𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭 & 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 | drarry

19

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of practice sessions and flying drills, as Harry and Draco worked with Mathias and Damian on the Quidditch pitch. The late summer days slowly shifted into autumn, the air crisp and the skies clear, perfect for flying. There was a tangible sense of change in the air, and it wasn't just because of the seasons. It was the boys, too.

At first, the tension between Mathias and Damian was palpable, lingering over the pitch like a storm cloud waiting to burst. They were rivals through and through, seekers for opposing teams, and neither seemed willing to concede an inch. Mathias's quick reflexes and Damian's sharp instincts made for a fierce competition, and it seemed as if any small misstep from one would set the other off.

Harry, watching them go through a series of seeker drills, sighed softly. "Honestly, Draco, are we sure this is going to work?"

"They need to work through this," Draco replied, his voice steady. "If we could get along-eventually-so can they." He smirked slightly, glancing over at Harry. "Besides, they're both stubborn, just like we were. It'll take time."

Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking. "Just like we were, huh?" he repeated, and Draco shot him a knowing look.

Slowly, over those few weeks, the boys began to change.

Harry and Draco devised new drills, ones that required Mathias and Damian to work together in unexpected ways-passing the Quaffle between them, working as partners to maneuver through complicated aerial obstacles, and even learning how to coordinate to block out an imaginary third seeker.

At first, their cooperation was begrudging, their movements stiff and their glares sharp.

But something started to shift. Maybe it was the countless afternoons spent in the sky together, or the drills that forced them to trust one another, or maybe it was the way Draco and Harry worked together with such ease, showing them what real teamwork could look like. Bit by bit, the animosity between Mathias and Damian began to ease, their glares replaced by wary, albeit respectful, nods.

There were still moments when things got heated, when a particularly intense drill would end in a shouted argument or when one of them would fly a little too close for comfort. But now, instead of spiraling into a full-blown shouting match, they'd take a breath, regroup, and try again.

Harry watched as Mathias offered Damian a hand after a rough tumble one afternoon, and something softened in his chest.

Draco was beside him, arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "See, Harry? I told you. They just needed time."

Harry glanced at him, his own smile forming. "You might be right, Draco."

Draco's smile widened, his gaze shifting back to the boys as they took off into the air again, their brooms side by side. "Of course I'm right."

One afternoon, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the pitch, Harry decided to take to the skies himself. He grabbed his broom, motioning for Draco to join him.

"Come on, let's show them how it's done," he called, his grin widening when he saw Draco roll his eyes but still mount his broom.

The two of them soared into the sky, side by side, their movements instinctual, effortless. Harry could hear the whoops of excitement from the boys below as he and Draco raced, looping around the pitch, the wind roaring in their ears. They flew like they had in their youth-unrestrained, reckless, like they were back at Hogwarts for the first time, battling it out in a Quidditch final. The exhilaration of it all made Harry's heart race, and he caught Draco's eye mid-air, sharing a grin that was both nostalgic and triumphant.