Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One: An Endeavor to Impress a Weasel 

In the week and a half leading up to Valentine's Day, it appeared as though the majority of Harry's classmates had lost their minds. More time was spent lamenting over teenage love than was spent on lessons, and half of the professors had given in and simply counted the week as a wash. 

Harry's head of house, Professor Snape, was not such a professor and took his students’ inattention as a direct insult. Harry didn't think it was fair that he got lumped in with the rest of his classmates but when he told Snape that, he was informed that if he didn't shut his insolent mouth immediately, Snape didn't care if they lost the quidditch cup Harry would be grounded, for the foreseeable future. 

That was not an idle threat- so Harry kept his mouth shut and didn't tell Snape that he was a bitter bastard, and skulked off to the library to get started on the enormous essay he’d assigned on the properties of aconite. 

Unfortunately, the second that Harry sat down, Draco descended on him in a flurry of robes, draping himself dramatically over the table, prattling on about romance, and the lack of it people possessed these days. 

What was so wrong with courting? It was traditional, after all, and most of all, it was romantic. 

At this point Harry would have been better off ramming his face into the table than trying to get anything done. He’d heard this lecture more times than he could count and probably could’ve recited it word for word in his sleep; but there was no point in trying to tell Draco that. 

Draco was, of course, not really lamenting the decline in courting in general- rather, he was complaining that Parvati Patil continued to refuse to acknowledge his existence. 

She had been the object of Draco's slightly misguided affections since their second year, and he’d frequently waxed poetic about her lovely shiny hair and pretty dark eyes - "She's so mysterious, Harry, like a character from one of my mum's novels - a real heroine."

Harry was pretty sure she hadn't spared Draco a single thought in years, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud.  Draco made himself miserable enough on his own- longing, pathetically from afar, that the idea of poking at his already wounded heart was something akin to kicking a Pygmy Puff. 

Besides, Draco was a good egg, even if he pretended that he wasn't, at least when he was around anyone who wasn't Harry. 

"So what are you going to do about it?" Draco demanded, catching Harry off guard.

"What am I going to do about what?"

"About Valentine's Day? I can't imagine you've got a plan."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "I'm not trying to impress anyone."

Draco laughed at him, eyebrows raised. 

"What?" said Harry, confused, "I'm not."

"Right, like you're not tripping over yourself whenever you talk to the Weasel."

Harry's face went hot. 

Draco smiled serenely at him from across the table, "I'm just saying that it's something you ought to consider- now it's nearly dinner, we had best be off."

That was the last Harry had heard of it, at least for the rest of the day, and later that night, once he was tucked under his duvet, Draco's words were stuck on a loop in his head. 

Harry, on the whole, wasn't particularly enchanted with the idea of Valentine's Day or Draco's idea of romance, but if there was anyone with whom he had any desire to be romantic, it was Ron.

That was a realization Harry didn't quite know what to do with, and the next day, on their way to Herbology in Greenhouse Seven, he flatly informed Draco that the whole business was his fault.

Draco scoffed.

 "My fault-" he said, outraged, "you should be thanking me Potter, for finally pulling your bespectacled head out of your arse, before it was too late- and thank Merlin you've realized, now what are you going to do about it?"

"Do?" said Harry, "I'm not going to do anything; why would I?"

Draco sighed, sounding very put upon, and rested one of his pale, slender hands on Harry's shoulder, "Circe’s tits you really are thick as troll bogeys, aren't you? I'd reckon you don't even have the emotional range of a teapot."

Harry scowled, shrugging off his hand; just because he didn't get what Draco was on about wasn't a reason to insult him or his supposed emotional range. 

"Would you just tell me what you're on about?" He snapped, sharper than he'd meant, but Draco didn't look put off in the slightest. 

"What are you going to do if someone else asks him out?" 

"Oh," said Harry. He hadn't thought of that. 

"Yes, oh," said Draco, rolling his eyes. They'd reached the greenhouses, huddled together outside the tall doors while they waited for Sprout to let them in out of the cold. 

Draco wasn't wrong; there was a possibility that if Harry didn't take action, then someone else would. 

If Ron got a girlfriend- then what?

Harry couldn't bear the thought; something sharp twisted in his gut whenever he thought about it, so he did his best not to. 

What he needed was help.

Harry cornered Draco after dinner, taking him by the arm and frog marching him away from the dungeons and toward the library. 

"And what do you think you're doing?" spluttered Draco as he was dragged along the corridors.

"I need your help," said Harry, "it's important."

"The last time you said that, I was nearly petrified by a bloody basilisk." 

"That was years ago, and you were fine!"

Draco planted his feet, refusing to take another step. 

"I am not going one step further until you tell me what we're doing, and you swear, on your mother's name, that it's not going to get me killed ."

"Oh, for fucks sake," said Harry, "no one is going to get killed."

"Swear, Potter, or not another step."

Harry took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Draco was, on the whole, not being entirely unreasonable. Granted, the giant murder snake had been years ago, but they had nearly died , and if it hadn't been for Ron and Hermione, they certainly would have. 

"Fine," said Harry, "I swear on my mother's name that no one is going to get murdered."

"Great," said Draco, and he started down the corridor, "what was it you wanted help with?"

"Er-" said Harry.

"Do you want to speak up, or am I supposed to intuitively know what you want? Is this some kind of test?"

"I want to ask Ron on a date."

A hot blush crept up the back of Harry's neck. He'd said it out loud; there was no taking it back now.

"Oh," said Draco, "is that all? Why didn't you say?"

"I just did," grumbled Harry, slouching after him toward the library. 

While Draco was very enthusiastic about helping Harry brainstorm his ideal date with Ron, who Draco had dubbed Harry's one true love- possibly because it made Harry blush a particularly spectacular shade of crimson- they didn't make much headway with making a plan. 

The best idea they'd come up with in their brainstorming session was a trip to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop during their next Hogsmeade weekend. 

The problem was that Harry had heard enough about the tea shop that he would rather pluck out his eyeballs and let Snape pickle them than set foot in the place. Harry was fairly certain Ron would feel the same; if he didn't, then that might be a problem for their potential relationship. 

But that was a bridge they would cross if they ever came to it, and that was looking increasingly unlikely since Harry couldn't sort his head out.  If he wanted to make a move, there wasn’t all that much time left.

And in a moment of true desperation, Harry considered writing his father. They might not get on most of the time, but that's what fathers were for, right? Giving advice about embarrassing things like dating?

Then again, knowing what Harry did about how his parents got on when they'd been in school, that probably wasn't a good idea. 

In the end, Harry settled on flying. It was a safe date option. It was something  they both enjoyed and really, Harry cared more about having fun than he did about being 'romantic.' Although, flying could be very romantic under the right circumstances.

"You look a bit peaky," said Draco over breakfast the next morning. 

Harry was very tempted to kick him in the shin, but considering how much time Draco had spent trying to help him sort out his problems, that would be ungrateful twat behavior, and Harry wasn't an ungrateful twat, so he didn't kick Draco in the shin, even though he really really wanted to. 

