Drarry One Shots

'I've got you, Draco!'

We had become something of a spectator sport. Every Saturday morning, at 11am. An unofficial duelling match, of sorts.

Surprisingly, it had been Ron's idea.

Do you notice how hard I'm trying? I call him 'Ron' these days, not 'the Weasel'. It's hard, I can tell you, but I'm overcoming the old prejudices. I need too. Of course, that started because I had too, quite literally: I was being monitored. I'm still being monitored. So, now, I'm forever on my best behaviour and that means not calling any Gryffindors what could be perceived as unfriendly antagonistic names. Not that I can begrudge it – it's a part of my probation, you reap what you sow, and all that.

So, there became this sort of silent truce between the Golden Trio and me. Between Harry and I. It was an awkward silence that felt miserably empty. I didn't realise it at first, but a huge part of my life was missing, until gradually it dawned on me how much attention we spent on each other. I found it really hard to be, well, ignored is the wrong word, because we still couldn't help watching each other like suspicious Kneazles. Perhaps it's better to say I found it really hard to be just a normal boring distant acquaintance of Harry Potter's, bane of my life and centre of my world.

The acute absence of his presence in my life made me twitchy in a way that would never even begin to make sense, and certainly not in a way that I can articulate with any clarity.

With hindsight, I believe, now, that I wasn't the only one who missed our rivalry. The energy we spent on each other was distinctly lacking, it left a hole that the other year eights didn't know how to cope with as much as we didn't.

So, Ron suggested it.

It stemmed from the fact that we weren't allowed to join the House Quidditch teams for some unfathomable reason that all of us, except Hermione Granger, begrudgingly agreed we didn't understand. Hermione kept wittering on about fairness to the younger years and them being given a chance to play, or something achingly dull along those lines.

'I'm bored,' Ron announced loudly one Saturday morning after much sullen moping around the shared common-room. 'But I think I have the answer.'

The initial silence that greeted him was shock: it was the first time someone, who wasn't a teacher, had actually addressed the common-room as a whole and crossed the invisible boundaries between the groups who sat segregated by their Houses.

I bit back my snide comment, mostly because I'm not allowed to sneer aloud at my contemporaries anymore, and I waited. We all waited, watching him closely as we waited for his undoubtedly blemished pearl of wisdom. I can, at least, be dour in my own mind, mercifully my thoughts aren't policed.

It turned out that Ronald Weasley, the bumbling ginger sidekick and eternally insignificant appendage to The Chosen One, actually had a bloody big flawless diamond of infinite wisdom hidden behind his copious number of idiotic freckles. Perhaps Granger was wearing off on him.

'Why don't you two,' he indicated in the directions of Harry and I, his finger flicking between the two of us on our opposing sides of the room, 'have a Seeker's Game?'.

I felt my heartbeat soar. Ron Weasley had given me a gift, a spark of hope, something to look forward to between the enduring torturous nightmares and History of Magic homework.

Harry looked at me and raised an eyebrow. I could see him questioning me, seeking silent permission with those bright emerald eyes.

A fire had been kindled deep within me and, by Merlin, I wanted this. I needed this more than I realised. The excitement made my insides writhe with desire and I knew a smile played on my lips.