Please Be There If I Remember

Chapter Forty-Four: Games

It was the day of Draco's 'first' quidditch match, and he was absolutely terrified.

He did his best not to show it, of course, but if Harry's pitying yet encouraging look he got in the Great Hall before the match was any indication, then he must not have been doing a very good job at hiding it.

It wasn't even that Draco was nervous he was going to fail—he had come to realise after seeing his teammates fly that he was actually quite good—but that he would end up somehow embarrassing himself in front of Harry. Although, when he thought about it, he wasn't really sure why, because the two had talked again and decided to be together; a fact that Draco was still reeling over. That night, he had woken up Blaise and told him excitedly that he and Harry were now boyfriends, and Blaise had mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "You really had to tell me that now? Go to sleep, Draco," before turning over in his covers and snoring the second his head hit the pillow.

Draco was too ecstatic to care.

He and Harry were boyfriends.

Draco was shocked that the world hadn't blown up in retaliation yet. He sighed happily to himself, absentmindedly twirling his fork between his hands and completely missing Flint walking up to him. The captain brought his arm up and landed a harsh blow on his shoulder.

Was that meant to be friendly? Draco thought with an inward wince at his now throbbing shoulder. Man, does that guy have a grip.

"Ready for today, Draco?" Flint asked in that gruffy voice.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Draco remarked and had to wait for the captain to let go of his arm before he could use his fork again. He had to roll his shoulder a few times to try and get rid of the lingering feeling of the firm hold, and he just knew that Harry was laughing at him over at the Gryffindor table, the prat.

(His prat now—a fact that Draco doubted he could ever get used to.)

He eagerly bit into his food and noticed that he apparently tended to stress eat when he was nervous, something that clearly didn't miss Theo's attention whose eyes were filled with mirth at the large pile of food on Draco's plate. His friend hadn't questioned him about Harry yet, even though Draco was sure that he knew at least part of it, and he was grateful for that. Neither had Pansy, now that he thought about it, and Draco wasn't sure if that was because she was oblivious, didn't care, or still had those strange conflicting feelings over who he hung out with.

He thought back to the conversation they had had all those weeks ago about Pansy being worried for Draco's safety, and, instead of telling him about it, had avoided him in hopes that he would understand how to get her back. He had known that people in his house didn't like muggle-borns, had accepted it readily, actually. But the fact still remained that Draco cared, and as much as he liked Pansy, he actually didn't know her well enough to really feel the deep loss at their now strained friendship because he was being nice to people who she thought were inferior to her.

He was sure past him might have felt some kind of pain in the loss of their closeness, but now it was only a sinking twinge in his heart that wished Pansy could see where she had gone wrong.

And it wasn't that they were no longer friends—Draco still talked with her like he had before the confrontation—but his previous respect for her had gotten lost in the sea of her shrouded views.

Draco realised that he had stopped eating and found he no longer had any appetite. Maybe I shouldn't have eaten so much, he thought as he tried to tune out the excited chatter in the hall about the upcoming match. I'm starting to feel sick.