"I've got a plan," he said, mouth set in a hard line, "I'm going to ask him after potions."

Only Harry never got the chance because, halfway through breakfast, Lavender Brown asked Ron to Hogsmeade, and he said yes. 

It was a whole to-do that attracted the attention of the entire hall and made the bottom of Harry's stomach feel like it had just dropped out. 

"Oh no ," said Draco, craning to look over Harry's shoulder at the spectacle playing out in the middle of breakfast. 

"Not one word, Draco," said Harry, "not one."

For once, Draco listened. He took Harry's hand under the table and didn't complain when Harry held on tighter than was strictly comfortable. 

Harry's day was off to rather a bad start, and he still had to go to potions. While he always dreaded potions, approaching the classroom today felt a bit like marching to his death. Especially since it was with the Gryffindors.

"Hiya," said Ron, bumping Harry's shoulder, startling him enough that he tread on Draco's foot. Draco squawked angrily, jabbing his pointy elbow into Harry's ribs. 

Draco narrowed his eyes, hissing menacingly that Ron 'ought to watch where he was bloody going,' before stomping into the classroom. 

"What crawled up his arse and died?" asked Ron, bemused.

"Probably a blast ended skrewt," said Harry.

Ron snorted. "You think? I guess he's got an excuse then, the bloody diva."

"Don't let him hear you say that, or he'll hex your face off," said Harry, shuffling into the classroom.

"You'd protect me," said Ron before heading to his seat near the front.

After Harry took his seat with Draco near the back, Snape arrived in swirling robes, and the door slammed behind him. The room fell silent. The time for conversation was over. 

Today’s was a complicated lesson, and even with Draco's considerable talent backing him, it was likely that Harry’s potion would be a wash. His head wasn't in it. But that didn't stop Draco from doing his utmost to keep Harry from barreling toward disaster, all the while whispering fervently in his ear, telling him that Lavender Brown was a trollop and that he was already scheming how they could ruin her life. 

Harry did appreciate it, even if he didn't actually believe that Lavender was a trollop. She wasn't, and Harry didn't want to ruin her life either. 

She just happened to have more sense than he did, and that was Harry's fault, not hers. Still, that didn’t mean he didn't feel a sharp stab of vindication when, ten minutes before the end of the class, her and Ron's potion went up in flames. 

This resulted in a twenty-five-point loss for Gryffindor and a long lecture from Snape on the proper treatment of their ingredients. 

"For Merlin's sake, this is NEWT level potions- have you no sense at all?!"

Once they were finally released from Snape's ire Draco got commandeered by Pansy, and as he was dragged out the door, he sent Harry a pitiful look, mouthing, "Help me!" 

Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done. Pansy was a force of nature in pointy shoes and a red lip, and nothing, not even Harry Bloody Potter, could stand in her way. 

Draco would just have to suffer. Harry would never say it out loud, but a tiny, mean part of his brain was relieved that he wasn't the only one having a wretched day. At least now he and Draco would be miserable together. 

Harry shoved the rest of his things into his bag, hefting it over his shoulder, and blinked, surprised to see Ron slouching around the door waiting for him. 

"Do you think," said Ron once they'd started down the corridor, "that Snape has ever not been an utter bastard?"

"No," said Harry, "he was born that way, he told me himself."

Ron chuckled, knocking gently into his shoulder. 

"So you've got yourself a girlfriend," blurted Harry. He wasn't sure why he said it, but he had.

Ron shrugged. 

"I guess? She's very enthusiastic."

"I hear that's a good thing in a girlfriend."

Ron didn't look like he was so sure about that. 

"She's going on about the Hogsmeade weekend already-" He sighed. "I wanted to go flying- we should do that, go flying, I mean."

"Sure," said Harry, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

"I'll check the Gryffindor quidditch schedule, and we'll figure it out,” said Ron. He stretched and frowned. "Bloody divination next- what a waste of time, should have listened to 'Mione on that one- ta!" 

He took the stairs two at a time, vanishing around the corner and leaving Harry alone. 

His mouth tasted like sawdust, and the knot in his chest was tight enough to ache, but in the end, he got what he wanted. They would go flying together, and that was what was important. 

That was a lie, but Harry was going to pretend he believed it anyway because he didn't know what else to do.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Worthy of a Granger  

"You look awful," said Draco when Harry skulked into the dorms after dinner. Draco was lounging on his bed, his white blonde hair fanned delicately over the deep green duvet. 

Harry settled awkwardly on his bed, hands clasped in his lap. 

"I've had a bit of a shock," he said.

"Look, I know that today didn't go how you wanted-" 

"I'm dating Hermione.”

The sound Draco let out was inhuman. 

"What?! Why on earth would you do something like that?" 

"I didn't mean to! It was an accident!" replied Harry. 

It had been an accident. After dinner, he’d gone for a bit of a stroll to clear his head and found Hermione sitting at the top of the stairwell, her eyes all puffy and red like she'd been crying. While Harry wasn't very good with crying, she was his friend, and it's not like he could just keep walking. 

"Alright?" he asked.

She started, banging her elbow into the wall, and winced.

"I'm fine," she said and sighed. "I'm just being sensitive." 

If whatever was bothering Hermione was enough to make her cry, it wasn't nothing. Harry settled beside her on the stairs. 

"About what?" he asked. 

"Ron and his bloody girlfriend," she said and sniffed, "I swear they're snogging all over the common room, and I just- I don't want to see that."

She looked away. 

Harry swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat. He couldn't blame her; he wouldn't want to see that either. 

"Yes, alright," said Draco, interrupting Harry's explanation, "but how in Merlin’s name did you end up dating her?"

"Er," said Harry because he still wasn't entirely clear on that bit. 

"I think it went a bit like this: we were chatting, and then she got this really serious look on her face and asked me if I was dating anyone. I said I wasn't, and then she grabbed my hand and said that I should date her and that it would show Ron."

"And you said yes ?"

"I didn't say no," said Harry, "what if she started crying again?"

"That's not a reason to date her!" exclaimed Draco. He's rolled onto his stomach, his arms wrapped tightly around one of the round velvet pillows piled on his bed. "You know how she is- she's going to have rules - it's going to be a nightmare !" 

Harry didn't think it could be any worse than watching Ron snog Lavender, but he also knew better than to argue with Draco, so he kept his mouth shut, hoping that Draco would let it go. 

By breakfast the next morning, it was abundantly clear that wasn’t the case. After listening to Draco complain for more than half of breakfast, Harry made the mistake of suggesting that it sounded an awful lot like he was the one dating Granger. 

That got Harry a hasty jab to the ribs with a pointy elbow, knocking all the air out of his lungs.

"Merlin's pants," he grumbled, "watch where you're jabbing those things."

"Only if you watch your mouth," snapped Draco, and he sniffed, crossing his arms. "The fact that you'd even insinuate that I'd date anyone other than Pavarti is blasphemy that deserves to be punished."

"Shall I apologize to your queen for daring to besmirch her name?" Harry asked. 

