The Scent Of Malice | drarry

four | confrontation

On the third day after the Potions class, there was an important Quidditch match.

Harry's heart sank into his stomach as soon as he remembered the fixture was Gryffindor v Slytherin.

He'd managed to avoid Malfoy entirely since The Incident, but there was no avoiding him today - he was the opposition Seeker, for fuck's sake. He'd be all over him.

"Just don't look at him, mate," was Ron's advice. "Block him out."

His friend was still weirded out that the revelation that Harry might be in love with the boy who'd bullied them all for years, but he did his best to be supportive.

"If he's cruel to you, Harry, let it spur you on to do better than him," Hermione added, and Harry nodded.

"Thanks guys, I'll try," he said. "I don't think Slytherin are going to take it easy on me, though. I've got a bad feeling about this match."

"Are you... do you think you're looking forward to seeing him?" Hermione asked tentatively.

Harry blanched. "About a million times less than normal. And I usually want to see him about as much as I want to cut my own arm off with a rusty spoon."

"Still pretending you hate him, then," Ginny piped up from across the room. "I see."

Harry sighed; he hadn't even known she was there.

"Ginny, can you stop being so bitter?" he asked. "I told you before that I do hate him, and I want to be with you if you'll let me. The only barrier between us right now is you, so stop pretending I've done anything wrong."

"I will when you stop pretending you haven't!" she sneered before storming off, leaving the three of them lost for words.

"She's spirited," Ron offered after a second. "Gets it from Mum."

"Thanks, Ronald."

Harry groaned. "I really don't need this stress. I mean, I'm already anxious enough about the game - if Malfoy lets me get that far without beating the shit out of me, that is."

"You'll be fine, mate," Ron insisted, and Hermione agreed. Secretly, though, both were equally terrified for him. They knew all too well what Malfoy was capable of.

"Come on," said Ron after letting Harry mope for another minute. "We'll go down together. I've got you."

And he had, for now. But however bad Harry had imagined Draco would be on the pitch, he was a thousand times worse. And all the support in the world from Ron couldn't make Harry feel any less awful over it.

"Hard, Potter?" the blonde called with a gloating grin the second the Gryffindors flew onto the pitch.

"You wish," Harry managed, but it sounded feeble even to him. He steadied himself on his broom, shit, why was he so shaky?

"I suppose you're going to think about me in the showers after this, are you?" Malfoy taunted him. "Better lock the door to the Slytherin ones, boys, before he gets any ideas!"

The other Slytherins guffawed and Harry felt like a sex criminal.

"I haven't done anything wrong, I'm not a fucking pervert," he had to remind himself. "And even if I was attracted to him, I still wouldn't be in the wrong."

It threw him massively off his game, though. As Draco soared effortlessly around the pitch, Harry struggled to make a decent turn without wobbling off.

And the Slytherin onlookers in the stands only made it worse. Harry noticed they'd had different banners drawn up for this match to their usual kind, and most of the messages focused around the theme of Malfoy's "broom" and what they expected Harry would like to do with it.