A fight that had been expected- one that had even been looked forward to, to an extent that the corridors on
either end were crammed with humanity. On one side, red robes and some red hair to match it, with the
Weasley brothers and Hermione taking up the head, trying to hold the crowd back. On the other, poison
green with poisoned glares, the massive line of the Slytherin Quidditch team blocking the way. Hatred
locked up in the middle.
Draco didn’t even have time to rub his throbbing fist before Harry slammed into him with a lowered
shoulder, driving him backwards against the wall and driving the air from his lungs at the same time. Instead
of doubling over, the blonde boy simply wrapped his arms under Harry’s and pushed down with all of his
weight, pushing the barely smaller boy to the floor with him on top. The teacher’s would be coming soon,
especially with the mob around them, so they had to get it all out now, let it all hang out. So Draco yelled to
the crowd as he punched downward into his opponent’s ribs, loud enough for everyone to hear but was
meant only for one person. “What the bloody hell was that all about, Potter!?”
For a moment each side of the crowd surged forward, longing to settle their long standing rivalry with each
other with a flurry of fists- interestingly enough, no one had gone for a wand. But the respective ‘security
guards’ did their jobs well, watching on with grim resolute faces as they pushed backwards. Draco took
advantage of the uproar of noise to lean in closer and whisper to Harry, flicking his tongue within a
centimeter of his ear lobe. “Well?” he asked.
Harry used the pause to shove the pale boy off of him, smacking away his Quidditch robes as they began to
get tangled up in his legs. A diving tackle later put Harry on top, and he pressed his knees down hard into
Draco’s stomach, which rewarded him with a hiss of pain. He grabbed the back of his adversaries head
under the pretend of leverage for throwing a punch, but instead whispered to him. “You know what!” And
then he threw the punch.
Odd, thought Draco, as his vision exploded into stars, how one feels sick to the stomach when one gets hit
in the face. Probably revulsion at a bruise coming and ruining his looks. Or maybe it was Potter’s knees,
which were twisting into his gut like a corkscrew. This was a very different kind of physical contact then the
two had come accustomed to. Oh... I guess that would be the teachers, going to break up the fight. Draco’s
vision cleared just in time to see his robe twisted in a knot in Harry’s left hand, and the other hand reared
back in a fist to throw the fights final punch. And then he saw nothing at all.
~
He awoke to the sterile whiteness of the infirmary and a raging, pounding headache- which was amazingly
the only thing that was hurting him. Madame Pomfrey must have already done her thing, because his eye
wasn’t even swelled up where it had been laid open by a Bludger earlier in the day. That, at least, was a
relief.
Less so was the tall figure who hunched over his bed, seemingly ready to give him a fresh set of bruises for
the school nurse to tend to. Harry’s eyes were narrowed dangerously but weren’t all that intimidating- his
glasses had been knocked off and crushed in the fight and he just looked odd without them- but his clenched
and raised fists more then made up for that. “Fuck you.”
Draco rubbed his eyes as he strained to sit up, trying to act exhausted in case Harry was planning to jump
him if he was weak and helpless. “Beg Pardon?” he mumbled, eyeing the medical tray behind Potter. One
good push and...
“I know you heard me!” Harry snapped, “Fuck you. Fuck you! Fuck you you arrogant son of a bitch!”
Sliding out of the hospital bed he’d been laid in onto his feet, Draco tried his best to put on a cocky smirk
that he just wasn’t into doing right then. “Is that an insult or a preposition, Potter?” he quipped calmly.
“Don’t!” Harry barked out, pushing his backwards until he was pinned once again against a wall, but this
time it was the white washed type of the infirmary. “Don’t try to act cute with me, and don’t act like you
don’t know what I’m talking about! You know what the game was about! I saw you, you son of a bitch,
with that little pissant, I saw you!”
Draco remained passive. “I know.”
“What?” Harry asked, “How?”
“Because I know everything,” Draco said with a grin, “Actually because I set you up to see it. I was there so
you would see me, and he was there so you would see him. That’s how.”
Harry shoved him back again, but since Draco was already against a wall it just closed the gap between
them, and the pushed boy had to admit he didn’t mind the closeness. Harry was in no mood for games
though. “Why?” he asked, and his voice was almost breaking, “why the hell would you do that? Do you
think this is some kind of fucking game!?”
Draco took the only step forward possible, so his forehead was pressed against Harry’s, and when he spoke
it was almost directly into the other boy’s mouth. “Not a game, Potter,” he breathed throatily, “it was a
test.”
Angrily, Harry side stepped away from him and took a few steps in the opposite direction, growling hard.
He went to turn around in say something, uttered something incomprehensibly, and then turned back
towards the wall again, and when he spoke, that’s what it was too. “What the hell do you mean a test?”
Spreading his arms in a pathetic attempt at innocence, Draco repeated himself. “It was a test. That you
passed, incidentally, by putting me here. I know you love me.”
Harry froze at that one, stiffening up as if he’d heard a gun shot, and then spun around violently, eyes
blazing. “FUCK YOU!” he screamed at him, and then went on in a barely quieter voice, “You don’t get to
say that! You don’t get to make that decision!”
Draco advanced on him, and Harry wasn’t sure if he was planning to hit him or hug him, but he did either.
“You don’t get it,” he said calmly, “it was a test for myself too. Do you think I would take a risk like that,
risk feeling you shaking underneath me, if I didn’t love you to?”
There was a crash of a door. Either Madame Pomfrey or another teacher to give them there detention. Harry
seemed torn, pausing for a moment, glancing at Draco and then at the hall the teacher would soon be
marching down. He had no idea what the right thing, or the smart thing to do here was, so he went with the
one thing he wanted to do. And he smiled, a strained, confused smile. “You called my mum a Mudblood.”
Draco nodded. “That works.”
They went to climb back into their beds to avoid a further addition to their already impending lecture for
being out of bed, but Harry stopped Draco by grabbing his arm, and leaned in to kiss him. The blonde boy
was worried the teacher would come in but it didn’t really matter, it was worth the feeling of Harry’s lips
again... until suddenly he felt Harry bite down on his lower lip, hard, but not quite enough to make it bleed.
Stunned, he pulled back and stared at Harry, who only shook his head. “Now we’re even.”