They'd started across the grounds toward the edge of the forest for care of magical creatures, one of Harry's favorite lessons and by far Draco's least. 

Draco could have dropped it at the start of the term, but they'd made a deal in third year Harry would suffer through Runes if Draco agreed to endure Care of Magical Creatures, and Draco was not one to renege on a promise. 

Even if he really, really wanted to. 

"You leave Pavarti alone," said Draco, "she doesn't need you bothering her-" 

Before Draco could finish telling Harry off, they were joined by an out-of-breath Hermione, who shouldered her way between them and grasped Harry's hand with an impressive zeal. 

"Er," said Harry.

Draco glowered at her from his other side, and she glared right back. 

"You're my boyfriend," she said, "and this is what boyfriends do."

"Right," said Harry, and off the three of them went. 

In all, it could have gone worse. While Draco and Hermione had, over the years, come to a begrudging mutual respect, they still didn't like each other, and it was best for everyone involved to keep them away from each other whenever possible. 

But that didn't mean that the walk across the grounds went well; Draco made the mistake of mentioning that the class was 'a waste of time, and only for plebeians', and Hermione spent the rest of the walk lecturing him on the importance of understanding the magical world, so that: "we don't ruin it- you ought to know this Draco!"

Harry pointedly ignored both Hermione's lecture—which was very funny—and Draco's sulking—which was even funnier—because he was well aware—from experience —that there was nothing in the world that he could say at this moment without making one of them absolutely furious with him. The safest option was to keep his mouth firmly shut and not start laughing—which was harder than it sounded. 

It wasn't long before they reached the edge of the forest, where a hodgepodge of students milled about, waiting for Professor Grubbly-Plank's arrival and the start of the lesson. 

Harry had hoped to catch Ron before class started- they didn't have many classes together, so it wasn't often they got a chat, but Ron wasn't among the throng of waiting students. 

He was late and didn't arrive until after Grubbly-Plank. He came barreling down the hill with Dean and Seamus hot on his trail—all three of them red-faced and out of breath. 

Grubbly-Plank tutted, motioning for them to follow along. She set off down a mossy path along the edge of the forest until she reached a patch of tall pines. 

The class had worked in this area before and quickly separated into groups of threes and fours, settled among the pines and got to work. 

With Hagrid’s absence this term, Care of Magical Creatures had become rather a tamer subject than they were used to. Harry certainly wasn't the only one who found it boring. 

"Hagrid just had to go commune with the bloody Dragons, didn't he," grumbled Dean Thomas, from where he'd sat with his assigned group, "couldn't have waited for us to graduate- no had to go and leave us with Grubbly-Plank."

It wasn't that Grubbly-Plank was a bad teacher- she wasn't, but while Hagrid had a real knack for interesting lessons, he wasn't always so good at following guidelines. So they were covering Hippogriffs again. 

Only this time was all the theoretical stuff they'd skipped in third year—much to everyone but Draco's displeasure. His pride still hadn't recovered from being clawed by Buckbeak, even if he had reluctantly admitted that it had probably been his fault. 

But knowing it was important for their exams didn't make the note-taking, question-answering, and diagram drawing any less boring. Harry wouldn't ever admit it out loud, but he was starting to think that maybe Draco was right, and they should have dropped the class at the start of term. 

Draco grabbed Harry's elbow, tugging him toward a large patch of moss. Hermione followed, ignoring Draco's stink eye, and settled on Harry's other side. The three of them spent most of the next hour working in a comfortable silence.

It didn't take Harry long to finish his sketch. It wasn't very good, but really, it didn't matter how long he spent on it; it wasn't as though he was going to suddenly become less of a rubbish artist. 

He spent the rest of the class picking at the tufts of grass growing out of the moss patch they were sitting on while Hermione and Draco argued.

It had started to drizzle, and by the time the class ended, Harry's fringe was stuck to his forehead, and his glasses fogged. He was very much looking forward to going back inside. Harry hauled himself off the ground, dusted the pine needles off his robes, and was ready to hoof it back up the castle. They had Charms next, and that was sure to be, if nothing else, less damp and cold than Care of Magical creatures. 

He'd taken about two steps when the strap of his bag gave out, dumping his school things into a heap in front of him. 

"For fucks sake-" Harry grumbled. He flicked his wand, repairing his bag before kneeling in the wet moss and scrambling about to retrieve everything before it got soaked through and ruined. 

The rest of the class had started up to the castle and were well on their way to getting out of the rain.

"This is the worst," Harry muttered, shoving his sketches back into his bag. 

"What is?" asked Draco. He leaned elegantly against the pine, waiting for Harry to finish getting his things together. 

"Everything," said Harry sullenly. 

Draco sighed, patting Harry on the shoulder.

"Don't worry," he chirped, "there's no way the Weasel’s relationship will last, and well- it's not like you're actually dating Hermione. It'll work out, or you know it won't, and you'll be alone forever-"

"Thanks," said Harry, "that's really reassuring."

The rest of the morning wasn't bad, but Harry's dour mood lasted through the rest of his classes and made the prospect of spending his afternoon in the library working on his essay for Snape seem like a torture that he couldn't possibly endure. But turning in a subpar essay to his head of house wasn't an option, so Harry dragged his arse to the library anyway. 

Draco joined him, per usual, leading the way into the back of the library toward the dim corner they'd frequented since second year. 

On their way through the towering shelves, Harry spotted Hermione. She'd secluded herself in an armchair, a pile of books on the small side table to her left, and her nose stuck firmly in one of the largest books Harry had ever seen. 

He stopped, tugging on Draco's sleeve.

"We should ask her to join us," said Harry.

"Who-" said Draco. Turning he spotted Hermione, "ah-" he grumbled, "if we must."

Harry supposed that they did- she was his girlfriend, he should at least ask her to work with them. 

While Hermione wasn't enthusiastic about joining them she agreed. It seemed to be the thing to do, even if it was just for appearances. 

The three of them settled at Draco's preferred table under one of the hazy green hanging lamps, and got to work. Having Hermione around at least kept them on track, and Harry got more work done on his essay in thirty minutes than he'd done the rest of the week. If this kept up, he might finish by tomorrow, and since he had quidditch practice the next three days, that would be a blessing. 

They'd worked in silence for over an hour when Draco said, "You know, I just don't understand it."

"What?" asked Harry.

"Why Granger fancies the Weasel," said Draco, "it boggles the mind."

Hermione looked up from her book, affronted. 

"Excuse me ?" 

"What on earth do you see in him?" asked Draco. “You're so clever; surely you have better taste than that." 

Harry would have been offended by Draco's slanderous words if it hadn't been so obvious that he was trying to get at something. What? Harry had no idea, and he was more than a little tempted to kick Draco in the shin—just because. 

"There's nothing wrong with Ron," Hermione snapped. 

"He's got the emotional rage of a colander," said Draco. "Wouldn't you rather date someone aware enough to notice you fancy them?" 

