The Malfoy-Granger Guide To Fake Dating

6

Draco's view from high above the quidditch pitch was utterly perfect, in his personal opinion.

The weather was pleasant, without a single cloud in sight. The sun shone comfortingly against his back through the layers of padding Ministry players were forced to wear, and he adjusted his grip on the front of his broom, tilting it upwards a bit and peering down at the stands.

He could just make out the top of her head, and the glimpse of green that peeked out from below her curtain of curls. The thought of her sitting there, wrapped in his jersey warmed him enough to do without any of the layers, and he smiled unabashedly into the empty air before him.

He hadn't managed to spot the Snitch yet, but in all honesty, he wasn't really trying.

Sure, it would have been nice for Granger to witness him engaging in a neck and neck race against Potter to reach the fluttering golden orb, raising it above his head in a tight fist and zooming around the pitch for a few victory laps. But for now, he was perfectly content with simply watching the action from afar. Especially since Potter hadn't made much of a move, either.

He spotted the female Weasley zipping around below him, her trail hot on another Chaser with the Quaffle tucked securely under his arm. As much as he hated to admit it, she was talented. Quick and attuned to each shift in the directions of the players around her. She would do well on a professional team. Or, perhaps she already played for one...

He vaguely remembered an article in the Prophet that had something to do with both the redhead and his favorite sport, but he'd hardly paid it any mind at the time it was published. It had come in the midst of a rather trying time in his life when he'd been eyeballs deep in firewhiskey and his own misery. So naturally, he hadn't dedicated much time back then to reading the paper.

A glint of something golden caught his eye from the left, and without a second's hesitation, Potter was diving. Draco swore profusely, leaning forward with the intent to dive headfirst in Potter's direction. The snitch zoomed away quicker than the beats of a hummingbird's wings, and the wind whipped furiously at Draco's hair as he plummeted through the sky. Grip tight and bruising, he pulled up at the last possible moment, the toes of his boots just barely grazing the grass as he came up beside Potter to nudge him in the shoulder.

Well, 'nudge' was a polite way to put it.

In all honesty, he shoved him. Hard.

Potter grunted, returning the same action with much less vigor, but returning it nonetheless. Draco would have rolled his eyes if not for the overwhelming sting of the cold wind against his corneas, forcing false tears from the corners of his pinched lids and dragging them up to his temples.

Potter began to reach forward, extending his arm towards the fluttering Snitch in a motion that was disturbingly familiar to their second-year match at Hogwarts. The one where he'd practically somersaulted off his broom and landed flat on his arse. But Draco hardly had the mental capacity to reminisce at the moment. Not when Potter's fingertips were mere centimeters from robbing him of the victory he'd yet to grasp.

Draco's focus sharpened, and he leaned forward to reach over the end of his broom towards the Snitch. It was neck and neck, with Potter's hand hovering just beside his own. It was anyone's game, really. All it would take was a little more concentration. A little more effort, and then—

An elbow jabbed roughly into his ribs, and Draco grunted, losing his balance as he veered sharply away from the Snitch's trail. He hardly managed to keep his hold on the front of his broom, saved by the tight grip of his thighs, and hissed in pain as he steered back towards Potter. Leaning forward and ducking down to cut through the air more swiftly, he shot towards the Snitch, his ribs burning as he came up beside Potter once more.