"To love someone is to wish him life; to hate someone is to desire his death." - Unknown
Bloody hell, Draco thought. That could have gone better.
Wasn't he going to try to treat Potter more civilly this year, as a silent "thank you" for what he'd done for Draco last spring? Wasn't he? He was. He owed Potter that, at least.
Draco had thought he would be able to do it, to treat Potter with cordial indifference and not needle him constantly. But then he'd sat next to the flesh-and-blood Harry Potter, with his messy hair and his wonky glasses and his pungent, freshly-washed fragrance and his clenched jaw and that damned scar ... and Draco's blood had boiled.
Damn Potter.
Draco sighed, gusty and self-indulgent. He never had been able to leave Potter alone.
"Draco, seriously, if you want to set Harry Potter on fire you should really just get up and use your wand. I don't think staring daggers at him is going to do anything but creep him out," chided Pansy, who was sitting across from Draco at lunch.
"Honestly, Pansy," said Draco, tearing his eyes from Potter to look at his sometimes friend. He immediately wished he hadn't when his eyes were filled with too-pink cheeks, a large mouth, and an uneven mop of dark hair that Pansy insisted was 'rocker chic' but which Draco thought was just ugly. If she wanted to master the I-can't-be-bothered messy/sexy look she should take lessons from Potter, Draco thought to himself, then immediately questioned his sanity for thinking such a ludicrous thing. "I am not trying to set Potter on fire. How juvenile."
Pansy tried to raise one eyebrow sardonically, but only succeeded in contorting her face. "Then what were you doing?" she asked.
"I was just thinking."
"Well, I think you should stop."
"Pansy, just because one thought is plenty enough to get you through the day doesn't mean it's sufficient for the rest of us," Draco snapped.
"Well," Pansy huffed, looking stung, "you don't have to be so rude."
Draco felt a pang of guilt. He too often unleashed his pent up temper on Pansy. It wasn't her fault she was so ... daft. An apology hung on the tip of his tongue, but he refused to let it out. Instead, he regarded her with cool eyes.
Pansy dropped the bite she was taking back onto her plate and stood up. "I'm done. You can enjoy your Potter fetish in peace now," she announced, in what was surely intended to be a biting tone. However, Draco was unprovoked.
She pouted and stormed off like a petulant child. Draco rolled his eyes. She would be over it by dinnertime. He glanced back at Gryffindor table, but the seat his eyes sought out was pushed back from the table, empty.
Suddenly, Draco felt hollow and tired.
And very alone.
… & …
Harry surveyed the small crowd collected in front of him. There were a few familiar faces – Ginny winked at him and grinned excitedly – but between the unfamiliar players who'd been new last year and the new crop of Quidditch-star-wannabes, most of the faces were unfamiliar.
And ... feminine. Was it just him, or had more girls than usual shown up today?
"All right, everybody," began Harry, calling the assembled group to attention. The action was mostly unnecessary, however, as many of the hopefuls already had their gazes fixed on Harry's legendary face with expressions of rapt fascination. "It's nice to see so much enthusiasm for the house team this year."
There was a stifled giggle from a dark-haired girl on Harry's left and he paused until it was quiet again.
"Let's channel that enthusiasm and take the House Cup for Gryffindor, shall we?" he continued.
The crowd erupted in a round of cheering and hollering, complete with some jumping and waving of arms.
"Okay, the way this will work is quite simple – a process of elimination. I will group you into small mock teams, or squads. Each squad will play a short game against another squad. Then I will choose the best players from those two squads to form another squad, who will then play the best players from the other two squads. And so on. Everybody understand?"
There was a chorus of nodding.
"Good. So. Beaters over there, please, and Chasers there, and Keepers ... right there," said Harry, pointing to corresponding spots on the pitch. The crowd dispersed.
Harry was taking careful note of who was going where when someone sidled up to him. He turned and found himself looking into a female face that was much too close to his for comfort. He took a step backward and was able to identify the female as the one who'd giggled during his speech. She had a simpering, coy grin on her lips. Great.
"Hi, Harry," she ... well, cooed. There was really no other word for the stretched, suggestive lilt she gave his name.
"Oh, er, hi," he replied, nonplussed. What could she possibly want?
"I'm not sure which position to try out for. I was wondering – could you check me out and tell me which position you think I have the best body for?" She preened, stretching her body into what she clearly considered her best angle.