"Of course, I would!" snapped Hermione, "but it's not like I can just turn off my feelings-"

"I suppose," said Draco slowly. "But you know you ought to keep your options open- after all, there's poor Theo pining for you-"

Hermione cackled so loudly that it echoed through the library, and she slammed her hand over her mouth, eyes wide in horror.

"What are you on about?" she hissed, leaning forward over the table. Her glare was so intense that it was a wonder Draco didn't burst into flames. 

"I'm trying to tell you that there's a world beyond Ron," he said and sniffed, "And as Theo's friend, it would be remiss of me not to suggest that perhaps you ought to consider him as a viable option- besides if you're looking for romance, you can't do better than a Slytherin."

Hermione gaped at him. Too shocked to say a single word. 

Harry kept his nose in his book and bit his cheek to keep from laughing. Draco could be a sneaky little bastard, but he sure had a way of looking out for his friends. Here, he was trying to maneuver Hermione out of being Harry's competition for Ron by giving her an alternative—and Theo would be grateful—at least if it worked. If it didn't, he'd probably curse Draco into oblivion.  

"You're not serious," said Hermione once she found her voice.

"Of course I'm serious," said Draco, "I'm always serious about romance."

"I—" she said and blushed, "I don't even know what to say—Theo's, well, he's very good-looking, isn't he?"

"And he's clever," said Draco.

He was also a particularly adept snogger, but Harry didn't think Hermione would approve of that being common knowledge, and neither did Draco since he kept that tidbit to himself. 

"He is, isn't he," Hermione mused, "and he always beats me in Arithmancy- I almost asked if he'd mind recommending further reading- but- well, do you think I should?" 

Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. If even Hermione could be swayed by the prospect of a date, the whole castle really had lost its mind. 

Now that Hermione had given Draco an in, he'd happily monologue about love, romance, and courting until dinner, ecstatic to have an audience that wasn't Harry and was actually listening. 

Harry should have been thrilled his friends were getting along, but he wasn't. All he knew was that he had an ache in the hollow of his chest that was hard to ignore, and it had gotten worse since that morning. 

Harry's mood endured through dinner; even having shepherd's pie wasn't enough to alleviate it. Although it did make him slightly less sour. Then he was informed by one of his chasers that there had been a mix-up with the Quidditch pitch, and he was ready to rip out his hair. 

"I heard from Snape about an hour ago," she said, "he said it was McGonagall's decision-" 

Kicking the Slytherins off the pitch didn't seem like something McGonagall would do without reason- and Harry knew that the reason wasn't Ron. He could just talk to Harry, and they'd work something out. It's not like they hadn't done it a hundred times before- which meant that it was for some other reason, and that meant Harry needed to track down McGonagall and find out why they were losing pitch time. 

If there was one thing Harry couldn't abide by, it was missing quidditch practice. 

Still, it could wait until after dinner. Harry wasn't about to abandon his shepherd's pie when there was plenty of time to go to McGonagall’s office after dinner. 

While it was unlikely Harry would be able to get his pitch time back, he could prevent them from losing more of it and maybe sort out a morning practice for tomorrow.  

The sudden quidditch problems did nothing to improve Harry's mood, but they at least consumed all of his attention, and he spent the second half of dinner bent over his mess of a practice schedule muttering to himself. 

Draco had given up talking to him, sliding down the bench to lean on Theo's shoulder. 

"Theo, darling ," he drawled, "have I got a tale for you-"

After dinner, Harry dropped his school things on his bed before starting the trek up to McGonagall’s office. He was in a hurry. For no real reason, but that didn't stop him from taking the stairs two at a time. It wasn't even one of the staircases that liked to move; rather, it was so lazy that it only moved once or twice a term and never with anyone on it. 

When he reached the top, he took a sharp left and rammed straight into Ron. 

He grabbed Harry's shoulder, steadying him. 

"What are you doing up here?" he asked in surprise. 

"Do I need permission?" replied Harry, sounding on the whole rather like a twat. 

Ron scoffed, "Depends on who you ask, I suppose- if Snape caught me lurking about the dungeons, he'd demand a reason, or I'd be in detention scrubbing caldrons for the rest of the week."

That was not a lie, although there really wasn't a good reason for anyone to be in the dungeons—unless they lived there.

"Snape’s a bastard," said Harry, which he thought was rather a diplomatic answer. "Greengrass told me there was a mix-up with the pitch- McGonagall’s moved our practice, and I want to sort it out before it becomes a nightmare. Do you know if she's in her office?"

Ron frowned, his eyebrows pulling together, and shrugged.

"She usually is," he said. 

"Right," said Harry, "thanks-" 

He sidestepped Ron, who seemed to be in an even fouler mood than him, and started down the corridor. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing with Hermione?" demanded Ron. 

Harry's steps faltered, and he turned. 

"Sorry?" he said. 

"Dating her like that's rubbish."

If Harry had been less annoyed, then maybe he wouldn't have snapped, but he was, and he did. 

"You're rubbish," seethed Harry, "and you can keep your bloody nose out of my dating life, thanks - I'm not going around saying that Lavender’s a bint- and Hermione's your friend-"

"That's not the point-" said Ron, equally heated, his fists clenched at his sides. "I know you don't actually proper fancy her - that isn't fair -"

"Do you, though? Do you know who I fancy—because I don't think you do," said Harry, his voice rising with every word until he was shouting. 

This was stupid, Ron was stupid, and at this moment, Harry wanted nothing to do with him. 

 "Right, I've got stuff to do- so fuck off-" he said and turned away, stomping off down the corridor. Harry had nearly reached McGonagall’s office when he decided that talking to a professor at this very moment was a categorically stupid idea and that he'd be better off coming back tomorrow. 

"Buggering fuck," Harry grumbled before setting off back toward the dungeons. He'd had it with today and dating. The whole notion was rubbish, and Harry wanted nothing to do with it. He'd just be single forever, and Draco could take his stupid romance and shove it up his arse- Harry certainly didn't want it.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Done With Dating  

Harry Potter was in a bad mood. He'd been in a bad mood since the night before, and even getting the mess with the Quidditch pitch sorted hadn't helped - what happened was that the Hufflepuff Captain got a week of detention with Snape and the prospect of losing practice time sent the team into a frenzy that threw a wrench in the other team’s carefully planned schedules. 

To keep their pitch time, the Slytherins elected to have morning practice on and off for the next two weeks. Which meant that Harry was up and out and out of the dormitory at a quarter past five. It was a damp morning, and a thick fog hung over the grounds. It gave the towering empty quidditch stands an eerie unsettling feeling, like something was watching from the shadows. 

The rest of the team trickled into the locker rooms in ones and twos, and while none of them were thrilled about getting up before the sun rose, early practice was better than no practice. 

Still, that didn't keep Urquhart from grumbling about "bloody Cadwallader couldn't just follow the damned instructions- it's not like brewing a Wit Sharpening potion is even that hard-" 

Vaisley muttered, "Maybe it is if you're a Hufflepuff."

The rest of the team guffawed while they sleepily shuffled out of the locker room and into the grey early morning light. 

"Right," said Harry, once he reached the center of the pitch." Let's get on with it then." 

