Empty Spaces

Chapter 19

He had to take off right after classes to go and pick up his broom. Determined not to make a complete fool of himself, he flew back to the castle, trying to remember how to dive and roll and maneuver... Sometimes, it felt like he could do this in his sleep and other times, he felt as if his brain and his body were two completely separate things.

Once. You can do this once.

He landed on the Quidditch pitch and was met by an enthusiastic Ginny, who promptly introduced him to the current team and got right to work dividing everyone up and starting them on drills. It took a little while to get going, but after a few dives, Harry started to feel like his old self again. He remembered why he liked the game so much– the intense focus during a dive, the rush of satisfaction afterwards, the camaraderie among team members...

And yet, like all other things, it just wasn't the same. Ginny would ask him to demonstrate a maneuver, something Harry knew he had done a million times before, only it felt foreign and strange in his body after nearly two years away. How could he have lost all his agility, his skill, his precision... then there was fact that he found himself forever coming back to thoughts of Malfoy-- whether he was doing okay and also the sudden, inexplicable urge to go hex his supposedly "ex" boyfriend.. Then, on a final dive, he felt a sharp, piercing pain through his back and landed with a surge of disappointment and frustration.

"Harry, you really were excellent," Ginny praised, "I mean it, thanks so much for coming out today, it was so helpful to have you here. I can explain these things forever, and I can try to demonstrate, but let's face facts– I'm a Chaser, not a Seeker, and it was just so much better to have you out here showing how it's done..."

Ron was trying too, and while Harry truly did appreciate the effort and inclusion, all he really wanted to do was go back to his flat, lie down, and maybe take a couple Advil. The sharp, shooting pain had at least managed to diffuse down to a dull, persistent ache, an in-your-face reminder that the war had somehow managed to take even Quidditch too. It had been nice to get out onto the field and there really had been some great moments, but it was all overshadowed by the infuriating disappointment that Harry wasn't flying anywhere near as well as he used to. It felt selfish and petty, but part of what made Quidditch fun was the fact that it was one of the few things Harry felt like he was naturally good at. He supposed he could go back into training– Ron adamantly insisted that all Harry needed was a few solid practices and he would be on top of his game once more– but that still involved facing the reality that Past Harry was good at Quidditch while Present Harry was not anymore.

Not really wanting to sit through dinner, he left Ron and Ginny at the Great Hall and made his way back down to the gates where he was then stuck with the predicament of deciding the best way to return to the village– he didn't think his back could take another round of flying, but would it be okay to apparate?

"What the hell did you do to yourself, Potter?"

Malfoy came striding through the gates, schoolbag in hand and looking at Harry with something that– coming from Malfoy at least– could be interpreted as concern.

"What are you doing on campus so late?" Harry deferred. If Malfoy could avoid direct questions, so could he.

"Chatting with Holmberg," Malfoy replied breezily.

Of course you were, Harry thought to himself, trying not to look jealous, Well, I guess I now know your "type." Foreign, older men. Lovely.

"You're walking weird," Malfoy continued, undeterred, piercing Harry with his gaze, "What did you do to yourself?"

"Er–" Harry faltered, not wanting to admit that he'd hurt his back on something as stupid as a basic dive.

"Potter, you've been out of practice for two years," Malfoy said, eyeing Harry's broom and general windswept appearance, "There's no way you're going to just jump back in. What did you do?"

There was something in Malfoy's tone-- the combination of concern and feigned indifference and blunt honesty that pushed Harry to give a brief recap of what he'd done. How he'd been just slightly off in his aim, then overcompensated with a twist that sent that stupid sharp, shooting pain down the right side of his back.

"Sorry to hear, that sucks," Malfoy said, nodding and processing as Harry remembered that Malfoy played Seeker too. "I've got a salve in my trunk, nothing special, but it's pretty good for most things that don't involve blood or bones."

Harry considered declining– Past Harry would have turned it down in a heartbeat– but he remembered how Malfoy took his Advil without question and figured it wouldn't kill him to do the same. So he settled for a simple thanks and followed Malfoy's lead on the path to the village. Walking it is, then.

"What were you and Holmberg talking about?" Harry ventured, trying to sound conversational rather than jealous.

"Nothing important," Malfoy breezed, "Germany, mostly. It's been years now, but I've spent some summers there. Berlin. Frankfurt. I haven't been to Bonn, though, it's where Holmberg's from, but I went to Cologne once. How's the back?"

"Er– not really better, but also not really worse? It's so stupid, I've done that dive a million times..." Harry vented before he could stop himself. "Sorry... it really is the dumbest thing to be getting upset over..."

"No, it's not," Malfoy said in a tone that had Harry doing a double take– the snark was gone, and the sarcasm, as if a veil had lifted and Harry was seeing Malfoy for who he really was. Not Malfoy. This must be Draco. "You're right, I've seen you do that dive a million times but that was also when you were practicing like five days a week. Of course it's not going to feel the same right now. It's going to feel crappy."

It hit a spot that Harry wasn't expecting. Sure, he'd appreciated Ron and Ginny's efforts to talk him up– "You'll get it back, don't worry," "It wasn't that bad, no really, it wasn't," "It's all in your head, Harry, you've still got it..." But it was what they thought he'd wanted to hear, not what he actually needed to hear. What he actually needed to hear was that, yes, his playing sucked right now.

"Well, that's cheerful," Harry said, daring to crack half a grin in Malfoy's direction. "Thanks for the pick-me-up."

"Anytime, Potter, anytime," Malfoy drawled, sounding a bit like his old self again, only it was warmer somehow, "Only you would be thick enough to think you could pull off that dive after two years away. Hang in there, we're almost to the village..."

"Stop being dramatic, I'm fine," Harry dismissed.

"Potter... sometimes, you really suck at lying."

"No, it's really not that bad," Harry insisted. It wasn't so much about his back as it was about his injured pride. The war took everything away. How the hell did it even manage to take Quidditch too? It seemed stupidly unfair.

They walked in silence for a while longer, but it was a comfortable silence. It was the silence of two people who had lost everything in a terrifyingly short amount of time. But it is during these times– the times when you have nothing left to lose– that you realize just how much there is to be gained.