Bloody hell. Scratch that last question, he got it – unfortunately.
"Er," he said, "what do you usually play?"
"Well, I'm told I have the build of a Seeker. You know – lithe, flexible ... What do you think?"
Harry thought this girl had probably never played Quidditch in her life. In fact, uncharitably, he couldn't help but wonder why she was wasting his time. "Actually, I play Seeker, so ..."
"Oh! Of course you do! How silly of me." She batted her eyelashes and giggled.
Was that supposed to be attractive? Harry sighed.
"Well..." He realized he didn't know her name.
"Georgia," she supplied, leaning close as if she were divulging a personal secret. "Georgia McDonnell."
"Right. Georgia. I think you'd best try out as a Chaser." It was the safest option, anyway. It was hard to do anyone bodily harm as a Chaser. Except maybe yourself.
"You think?"
"Mhmm. Definitely."
"Okie dokie!" she said brightly. "You'll be watching?"
"Er, yes." It was generally easier to judge flying with one's eyes open, not closed.
"Brilliant." Georgia beamed, giving Harry a full wattage smile dripping with coquetry before skipping off toward where the Beaters were gathered. Harry shook his head.
"Georgia!" he called.
She spun around, her eyes wide with eagerness.
He pointed to the group on his left. "Chasers are over there."
"Of course! Yes." She giggled and changed direction.
The girls all flew so badly Harry was beginning to think they were Confunded, because he couldn't think of any other reason why a group of such bloody awful flyers would think they had a shot at making the team. It took a while to get rid of them due to the format of the tryouts, but after a couple rounds they were all gone except Ginny, and Harry was able to get down to business.
In the end the team consisted of himself, Ron, Ginny, a set of fourth-year twins as beaters (who reminded him fiercely of Fred and George), a lanky second-year, and a shy but agile sixth-year serving as the final two Chasers. All in all, it wasn't a bad lot. They had promise, at least.
"How were tryouts?" Hermione asked at dinner.
"Well, once I'd gotten rid of all the bloody girls it went pretty well. It should be a fair team. Ron and Ginny are back, and—"
"All the girls?" interrupted Hermione.
"Yeah. Nearly thirty girls showed up, all atrocious flyers..."
Ron chimed in. "Did you see that chit Georgia almost fall off her broom trying to catch the Quaffle? Or when she tried to pass it and it fell twenty meters short and dropped to the ground?" Ron chortled. "Oh, or when she was so busy ogling Harry that the Quaffle hit her in the face!" Ron dissolved into spasms of laughter.
Harry's lips twitched at the memory.
"I think she fancies you, Harry," said Ginny mischievously, shimmying against him suggestively.
Hermione raised an eyebrow at Harry, amusement crinkling at the corner of her eyes and mouth.
"Aw, shut it, Ron." Harry thrust the prongs of his fork toward his friend. "I don't know what they were on about," he whined, turning back to Hermione. "They can't have honestly thought they'd make the team!"
"Of course not!" Hermione said, laughing.
"What would you know about it?" Harry was beginning to get a bit annoyed, feeling as if his friends were laughing at the girls' behavior at his expense.
"They're your admirers, Harry," Hermione explained. "They came just because you're the captain. They wanted to catch your attention."
"Well they certainly did that," he muttered. And not in a good way. Honestly. Why did girls come up with such completely daft ideas? It was no wonder he preferred ...
"Harry Potter, the Irresistible One," teased Ginny, rubbing her nose against Harry's cheek affectionately. "We girls are utterly helpless against your charms!" She swooned dramatically against Harry's chest in a mock faint, then peered up at him, giggling. Harry tweaked the tip of her nose and smiled, unable to remain terse in the face of his best friend's antics.
When he looked up Hermione's smile was gone, replaced with that funny expression again – parts confusion, skepticism, and calculation.
"Well, except for you," she said to Ginny.
Ginny sat up. "Except for me what?"
"You're resistant to his charms, apparently. I mean, you broke up with him. Right?"
Ginny glanced at Harry, unsure what to say.
"She didn't break up with me," clarified Harry, feeling slightly uneasy. He didn't like people prying into the particulars of his and Ginny's breakup, something Hermione was doing more and more of lately. He wasn't ready for anyone to know the truth. "It was mutual."