"How are we supposed to get on with it in this mess?" asked Urquhart.

"It's fine-" said Harry, "we've played in worse, loads of times-"

"Maybe you've played in worse," Urquhart muttered.

Harry closed his eyes for a long moment, willing himself not to hex his second-best chaser into the next dimension for being thicker than a post. 

"It'll be fine," chirped Greengrass, "as long as no one crashes into the stands- or each other-"

Harry, having heard quite enough, cut her off, "kick-off, in three, two, one-"

All seven of them took to the sky at once and vanished into the fog. The fog was so thick and heavy that it stuck to Harry's skin, quickly soaking through his robes. 

But he kept his broom angled up and shot through it, quickly emerging over the top of it. 

Harry hovered, peering down at the pitch. 

"Ah, fuck," he grumbled as he tried to make out his teammates, but all he saw was the occasional shadow before it vanished back into the expanse of fog. 

Practice was a bust.  

As proven by the terrified shriek from Greengrass not even a moment later. 

"Alright?" Harry shouted. 

"She's alright-" called back Goyle, "just almost ran into the stands-"

"I thought it was the ruddy quaffle," shouted Greengrass. "I can't see a bloody thing!" 

"None of us can see a bloody thing," Vaisley replied from somewhere on the other half of the pitch.

With the way things were, they had two options. The first being that they could struggle on with the practice, and as a result, one or more of them might end up in the hospital wing- or everyone could come up over the fog, and they could fuck about on their brooms for an hour and a half. 

Of course, there was a third option: just end practice. But Harry ignored that one. 

Besides, they were already up in the air; they might as well have some fun with it. 

And that is exactly what they did. 

Their game of pass the quaffle quickly spiraled into one of the most aggressive games Harry had ever played, including his backyard games with the Weasleys over the summer.  

It didn't take long for Greengrass' pointy little elbows to be declared a weapon of mass destruction, at least by Greg, who had taken to shooting away from her as fast he could.

"You're a menace!" he shouted, brandishing his beaters club while Greengrass giggled manically.

 "Awww, come on, Greg," she called, "come play with me!"   

He was not having it and descended through the fog, signaling the end of practice. The rest of the team followed, grumbling as they sank through the fog, but even the horrible weight of it pressing in on them couldn't dampen the team's spirits. 

Quidditch, as always, made everything better, and Harry was convinced it always would. 

It was a far more worthy endeavor than dating, which was, in his opinion, nothing but a confusing mess that seemed, on the whole, to only make everyone involved miserable. 

Having re-aligned his priorities with what was truly important, Harry left practice in a much better mood.

"What are you grinning about?" demanded Draco once Harry sat down for breakfast. 

"Am I not allowed to be cheerful?" asked Harry, stabbing a sausage off a platter and putting it on his plate.

"What happened then? Did Weasley realize the error of his ways and throw himself into your arms?"

Harry scoffed. "No," he said, "I realized what was important."

"Oh," said Draco, raising his eyebrows, "and what pray tell is that?"

"Quidditch," said Harry, taking a huge bite of his sausage. 

Draco did not look impressed. In fact, if he rolled his eyes any harder, his eyes might fall out of his skull. 

He looked even less impressed when Harry told him so, so much so that he slid down the bench, tossing his arm around Theo's shoulder.

"Theo, darling," Draco drawled, "have you done the Transfiguration homework?" 

Harry snorted, shaking his head. And Draco said he was lazy when it came to homework. At least he didn't try to mooch off Theo. Although that was mostly because Theo would probably curse him if he tried, and knowing the Notts, it would be something particularly nasty. It simply wasn’t worth the risk. 

Harry was one of the first students to arrive for Transfiguration, and it got him a prime seat in the back. Draco arrived a few minutes later but didn't make it very far. Pansy snatched him on his way past, and Draco was forcibly seated in the front row. 

 This was objectively hilarious, and Harry was sure that Draco would have agreed if it had been the other way around. Harry chuckled, slouching in his seat, content that he wouldn't have to share his desk.

Theo settled at the desk next door, which was fine by Harry. Without Draco, it would be a quiet lesson for once, and he might get some decent notes. He yawned, stretching, and watched his quill roll off the edge of the desk, tumbling to the floor. 

Harry swore and bent to fetch it. It was just out of his reach, and he stretched out his fingers and bumped firmly into Theo's desk. Harry righted himself. 

"Sorry," he muttered. 

Theo didn't say anything. That wasn't unusual; he didn't particularly like Harry, but the piercing glare was a little less normal. Maybe he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Or someone pissed in his tea. 

Or maybe Theo was just a twat.

Once the lesson was over and Harry was on his way through the great hall when Draco caught up with him. He linked their elbows and leaned into Harry's shoulder, "are you still cheerful ?" he asked. 

"I'm allowed to be happy," grumbled Harry. 

Draco snorted, "Of course, you are. Speaking of, what have you done to Theo? He's about ready to murder you in your sleep."

"Nothing," said Harry. Draco poked him hard in the ribs.

"Oy, get off," he groused, trying in vain to escape Draco's fingers. "Nothing! Honest; something must have crawled up his arse and died. Who knows why Theo does anything."

"You say that like he's a grand mystery of the ages." 

"He is a bit."

Draco burst out laughing, stumbled, and nearly sent the two of them tumbling down the stairs leading outside. 

Eventually, once Draco could speak, he said, "I'll have to tell him that next time I see him, he'll be thrilled."

"Fuck you," mumbled Harry. 

They started down the hill toward the greenhouses.

"No," said Draco slyly, "I rather think it's the Weasel you'd like to fuck."

Harry's entire head went red, spluttering incoherently, all while Draco laughed at him. 

What were friends for, really?

Harry whacked Draco hard enough that he got teary—which wasn't saying much since Draco was a bit of a baby.

 "Why don't you say that a little louder?" said Harry, ignoring the fact that his face was a beacon that could be seen from space. "I think there are people on the other side of the earth who might not have heard."

"It's not like I'm wrong," said Draco.

Harry shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. "I'm over it," he said. “Didn't I tell you?"

"You were obviously very convincing," replied Draco, and he started down the path. 

"I'm serious," said Harry, trailing after him. "I'm done with dating-"

"How can you be done with it when you haven't even started?" 

"Because it's a massive waste of time." 

"And quidditch isn't?"

"No," said Harry. "It's not. You watch, I'm going to be the best damn player in the league when we're done with school."

Draco shook his head. "You're mental." 

The sun had burned away the fog from earlier, leaving behind a beautiful, clear sky full of unseasonable sunshine that matched Harry's sunny mood. After weeks of grey and damp, the sun was a welcome change, even if they'd be sweating like pigs by the time herbology was over. 

As they came down the hill, Harry looked out over the lake's sun-drenched water, and then he saw them under the trees at the lake's edge. 

Ron and Lavender were entwined in the sunshine, and it was as though ice water had been dumped over Harry's head. He froze in the middle of the path, and Draco bumped into his back, grumbling. He peered around Harry's shoulder to see why he'd stopped.  

