Draco in Darkness

Soaring and Falling

Two are better than one; for they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him.

     -- Ecclesiastes 4:9-11

"I can't study with you tomorrow," Harry said apologetically, as he piled his quills and ink back into his bag.

"Oh?  Hot date?" Draco joked.

Harry snorted.  "Not bloody likely."

"Oh, that's right.  I forgot.  Girls don't like dark, slim, clever, hero-types."

"Shut up."

"So much for the 'blonds have more fun' theory...."

"Do you want me to smack you?"

"Hmmm... add 'kinky' to the list of Potter-traits," Draco mused, a grin spreading over his features.  "Who knew you were such a masochist?"

"Malfoy-" Harry warned.  "Look, I'm not interested in any girl right now.  So - enough with the 'hot date' theories.  I can't meet you tomorrow because the game with Ravenclaw is coming up and we have an extra Quidditch practice scheduled."

There was a pause.  "Oh, right.  Quidditch," Draco finally replied, rather stiffly. 

Harry bit his lip.  He suddenly remembered this was the one thing Draco could no longer do.  The Slytherin had played as fiercely and proudly for his team as Harry still did for his ... but now he never spoke of it.  "I'm sorry," Harry murmured.  "I should have-"

"No problem, Potter," Draco interjected with an overbright smile.  "See you Friday?"

"Yes, of course, but-" Harry looked at his friend with concern.  Draco's face was looking rather pinched beneath the smile.  "Are you okay?"

The smile slipped slightly from his features.  "I'm fine," the blond replied tersely.  "And we can't have you losing to the Ravenclaws after all this time, can we?   Go practice.  See you Friday."  He turned away and began meticulously packing his books and materials into his bag.

"Right," Harry said with a sigh, knowing he would get no further.  He got to his feet and headed for the door.  "See you Friday."

~*~*~

As he walked back to his common room, he wondered why he had never really noticed it before, the fact that Draco avoided even mentioning Quidditch like the plague.  Nothing relating to it at all.  It was as if the game no longer existed to him.  Harry remembered how the Slytherin had immediately scrapped the idea of dueling on the pitch, but had offered no excuse; he'd only stated why he wanted to avoid the area near Hagrid's cabin.  Had he been there at the recent Slytherin match with Hufflepuff?  It wasn't easy to pick out a single face in the sea of students but, given his behaviour today, Harry suspected he hadn't.  It had been strange enough for Harry to see dark-haired Laynee Gruen playing as Slytherin Seeker, instead of the familiar blond; for Draco to come and hear the commentator talking about his replacement would probably have been too painful.   Still - he couldn't avoid it forever, could he?  Quidditch was too big a part of the wizarding world.

Harry resisted the urge to bang his head on the banister as he climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower; he felt like an insensitive idiot for not thinking about Draco's feelings sooner, but also felt equally angry at Draco for avoiding the issue as long as he had.  There was so much he avoided.

Then again, how would he feel if something were to prevent him from ever playing Quidditch again?  Harry's insides grew cold just at the mere thought of it.  Would he be able to attend the games anyway, and enjoy purely it as a spectator?  He loved watching the games he wasn't involved in, but it was still with the sure knowledge that he would have plenty of turns up in the sky.  What if that weren't the case?