Thicker Than Blood | Drarry

Seventeen.

Happy Friday everyone! This chapter is a bit short, but we're reaching the peak of everything!! I'm so excited, I hope you are too!

Also, thanks so much for 400 reads!!

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Harry was all Draco could think about all of Friday.

Harry had told him to think about what he had said, but Draco couldn't stop thinking about what he did. He couldn't stop thinking about the way Harry had grabbed the side of his face and stared into his eyes as he spoke, butterflies erupting in his stomach every time he imagined a pair of deep green eyes staring into his own.

Oh, this was not good. This was not good at all.

He tried to focus on what Harry had said, but he had said so much that he couldn't remember every detail. Part of him wished Harry had written it all down, so that Draco could sit there and read every line over and over again, so that he could pick apart his words and read between the lines and try to figure out why Harry acted the way he did, and why he had done it so suddenly.

But no, that would just make things worse. He knew it would fuel his newfound obsession even more, and he would be in deeper than he already was.

He tried to shake the thoughts out of his mind by thinking about the Ravenclaw boy who had danced with him. Yes, that helped. What was his name, Collin? Caleb? Chris? It didn't matter, it's not like the rest of the school was jumping at every chance to befriend the boy who no one really cared for.

Speaking of friends, that had to be it. Yes, that's all it was, Draco was polluting his mind with false hopes and dreams that would never become true because there was no way in heaven or hell that Harry James Potter was a homosexual.

Harry had apologized for the sake of their friendship. After all, that was what he said, wasn't it? That he should have been his friend right alongside Hermione, that he was stuck in his old ways for too long and too angry to see that there was nothing wrong with their friendship. But why didn't he want Draco to say anything? Why was he asking him to sit there and think about what he said?

Maybe it was because he was embarrassed, or drunk, or both. But the next day at breakfast, when he expected Harry to skip his meal or avoid eye contact or something, the opposite was true. They had a lighthearted, friendly, playful conversation, just as they had when they were playing cards, like they had been best mates for years. Harry seemed like he had a weight that was lifted off his chest, and that he could be free and he could be himself around Draco and not have to worry about breaking into a fight and making Hermione upset.

And it left Draco completely and utterly confused.

Between spending his entire day mulling over Harry's intentions and his hangover, Draco wanted nothing more than for his head to stop pounding.

He was afraid that when he woke up on Saturday morning it would still be there.

Draco could hardly sleep Friday night.

He had planned to sleep in all morning, as the match wasn't until two in the afternoon. He needed to catch up on all the sleep that he had missed on Halloween. But he dreamt that he had slept all day, that no one was able to wake him up until after the Quidditch game, and they had all lost because of him.

So when he woke up at about four in the morning, thankfully without his hangover, his body would not allow him to go back to sleep.

He decided to start the day early, getting a cold shower in to distract him, but he couldn't stop thinking about the game, of everything that could go wrong. He could miss every goal he tried for. He could get the quaffle taken from him every time that he had it. He could fall off his broom and become the laughing stock of the entire school.

The list went on and on, and his anxieties didn't fade away, not when he tried to calm down in the shower, not when he curled up next to the fire with a good book and his cat, not until he was eating breakfast in the great hall for the match.

"I really think I should just quit now. Take my name off the list, put Ginny in instead of me," he mumbled as he pushed his food around his plate with his fork, unable to stomach any food.

"Don't say that," Hermione said, "You're going to do great."

Draco didn't believe her.

"No matter what happens out there today, I just want to say that I am so proud of all of you for the tremendous work you've put in to start the season," Angelina told them in the locker room. They were circled around her, all on one knee, listening to her final words to them before they walked out onto the pitch. "I just want you all to focus today. If you go out there with the mindset of winning or losing, we are going to lose. This is just another practice. Don't try to be a hero, don't try something you've never attempted in practice before. Stick to what you're good at, and we're sure to have a great game."

Draco followed the rest of the team out onto the pitch, making sure to stay at the back of the group, trying to make himself hide and blend in. He had spent the past five years invisible, hiding in the shadows, out of the spotlight.

He stepped onto the field and immediately mounted his broom, starting the team laps around the pitch. This was different from practice, different from tryouts. Yes, he had flown for an audience before, but never one of this size. The last time he had this many eyes on him was when he was a first year, when he had walked into Hogwarts for the first time and the sorting hat had been placed on his head.

Draco shook the thought out of his mind, trying to calm down and forget about the number of eyes on him. He was a relatively calm flyer, that was one of the things that he loved the most about flying. Flying would always allow him to calm his nerves, to push everything away from him, but it was impossible to do that now.

Madam Hooch had blown the whistle for everyone to get into their starting positions. Draco stood on the outside of the circle, opposite Alicia, with Angelina in the middle taking the face off.

Angelina shook hands with the Hufflepuff captain as Hooch put one hand on the ball box and one hand on her whistle. "I shouldn't have to say this before every match, but I will. I want a nice, clean, fair game, alright?" Everyone nodded, their eyes locked on the box. "Alright, on my mark, one, two," and on three, she blew the whistle as she opened the box.