"Oh dear," he said, tugging on Harry's arm. “Come on, don't look." 

Harry still didn't move. His misery had rooted him to the spot, and as much as he wanted to look away, he couldn't—at least until Draco kicked him in the shin. 

"Ow!" said Harry, shoving Draco hard enough to push him off the path. He stumbled, squeaking when his heel slipped on a stone, and he nearly toppled over backward. Draco would have landed on his arse if Harry hadn't caught his arm at the last second. 

Draco frowned, swatted Harry's hand away, and stomped off toward the greenhouses, leaving Harry halfway up the hill. 

Harry called after him, but Draco ignored him. 

Harry groaned; his good mood evaporated like the fog, and now he'd gone and been an utter twat, when Draco didn't deserve it- well, maybe a little- but no matter how annoying he was, he was always on Harry's side. 

Harry spent the rest of the day in his head, locked in a never-ending loop of feelings he wanted nothing to do with. It was exhausting. By dinner, the idea of having to talk to anyone sounded like the stuff of nightmares and something that he wanted to avoid at all costs. 

He decided the best course of action would be to skip dinner. Instead, he'd swing by the kitchens, pick up a sandwich, and then spend the evening hiding in his bed with the curtains closed while he started his homework. But to do that, he’d need to stop by the Library.

It was mostly empty when he arrived since everyone sensible was at dinner. Everyone except Draco and Hermione. They were sitting at a table near the back, heads together, whispering furiously at each other.

Harry couldn't help but stare. He stood awkwardly at the end of their table, his book clutched to his chest. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he'd have never believed Draco would willingly spend a single second in Hermione's presence. And yet, here they were. 

"Oh, it's you," said Draco when he spotted him. "We've decided, you're going to break up with Hermione next week."

"I am?" said Harry.

"Well-" started Hermione, looking between Harry's scowl and Draco's smug grin, "we just thought-"

"No," said Harry, cutting her off. "It's fine." Then he turned and left. 

So what if his fake girlfriend didn’t want to date him? He didn’t care.

Really. He didn’t. 

Harry didn't care about dating at all, so it didn't matter that Ron was dating Lavender or that Draco was obsessed with Pavarti. 

Harry had quidditch, and that was enough for him. 

But having decided that dating wasn’t for him, didn’t make the horrible heavy feeling in the pit of Harry’s stomach go away. It was a sickening feeling, a reminder that he wasn’t chosen, wasn’t deemed special, and it sank into Harry’s bones.

It was so persistent  Harry couldn't chase it away no matter how hard he tried and it quickly became stifling. Like the whole world had become too small and the idea of sitting still for even another moment seemed utterly impossible. 

Harry headed for the grounds.  He needed to move, and curfew was far enough away that he could wander for a few hours, and then maybe he'd have burnt off enough steam he'd be able to sleep. 

The closer he wandered toward the towering quidditch stadium, the more appealing flying sounded. Once Harry reached the edge of the stands, he spotted the Hufflepuff team flitting about in the sky, shouting at each other. 

He took a seat under the stands to wait. They wouldn't go for much longer; no one wanted to miss dinner. The team landed almost as soon as Harry sat down, trooping off toward the locker rooms in a rush, laughing and jostling each other as they went. 

Their voices faded as they reached the locker rooms. A hush fell over the stands as shadows crept across the pitch like fingers reaching to pull the world into twilight. Harry stood and fetched an old broom and a snitch from the broom shed. 

He stood in the middle of the pitch, with a slightly bent clean sweep in his hand, staring at the darkening sky. The pitch felt expansive, huge, and never-ending when it was empty like this. The stands towered overhead, creaking softly in the wind as they jutted into the sky. Harry mounted his broom and kicked off.

He shot straight up and turned into a long sweeping arc circling the pitch. Once, twice, and then he stopped, hovering in the air.

It was peaceful up here surrounded by nothing, and it made the tight knot in Harry's chest slowly, ever so slowly, start to unravel. Whenever Harry was in the air, it was easy to let go of everything that plagued him when he was on the ground. Worries felt weightless here, easily dissipating into nothing under the deep, dark sky. 

Harry could have stayed like that, hovering in the silence for hours, and he was tempted to, but he had a practice snitch in his pocket, and now that everything weighing him down was gone, he wanted to fly. 

Harry pulled the practice snitch out of his pocket, turning it over and over in his palm. 

"OY!" Someone bellowed from below. 

Harry jerked, crushing the snitch against his broom to keep from tumbling off. He looked down. 

Ron stood in the middle of the pitch, his clean sweep in one hand. Something lurched in Harry's stomach, and suddenly it didn't matter that Ron had been a twat, or that he'd been snogging Lavender, not when right now, he was smiling at Harry like that.

Harry leaned flat against his broom, calling to Ron. “What are you doing down there? Let's race, you wanker."

Maybe Harry wasn't the one who got to snog Ron down by the lake, but Ron was here right now, and that was enough. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: Nott Having It 

Harry was flying. He lay flat against his broom; the wind whipped around him as he pulled his knees against his chest. Harry rolled, corkscrewing, toward the goalposts and shot right through the largest hoop. With a whoop, he dipped, falling nearly a hundred feet before rocketing back toward the far side of the pitch. 

Ron was behind him, gaining, slowly, ever so slowly, inch by inch. Maybe on another day, Harry would have let him catch up. But not today. This was a race, and Harry wanted to win. 

They were neck and neck as they streaked across the pitch toward the center goalpost. 

"Watch out!" Ron shouted, but Harry didn't waver. He was going to win. He reached out, fingers stretching toward the post. Harry pulled up as his hand slapped the post, rocketing straight up, his knee scraping painfully against the post. 

He hadn't crashed, and more importantly, he won.   

Harry twisted, spinning in tight loops, whooping so loudly that his throat ached. Then, once he was high above the goals, he hovered, grinning so wide his cheeks ached, and shouted, "I won!"

"You're MAD!" Ron shouted back. 

The evening twilight had darkened into a deep blue, leaving them both in the stands' shadows. Ron landed first. He dismounted, staring up into the dark at Harry. 

"Get down here," he called. 

Harry landed with a thud and swung his broom over his shoulder, the adrenaline of their race still pounded under his skin. 

"So what did I win," he asked. 

"What makes you think there's a prize?"

Harry shrugged, "just a feeling,"

Ron scoffed, shaking his head, and leaned in to bump Harry's shoulder.

"Fine," he said, "I guess I got something."

And then, before Harry could say anything else, Ron kissed him. His fingers dug into Harry's shoulder, and Harry couldn't help but lean into it. Ron's tongue brushed against his lower lip, and then -

Harry's brain kicked into gear kicking him sharply out of his dream. His brain was a terrible, horrible, mean thing. 

That was not what actually happened.  

Harry was not out on the quidditch pitch, and Ron had not kissed him. His mind had twisted their race from the night before into something utterly impossible. 

Harry groaned, rubbing at his eyes. He could have rolled over and gone back to sleep. After all, it was the weekend, but as tempting as it was to try to sink back into a dream, Harry couldn't bear to do it. It wasn't real, it wasn't ever going to be real, and he was just going to have to accept that. 

