, stop talking to me, and stop looking at me like--” Green eyes widened impossibly large. “Malfoy,” he whispered, his grip on his broom becoming painful. He couldn’t let go…couldn’t let himself touch…
The blond seeker had slid back on his broom just enough that he could bend over and…Harry’s mouth parted as his brain shorted out. Heat flooded his cheeks, staining them a bright red. Was that even legal? Malfoy’s tongue caressed the top of his broom in sure sweeps, before he covered the top of it with his mouth and sucked, hard.
In the span of a blink, Malfoy was seated in his rightful position with a smug smirk stretching his lips. Harry’s mouth shut with a click. That couldn’t have been legal. There was no way any referee would have allowed that sort of…thing...to happen on the Quidditch pitch. There were children in the fucking stands watching their every move!
“Malfoy, stop flirting, you pervert, and focus on the game!” Terrance Flanagan hovered beside Malfoy looking ready to throttle him.
Malfoy’s smirk widened, and Harry wanted to fall off his broom and die. “Yes, captain,” he said with a short salute. The burly Beater nodded and shot off, wielding his club like a warrior. Malfoy winked. Harry eyed him warily, but clearly molesting someone’s broom was not a qualification for a foul. “See you, Scarhead!”
The blond shot off down the pitch and paused to hover over the Puddlemere goal posts. Harry kept one eye on him, sparing the other Seeker a few quick glances as he tried to focus back in on the game at hand. He had to find the Snitch. He had to win.
He shot another quick look at the blond and scowled. “Ponce.”
“Gin, you know I can’t dance.”
Ginevra Weasley smirked. She swept a tendril of red hair off her face, grasped both of Harry’s hands, and pulled him towards the dance floor. It was getting on towards evening and the party still showed no signs of winding down.
“Come on, buck up. It’s just one dance.” Harry gazed at her with wary acceptance. She smiled in triumph. Warm brown eyes sparkled in amusement, and Harry knew there was no way to get out of this, save passing out, or suddenly being killed. Sadly neither of these looked like they were about to occur. “It’s not like I’m leading you to the gallows.”
“Are you sure about that?” he joked.
Ginny sighed. She placed one hand just below his shoulder, and clasped her other hand with Harry’s. “Harry, please behave? It’s only one dance. Plus…Leonard?”
“The Harrier player that you were with earlier?” Harry interjected, earning an exasperated eye roll. Ginny stepped back and he had no choice but to follow her. He silently apologized with his eyes as they began to move about the room. Only Malfoy would insist on such old fashioned dances at his birthday party. The only thing keeping him from bolting was the other couples spinning slowly near them.
There were a few people who didn’t seem to know how to do the dance who were just swaying gently to the music. It saddened Harry to realize that if he had the choice he’d be like them. Swaying instead of doing this crazed dance that had more spins and hand changes than any others. He followed along as best as he could, letting Ginny lead whenever possible, and to his surprise managed to only crush two of her toes.
“Oh for—” Harry looked to see that to his left he was holding Malfoy’s hand as Ginny ducked between them. He exhaled and offered the birthday boy a wan smile. “Malfoy.”
“Having a good time?”
Harry stared at the blond oddly, before realizing what he was doing. “I was.”
Scowling, he let go of Malfoy’s hand and turned to reclaim Ginny’s. It was just his luck that Malfoy had managed to sneak close enough to them that he had to do every group movement with them. It was bloody unfair. Harry’s night was ruined. He couldn’t leave without Ginny; there was no way he was going to explain to Ron why he left his baby sister at Malfoy’s place.
“Oh, what changed?” Malfoy asked, as they clasped hands and moved down the row of people.
Harry met Malfoy’s eyes as they passed again. “You started bothering me again.”
Harry couldn’t ask what he meant as he lost sight of the blond momentarily. It took another go around of the dance before he caught sight of the Malfoy heir again. “What was that supposed to mean?”
“Paranoid?” Malfoy shot over his shoulder as he spun the slender brunette in his arms. From what Harry could see, the woman didn’t seem to mind the lack of attention Malfoy was paying her.
“No,” Harry snapped, then sighed, and suddenly yelped when Ginny stepped on his foot.
“You’re dancing with me,” she reminded him with a laugh. “If you want to dance with Malfoy, all you have to do is ask him.”
Gaping, Harry shook his head dumbly. “I—what—no!”
