Everything Black | Harry Potter

10. Carol of the Bells

Harry groaned, gingerly lowering aching body into his favourite squishy armchair.

Today had been a nightmare.

The morning had dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

"You've got to eat some breakfast."

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hermione.

"I'm not hungry."

Harry felt terrible. No, like actually terrible. It wasn't because in an hour's time he'd be walking onto the field.

Harry just felt terrible. The thought of eating made him feel sick.

"Harry, you need your strength," said Seamus Finnigan. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Thanks, Seamus," said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages.

A bowl of food with a pale hand attached was placed in front of him, hot steam carrying an unfamiliar – but stomach growling – scent.

"Egg and Miso soup," Draco said without prompting, a sarcastic and irritated tone colouring his words, "Light, easy and healthy. Now, eat."

Harry winced, knowing he would be getting more than a lecture from the boy about keeping to his eating schedule – the one Harry had made – but he leaned away, nonetheless.

He was familiar with Miso, having had to use it in some recipes Petunia wanted him to make back when she was briefly obsessed with all things healthy – of course, when he said, "back when", Harry had meant fifth year. He thought it helped supply several vitamins and was good to have when with a cold. All he knew definitively was that it did something to aid with digestion – the main reason Petunia had wanted it, for her "precious Dudders."

Harry sneaked a glance at the Slytherin table, where it seemed people were either staring with calculating eyes or looking like they wanted glare at the Malfoy Heir but knowing it would be more trouble than it was worth.

Malfoy, after all, was a prominent name in the Wizarding World. It was certainly how younger Draco had gotten away with all his antics.

Admittedly, the soup did look very appealing, but he still tried to push it away.

"Draco. ." he said when the boy just pushed it back towards his.

"No, we don't want Gryffindors whining that Slytherin only won because our Seeker actually ate breakfast."

Harry smiled weakly but still shook his head. "Can't Draco, don't feel well."

The pale boy's ice grey eyes sharpening in concern, brows pinching ever-so-slightly. Harry was touched but he was fine really. He just didn't feel up to–

"Scared Potter?" Harry took a moment to register what had been said, and then his head whipped towards the boy, mouth gaping wide at the smirk that greeted him. "Scared you'll be no match against our team?"

His housemates bristled. They may have agreed to tolerate the "slimy snake" for the raven's sake, but they were not about to let the insult slide.

They stopped when Harry let out a sharp "Ha!" with an – almost wild – grin.

"You. Wish," he emphasised the two words with a competitive passion that completely contradicted his suddenly elated expression. "You fucking wish."