Shoulder Pillow

Chapter 9: It's Not Your Fault

 Harry had never been so wound up for a football game. Well, not one that he could remember at the moment. The last time Hogwarts' football team had played against Beauxbatons Institute, Oliver Wood had been captain, and they'd lost. Drastically. The memories were still ingrained in Harry's mind; how Oliver had stayed strong in the face of defeat, the manner in which he had managed to cheer up the team despite their bitter moods. Despite Harry's bitter mood.

If I'd just made those shots, Harry thought, sitting on the bench in the locker rooms, minutes before the game was going to start, then Oliver wouldn't have had to cheer up the team. He ran a hand down his face, looking down at his hands in his lap. What am I thinking? If Oliver couldn't lead us to victory, how am I supposed to? How am I supposed to be better than him when I'm just... me? What was I thinking? Accepting being captain was such a mistake, I can't do this Ican'tdothisIcan'tdothiswhatwasIthinking-

"Harry?" The boy looked up at hearing his name, only to see Fred and George Weasley standing in the doorway. "Coach is looking for you. The game is supposed to start any minute now."

Despite the recent developments in Harry's relationship with Ron, Fred and George seemed relatively as they were before. They didn't appear to care what their brother thought of Harry; after all, he was still their captain.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Harry murmured, standing and walking behind the twins out to the field. When Coach Hooch saw him, she gave him a knowing smile and a pat on the back.

"Potter, whatever happens out there, you'll do me proud." Harry heard the words, but they seemed to bounce off his heart, echoing around his chest until they were twisted, crooked, mangled, unrecognizable. Instead, he heard, I already know you're going to fail, I may as well try to make you feel better. Harry's heart faltered, his hands turned clammy as he walked to his position on the field.

Every muscle in Harry's body was aching, with exertion and with remorse. Everything went sour in the second half of the game. Harry had missed a pass to Angelina, Katie Bell had fouled on one of Beauxbatons' center fielders, Alicia Spinnet had failed what should've been an easy goal. While it was a close game, they'd only lost by one goal, they had still lost.

The water was hot on Harry's skin as he rushed through his shower, attempting to get out of the locker rooms and to his dorm as fast as possible. He didn't think he could handle the disappointed looks of his teammates on top of the lost game. It wasn't their first loss with him as captain, but this was the game they'd spent hours upon hours training for. This was the game everyone had been looking forward to winning. And yet they'd lost. Harry had lost. Again.

Harry exited the shower, threw his clothes on as fast as humanly possible, and made his way to the door. But not before seeing all of his teammates, apparently waiting for him. Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat, shifting his face into what he hoped was a passable smile.

"You all were great out there," he started, his voice was steadier than he thought it would be, for them, "We may not have won, but you improved on the last time you played them. I know you all worked very hard to win this game, I know you're all sad we didn't win. But I am proud of you all. And I'm sure Coach is, too."

This seemed to brighten their moods the smallest bit. They all gave him the same somber smile, and nodded at him, giving him permission to leave. Harry turned to go through the door, but just as his fingers touched the doorknob, Angelina exclaimed, "Draco's waiting for you outside."

Harry's entire body froze, his fingers almost jerking off the knob. No, he couldn't face his boyfriend. He wouldn't be able to stand the disappointment that would no doubt be written on Draco's face. He would crumble, collapse, fall apart. He.. he just couldn't.