"Right," Ginny agreed.
"It's just," Hermione looked back and forth between the two of them, "I don't see why you broke up in the first place. You get on so well, even still. It doesn't make sense." She furrowed her brows. More than anything else, Hermione hated things that did not make sense, and would pick at them persistently until they did.
Ginny and Harry exchanged a look of panic.
"Well, it was because ..." began Ginny.
"It was just that ... we didn't ..." Harry picked up as Ginny trailed off.
"You see ... it was that we, well we ..."
"Er ... you know ..." He should be better at fabricating excuses by now, Harry thought. In fact, he should have planned something for this exact moment.
"It was that, well, Harry preferred ..." Harry shot Ginny a look. "That is, we preferred ..."
"... other people," Harry concluded. "You see?"
Hermione looked utterly nonplussed. "Not really, no."
"Oh," said Ginny, stumped.
There was really only one reason for the breakup and it was quite straightforward, but Harry was adamant that only Ginny know, for now.
"Are you sure that ..." It was Hermione's turn to trail off vaguely. She appeared to be deciding whether to ask whatever it was she was wondering. "You're actually over?"
Ginny let out a cough of surprised laughter.
"Um, yes," answered Harry. "We really are."
Hermione continued to look skeptical. And really, Harry supposed, he could see where she might get the wrong impression. After all, if one didn't know the one crucial element of their relationship that made it indisputably platonic, he supposed it could look very much like couple-hood indeed. In fact, if things were different Ginny would be at the very top of Harry's "potential girlfriend" list. But that's not what he wanted. A girlfriend, that is.
They tended to clash with the general principles of being gay.
It had been a weird thing for Harry to realize. For a while, he wasn't even convinced it was true. But there were several instances of unintentional daydreaming and ogling that left him little room for doubt. And the more he thought about it, the more okay with it he was. It wasn't exactly as if he could do anything about it anyway. Harry had always been good at accepting situations which were not ideal and making the best of them.
It didn't hurt that boys were so attractive.
No, Harry was quite content with his orientation. He just didn't think other people would be quite so content with it, which was why he'd made Ginny swear to secrecy. Actually, he'd made her make the Unbreakable Vow not to tell anyone, which might have been a little bit drastic... Nevertheless, his secret was safe until he decided otherwise.
"If you say so," Hermione said. "Are you sure there isn't any more to it than that?"
Ginny shot Harry a look that said clearly, "Tell them! Tell them now!" but she couldn't, of course, say any more.
Harry ignored her. "Yup," was all he said, "that's it. We just don't fancy each other like that anymore."
"Harry doesn't think I'm pretty or vain enough to be his girlfriend," whined Ginny melodramatically. "He wanted me to swallow helium so that my voice would sound more high-pitched and frivolous, but I told him, I said: 'Harry. I'll wear excess makeup for you, and false eyelashes, and I'll even bathe in flowery perfume, but swallowing helium? I have to draw the line somewhere.' And he said that if that was the case, then I just wasn't woman enough for him and he would go find himself a real girl." She shrugged and sighed mournfully. "He has such high standards. I wonder who could ever hope to be good enough for him? A fairy, perhaps?" She added this last bit with an impish smirk for Harry's benefit.
Harry scowled and swatted her. She laughed.
Hermione was sliding back into amusement as well. Ginny's silly monologue had distracted her, and for the moment, at least, she was placated.
"Why is Harry's love life suddenly the most fascinating thing we could discuss?" Ron complained.
"It's certainly more fascinating than yours," Ginny quipped.
Ron blushed. "Like yours is so much more exciting," he shot back. "At least I have Hermione."
"Excuse me?" interrupted Hermione in a dangerous, prissy voice. "What did you say?" She scooted back from the table and stood up in a huff.
"Oh, Hermy," Ron said, in an entirely different tone of voice – remorseful and slightly panicked, "that's not what I meant. You know I love you!" he called after her, following her away from the table and out of the Great Hall.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "He is so not mature enough to have a girlfriend."
Harry laughed. Ron did make a humorously large number of blunders in his relationship. Luckily Hermione was, for whatever reason, just as besotted with him as he was with her and always forgave him.
"Harry," said Ginny, getting serious again, "you have to tell them."
Harry's grin disappeared.
"I know," he sighed heavily. "I know." But not yet.