Playing pretend wasn't going to help anyone; all it would do was hurt. Instead of going back to sleep, Harry dragged himself out of bed. He moved at a Flobberworm’s pace, and by the time he was showered and dressed, the morning had slipped by, and he was going to have to hurry if he wanted to catch the end of breakfast. 

Harry started the long climb out of the dungeons with a fiery determination to not let a stupid dream control his feelings.  At this point, he'd had enough of feeling down for at least the rest of the year, so he was going to eat a sausage roll and try to make the best of the day. 

Before Harry reached the Great Hall and the promise of breakfast, Draco intercepted him.

"There you are!" he said, taking a firm hold of Harry's arm and steering him away from his destination. "I've been waiting for you for bloody ages - what a day to have a lie in - Hermione's waiting for us. We've got so much to do."

"We do?" asked Harry, glancing forlornly back toward the Great Hall.

"We do," replied Draco, "so stop thinking with your stomach and get a move on."

He shoved a poorly wrapped breakfast sandwich into Harry's hand and pulled him toward the stairs. 

Draco prattled on as they walked, while Harry ate his sandwich and didn't listen. Once they'd nearly reached the Library, Harry asked, "So what are we doing exactly?"

Draco shot him a withering look. "Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Er?" said Harry.

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed. "As I had said," he said, "sulking isn't going to help anything. We're all in this together, so we might as well work together to sort something out—three heads are better than one and all that." 

That sounded an awful lot like something a Hufflepuff would say, but Harry didn’t mention it, since he valued his life. 

Hermione was waiting for them at their usual table in the back and even smiled when she saw them. It was very weird considering that a week ago, whenever she and Draco happened to be in the same space they were constantly at each other's throats. . Harry made a point not to mention this either lest he ruin the tentative peace. Besides, he still didn't know why he was here or what they were doing, and at this point, he knew better than to ask. 

Harry sat on the opposite side of the long table. Before he could open his bag, Hermione launched into a passionate tirade, saying that the three of them had banded together for a single reason: love.

That was the last thing Harry had expected her to say, and he was so shocked that he didn't even laugh, which was probably a good thing, all things considered. 

She turned to Draco and said, "We'll start with you -"

Draco's eyes went wide in horror. 

The thing about Draco was that while he liked to talk big, he was a bit of a coward, and as much as he liked to say that he wanted to sweep Parvati off her feet and win her hand, he wasn't actually ever going to do anything about his crush. Draco was content to sit back and dream, but now, with Hermione staring him down, it seemed he was going to have to actually act, and he had no idea what to do about it. 

Harry was almost tempted to say something, but if he did, then Hermione might turn her attention to him. And that was something that he wanted to avoid at all costs. 

Instead, he cleared his throat. "If anyone deserves success in romance, it's Draco," he said. 

Draco looked as though he'd been slapped. 

"You traitor-!" he mouthed. Harry pointedly looked away, focusing his attention on Hermione. 

The entirety of Hermione's rather formidable focus was on Draco. She sat back straight, hands clasped in front of her on top of her copy of Hogwarts a History, and very earnestly asked if Draco had a plan. 

It was obvious that he didn't, but he wasn't willing to admit it, so in an attempt to save face, he haltingly explained that he wanted to ask Parvati to Hogsmeade but felt he needed an opening so she wouldn't turn him down. He was a Slytherin, after all, and they had a bit of a reputation. 

"Aren’t there rules about what sort of gifts to send if you want to court someone?" asked Harry. He tapped his quill against his chin. "You go on about it enough that even I know there are standards to uphold."

"Of course, there are standards!" snapped Draco, "that's not the problem."

"Then what is?" asked Hermione. 

"I can't send Parvati a real courting gift-!" Draco sighed. "There are expectations that come with accepting a gift like that- and I can't in good conscience give her something when she might not understand what accepting it meant."

" Ah —" said Hermione,  nodding like she understood. Harry had no idea what Draco was on about, so it was probably a good thing she did.

"I suppose that makes sense," she said, "I had sort of wondered why it's fallen out of favor- well, in that case, let me think."

It didn't take her long to come up with a list of twelve ideas, each one better than the last. It was a little like magic, and Harry was only a little jealous. 

After deliberating for at least a quarter of an hour, they decided that Draco's gift would be a hair clip adorned with everlasting flowers. The only problem was that Draco couldn't decide which ones. 

"I don't know," he moaned, "why can’t forget-me-nots, be less boring."

"Well, it's not like you have to decide at this moment," said Hermione. 

"It's not exactly as though I have a wealth of time to make a decision!" 

"Does it really matter?" asked Harry, "all flowers are pretty."

Draco scrubbed his face with his hands. "I am not going to dignify such an idiotic question with an answer," he said. 

Harry shrugged, pulling Hermione's list across the table. 

"It's good you have Hermione then," he said, "Merlin, I wish she was around when I needed help with Ron-"

He stopped mid-sentence, feeling as though perhaps that wasn't something he should have said out loud. After all, Hermione liked Ron just as much as he did, and now they were trying to set her up with Nott, and suddenly it seemed rather disingenuous. 

Only she didn't seem fazed in the slightest.

"Oh —" she said, "well, that explains everything, doesn't it."

"It does?" said Harry trying to keep his concern off his face, but try as he might, he couldn't keep the corners of his mouth from wobbling. 

Hermione nodded sagely. "It does," she said, patting Harry on the hand, "and I'll do my best to help. You're going to need it."

"Honestly—" interjected Draco. "Finally, someone understands my plight! He's hopeless!" 

"You're hopeless," muttered Harry, and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. 

Draco glared at him. Harry was very tempted to stick out his tongue, but he didn't because that was childish, and if he did, Draco would make fun of him for the next ten thousand years. 

"None of us are hopeless," said Hermione firmly. "And if we work together, I'm sure we can all work something out."

That seemed like an awful optimistic take— but Hermione was a Gryffindor, so maybe optimism was just in her nature. 

"Are you sure-?" asked Harry, his guilt about tricking her gnawing a small hole in the pit of his stomach. 

"Of course," she said. "Ron's better off with you anyhow, and I never would have ever realized if Draco hadn't said something about Theo."

"You're serious about Theo then?" said Draco.

"I am." 

Draco brightened considerably before Hermione continued, informing them that they ought to start their homework. Which, while an entirely sensible sentiment, was far less exciting than scheming about love. 

Draco dragged his runes book out of his bag, grumbling.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked when Harry stood.

"Quidditch practice," he said, and then he left, abandoning Draco and his homework.

Harry shivered as he hurried toward the pitch. He was running late, and as captain, that was embarrassing. It was a cold, damp evening. The sun had started to set, drawing huge creeping shadows across the grounds. There was a chill in the air, the kind where the cold slipped under your skin and sank deep into the depths of your bones. 

As soon as he entered the stands, the quaffle came careening toward his head. Harry caught it about a centimeter in front of his face. 

"Oof," he said. 