Ginny continued to laugh as they finished out the song. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, before walking off to find the Harrier player again. He watched her go with nothing more than bemusement.
“Of course I don’t want to dance with Malfoy,” Harry grumbled, stalking off to the table laden with finger foods and punch. He prayed someone had been smart enough to spike it by now. Alcohol would be needed if he intended to get out of this party without punching someone in the mouth. Someone named Malfoy. The prat hadn’t left him alone for more than an hour. It wasn’t like there were over one hundred people in attendance that he could talk to or torment.
He grabbed a glass and poured himself some punch and swallowed it quickly. Disappointment crept through him when he discovered it was plain punch.
Harry startled when a flute of bubbling alcohol was shoved in front of him. “Thanks,” he muttered, taking it and gracelessly drinking it all.
Light chuckling filled his ears, and he turned to face his tormentor. “Malfoy?”
The grey-eyed man snapped his fingers and Harry’s glass was instantly filled again. “If I had known that all it would take was a glass of champagne to make you become polite, I would have broken it out hours ago.”
“Why won’t you go away?”
“Because you’re the only person worthy of my time here.”
Harry shook his head, setting the barely-touched glass of champagne on the table. “Whatever, Malfoy.”
“You’re wasting perfectly good champagne, Potter.” Malfoy’s eyes rested on his hand that was clutching the stem and Harry reluctantly picked it up again. That damn smirk appeared again, and Harry tossed back the rest of his drink, casting aside the once-again empty crystal glass.
Loud screams of excitement filled the air, and Harry looked down the field to where the Falcon’s Chasers circled victoriously. Malfoy wasn’t in sight, and his stomach rolled in an unpleasant way. His heart beat sped as he tried to find the blond seeker without giving away that it was what he was doing. Palms slick with sweat, he rubbed them on his robes and tried to focus on what just happened. Harry could make out Oliver’s form hovering between the center post and the slumped form had him looking immediately at the scoreboard.
A hundred to eighty. “When—“
“Potter, if you keep blanking out your team will be a bigger loser than it is now.”
Harry snarled. “Malfoy, how many times am I going to have to ask you to go away before I hex you off your broom?”
“Oh, threats,” Malfoy said, delighted. “My, my I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Groaning, Harry tried to fly as far away from the Falcon’s Seeker as he could, but no matter where he went Malfoy followed. After five minutes of pursuit, Harry gave up. “What do you want, Malfoy? You weren’t even this annoying at school.”
“Who says I want anything from you?” Malfoy asked, inspecting his nails as he drew his broom up alongside Harry’s in the opposite direction. “Surely your stellar company is all I can ask for?”
Harry bent over and hit his forehead against his Firebolt. He couldn’t win. He looked into Malfoy’s eyes, pleading for some peace. “Please.”
“I don’t think so, Potter.”
The voice came from somewhere close. Harry tried to pull his broom back, but found himself unable to move. Malfoy’s face drew closer, and Harry’s gaze dropped helplessly to the wind-chapped lips that were no more than five inches away now.
One manicured hand reached around the back of his head, just as those lips he had been admiring brushed against his own. Harry couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t see past the sparkling grey eyes before him. His body tensed in anticipation. Malfoy’s warm breath ghosted against his lips as they hovered there. An odd tightness lurked in Harry’s stomach, making it hard to concentrate. Suddenly, the other Seeker pulled back, holding something high in the air. Harry’s gaze wrenched upwards and he gasped.
Malfoy caught the Snitch.
The changing rooms were tense, and Harry swore he could feel everyone’s gaze resting on his back as he passed, heading towards the showers. He knew he should have taken that vacation. Steam pressed around him as he entered the showers, and he took off his glasses. The rest of the team must have taken theirs while he had been doing laps. His hands ached from gripping the broom too firmly, and the stiffness made it hard to bend them back into their natural positions.
Harry pulled off the black gloves, wincing more than once and tossed them onto a bench in the center of the room. Taking off the rest of his Quidditch gear, he entered the nearest shower stall and drew the curtain closed. The water scalded his torso as he leaned back against the wet tile wall.
What had Malfoy been playing at? He couldn’t possibly have known. They had both been drunk, there was no way Malfoy could have recalled that!
“Harry, are you all right?”
Harry pulled open the curtains enough to look out and see Oliver there with a worried expression. “No,” and he shut the curtain again. “Please, go away, captain.”
