Eighth Year (Drarry Fanfic)

Your Hand in Mine

The chilly breeze nipped into Harry's exposed skin but he simply reveled in it, loving the coolness of it as it washed over him. The sun was high and bright despite the sudden gloom that painted the sky slightly overcast. Inhaling deeply, he couldn't help the grin that seemed to have taken permanent residence on his face. Quidditch would always be his first love. The glorious feeling of careening through the air, meters above ground, whilst balanced on a mere stick of enchanted wood was utterly exhilarating, freeing.

Harry swept his gaze across the Quidditch Pitch, taking in everything that was happening. The game was in progress with the Eighth Years leading 40 to 10. Despite it being just a practice match, the turn out was still rather spectacular. Almost the entire student population was present. The air was charged with excitement. The cheers were unbearably loud; Harry could barely hear himself think. Harry couldn't contain the childlike bubble of delighted laughter that escape him. It was for moments like these that they'd fought the War for.

The sudden action near the Gryffindor goalposts instantly drew his attention. Harry mentally kicked himself for his complete lack of focus. He was definitely shite as Referee. He watched as the Eighth Year Chasers swerved and spun, lobbing the Quaffle to one another, intent on scoring another easy goal. Harry grimaced, almost in physical pain, as the Gryffindor Keeper bumbled about—too tense and too nervous and complete putty in Dean Thomas' hands. Harry sighed as Dean, former Gryffindor Chaser, toyed with—tortured, really—the hapless Sixth Year Keeper.

Harry made a small sound of approval when Peakes, one of the Gryffindor Beaters, managed to send the Bludger hurtling towards Dean, disrupting his rhythm and giving their Keeper a much needed breather. Harry sighed ruefully. This was shaping up to be one long and arduous match—a clear disadvantage for Gryffindor, if Ginny didn't find the Snitch soon.

Harry cast a glance towards Ron and chuckled in amusement at the sight of his best mate flying in lazy circles around the Eighth Year's goalposts, shouting for his teammates to let him in on some action. The match had been painfully one-sided. The Gryffindors had barely been able to get near Ron. The only time they'd scored was all thanks to Demelza managing to pull a fast one from a neat steal.

Settling back on his broom, Harry flew in a low sweep around the Pitch, signaling at the other two Referees. A flash of pale-blond glinting off a shaft of sunlight instantly captured Harry's attention. Smiling, he looked up and squinted against the sun's glare.

Draco looked absolutely stunning in his Quidditch leathers. He was flying in elegantly looping figure-eights high above the Pitch; quicksilver eyes, pale hair flying about his head, face flushed pink with excitement. The steely little grin hovering on the edges Draco's mouth was almost Harry's undoing, which would be terrible. Harry needed to focus. Referees needed that, apparently. Draco was practically vibrating with adrenalin and Harry could almost taste it in his mouth. Fuck, if Draco didn't look bloody gorgeous on his goddamn broom. The way his pert little arse nestled on it just so...

Harry, once again, gave himself a mental slap.

Wrenching his gaze away from Draco, Harry finished making his sweep and settled back to watching the lopsided match. Harry was indeed a terrible referee. He found himself tracking Draco's movements yet again. Only this time, Draco was also staring back at him. They shared a secret smile and Harry's heart clenched at the warmth radiating from Draco's gaze.

Suddenly reminded of Narcissa's letter, Harry felt unease pooling in the pit of his stomach. Draco was leaving today. This he knew. Most likely after the Quidditch match. Draco never brought it up and neither did he, leaving Harry in a dilemma. Maybe, if he made plans after the match, Draco would be forced to tell him. Harry released the breath he'd unknowingly been holding and forcibly turned his attention back to the game in progress. He was fucking terrible at this whole Referee business.