“Can’t do that, Potter,” Oliver said, with no regret. “You just lost your first match in over a year.”
“What, do you think I’ll drown myself?”
Harry tipped his head back, hitting it against the wall a few times as he waited for his friend and captain’s answer.
Oliver chuckled. “No, but I know you aren’t in any position to be reamed out with the rest of the team. What happened out there, Harry?”
“Malfoy,” Harry spat and horrified himself by discovering his voice had cracked halfway through the name.
“What about him?” Harry heard Oliver sit down on the bench adjacent to the shower. “You’ve played against him many times before.”
“Not like this.”
Harry bit his lip and bowed his head, the steaming hot blast of water pelting against the back of his neck soothing out the tense muscles of his shoulders. “Married.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’re married, captain,” Harry repeated. He laughed harshly. This would be the first time he told anybody. Not even Ron or Hermione knew. Of course he’d end up spilling his guts in the opposing team's shower room, at the Falcon’s home field. “You know, bonds of holy matrimony, vows, brides and grooms? Married.”
There was a pregnant pause as the news settled in Oliver’s mind. “When?”
“What?” Harry opened the curtain and peered out into the steam filled room.
“When did you get married?” Oliver asked, staring at Harry with an unreadable expression. “And why wasn’t I invited?”
Harry flushed. “June, at Malfoy’s party.”
“You were there the whole time,” Oliver protested. “You left with us. A little worse for wear, but you left with us.”
Harry snorted, “I’m aware.”
“Then…I don’t understand.”
“You know how a wizards bond only needs one witness and the two people going into the bonding right?” Harry waited until Oliver nodded, but Oliver’s uncertainty could be seen clearly. “So long as you recite the vows correctly, it doesn’t matter if you have an official there.”
“This still doesn’t make any sense.”
“You think I don’t know that! I went to that party hating Malfoy, and by the time I was ready to leave, I was scared to leave his side. Do you understand how horrifying that feeling is when you wake up in your flat the next morning and know that you should be somewhere else?”
Oliver shook his head, dumbfounded. “Harry, mate, no offense, but how’d you know the vows in the first place?”
Harry reached out for his towel and wrapped it around his waist before stepping out of the shower. “A book.”
“Yeah, a book.” Harry sat down on the bench, resting his elbows on his knees. “Sometime after the fifth glass of champagne, Malfoy managed to find some Firewhisky.”
“Harry—“ Harry held up a hand to stop the lecture. Oliver let him continue, and Harry knew once he was done there would be no reason for the brown haired man to hold off.
“We ended up stumbling into the next room which was the library and well…” Harry trailed off with a shrug. The rest he’d rather not share. Things got rather fuzzy in his mind, and he didn’t want to clear out those cobwebs. There were some things he didn’t want to recall. Not really.
“I have to say, Potter, when you have problems, they’re big ones.”
“Oh shut up,” Harry mumbled, face flaming.
“Now there’s only one real problem left as far as I can see.”
“What? You mean being married and losing the game because my concentration slipped isn’t enough of a problem?”
The sound of the door opening echoed around the bathroom, and Harry didn’t even want to turn around. He only had to look at Oliver’s face to know who had just entered the room. Someone hated him in high places. This just wasn’t fair. He wanted to go home and fall asleep. Dealing with his actions wasn’t in the plan. “Oh quit whining, Potter.”
Harry looked up to see grey eyes dangerously close to his face, and before he could protest Malfoy’s lips were covering his own. It wasn’t a slow or tender kiss, but one of possession and exploration. Draco's tongue demanded entrance, and Harry realized he was more than happy to oblige. When Draco sucked on his tongue, Harry was reminded of the image of Draco sucking on his broom.
With a moan, Harry deepened the kiss, making his own demands of Draco. Teeth collided, the kiss almost brutal in its intensity. Harry wouldn't be surprised if he came away with a bloody lip, the way Draco was sucking and biting at his lower lip.
Harry barely noticed Oliver standing and leaving the room.
“You’re such an idiot, Potter,” Draco mumbled, gripping Harry’s hair and tugging. “Such a complete fool. Did you think I forgot?”
Harry whined as Draco’s lips moved down his jaw and settled on his neck.
“Foolish, Harry,” Draco chided, sucking hard at the base of Harry’s neck as he moved to straddle the bench. “Very foolish. You belong to me, and I never forget what is mine.”