"There you are!" shouted Vaisley, "took you ruddy long enough!"

Considering how their last practice went, the whole team was eager to get into the air. They gathered into a tight huddle, waiting for Harry to count them down. 

"Alright, three, two, one -" 

They were off, streaking into the evening sky, twisting through the cold air. No one seemed to mind the chill; it was a beautiful clear evening for a game, and they were all ready to play. 

Practice ran much smoother this time; in fact, it went so well that by the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, Harry didn't care that his cheeks burned and he couldn't feel his fingers; all he cared about was that he had the best damn team in the school. There was no way they were going to lose the cup, and he couldn't have been happier. 

In the morning, Harry's legs ached, protesting the long walk to the great hall on his way to breakfast, but it didn't dampen his spirit. After all, there was nothing better than the feeling of a good practice, and Harry was already looking forward to their next match. 

They were going to win. 

Draco didn't share his enthusiasm. 

"You always win," he said, and sipped his tea, "the excitement has worn off at this point, Potter."

"We don't always win," groused Harry, stabbing at half a sausage. 

"Name a year we didn't win the cup."

"Second year."

"Yes, but that was because of the giant murder snake and not because we lost .".

"But we didn't win ," pressed Harry. Draco rolled his eyes and flicked a potato at Harry's forehead. It hit him right between the eyes, bounced off, and landed in the middle of his plate. 

"Cheers," said Harry, and ate the potato. 

They left the great hall together, parting ways at the foot of the stairs. Draco was off to the Library to start an essay he should have started days ago. While Harry had a meeting with Flitwick in his office about his charm work. 

Then he'd join Draco to slave over their homework when he'd really rather be doing anything else. 

Well. Not anything. But most things. 

Harry's meeting didn't last long. It didn't even last a whole five minutes before Harry was on his way out of Flitchwick's office. He'd nearly reached the end of the corridor when someone came up behind him, and as they passed, they knocked painfully into Harry's shoulder. 

"Bloody hell," grumbled Harry, calling after them, "watch where you're going, you twat -!" 

"You watch where you're going," replied Theo. He stopped just ahead of Harry and turned, scowling at him. Theo flicked his wand once, sending a stinging hex at Harry's feet. Harry stepped back, and he knew pulling out his wand was a bad idea, but he was still going to do it anyway. 

Before Harry had the chance to retaliate, Ron shouted from the other end of the corridor. "OY! What do you think you're doing?"

"Making a point," replied Theo.

"Yesh, well, make your point somewhere else," snapped Ron. He stopped just behind Harry's shoulder, "or else I can give you a detention if you'd like- for disturbing the peace."

Theo scoffed, ignoring Ron completely; he looked Harry directly in the eye. 

"The point," he said, "is that Potter's a waste of space. It's pathetic, really, watching you run away from your problems, clinging to the people around you like somehow that'll help. It won't; it just makes you look like a coward."

Then he turned, his robes billowing dramatically behind him as he stalked away. 

"What the fuck was he on about?" asked Ron once Theo had rounded the corner and added, "Does everyone in Slytherin know how to do that- does Snape hold lessons?"

Harry chuckled, ignoring the weight that had settled in the pit of his stomach. Theo wasn't wrong. But that didn't mean that Harry had any intention of doing anything different. He'd made up his mind, he was going to let Ron go and focus on quidditch. It was the only sensible decision. 

"Of course, he holds lessons," he said, "it's the first thing ickle Slytherins learn when they arrive."

"Then how come you're so crap at it?" 

Harry shrugged, "guess I didn't practice enough."

Ron chuckled, bumping Harry's shoulder. "I'm off then," he said, grinning, "see ya."

Once Harry was alone in the corridor, he hoisted his bag a little higher and headed for the grounds. He was far too muddled to concentrate on anything, let alone homework. 

It took four laps around the lake before Harry cooled his head, and by then, he'd missed lunch. 

He stopped by the kitchens for a quick sandwich and headed for the Library. It was already midafternoon, and no matter how Harry felt about Ron or Theo, he still had to do his homework. 

Draco was sitting at their regular table and scowled when he saw Harry approaching through the stacks. 

"So you've finally decided to grace me with your presence," he drawled. Harry dropped his bag on the table with a thunk and sat down. 

"Sorry, I had a bit of a run-in with Theo this morning," he said. "He's such a bastard. Are you sure that setting Hermione up with him is a good idea?"

Draco groaned, "what did he do now?"

Harry ignored the question, "Hermione deserves someone who will be kind to her, and I don't know if Theo knows what kind even means."

"Why are all of my friends morons," Draco moaned. "Look. I know you wouldn't know it, but Theo's plenty kind- he's just…."

"He's just what?"

"He's jealous! He's liked Hermione for ages, and now you're dating her, and he knows you don't fancy her, but he's too thick to realize that she's not into you either."

"Oh," said Harry. "Good thing we're going to break up then."

Draco agreed and went back to his essay. "It's all going to work out," he said, "just you wait."

Harry didn't think that was likely. In fact, he was pretty sure that was impossible, but Draco sounded so sure of himself that Harry couldn't bear to tell him that. So he didn't. He just bent over his charms essay and decided that no matter what happened, he was going to be happy for his friends, even if, in the end, he was the only one alone. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: Something Unpleasant 

On Monday afternoon, Harry was once again in the Library, tucked near the back with Draco and Hermione. He'd never willingly spent so much free time in the Library outside of exams, and after the ever-cursed Valentines finally passed, Harry hoped to never do it again. 

For once, they were actually doing their homework. While Harry never wanted to do his homework, the idea of working on his essay for even one more second made him want to explode. 

And exploding would be a terrible idea for lots of reasons. The first was that Harry enjoyed living, and exploding would probably put a bit of a damper on his continued existence. The second was that even if Harry somehow survived the act, he would not survive Madame Pince's wrath at disrupting the tranquility of her domain.

The only sensible option was to stop doing his homework, and in order to not get scolded by his more studious companions, the only way to accomplish that was to derail their efforts at once. 

So Harry did something that he'd never ever thought that he would do. He brought up dating, willingly, to Draco. 

"So about Saturday," said Harry, in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. Draco winced, and before Hermione could open her mouth, he interjected, "Right- Saturday; what are you planning on doing about Saturday?"

"Me?" said Harry, "I'm not planning anything."

The look Draco gave Harry made it clear exactly how dim he thought Harry was, and it was very, very dim. 

"Of course you are," he said. "It's not like you can still be dating Hermione by then. Or you're going to ruin everything, and you don't want that, do you?"

Harry really didn't, and since his relationship with Hermione amounted to nothing more than that one time she insisted they hold hands, he'd kind of forgotten that they had to break up.

"Oh," said Harry. 

He already regretted saying anything.

"I wouldn't worry about it," said Hermione, "I can just break up with you between classes; it's not like it has to be a big deal-"

Draco scoffed. "That's a terrible idea," he said. 

Hermione looked baffled, but now that Harry thought about it, Draco was right. Having Hermione break up with him wasn't a good idea. With her reputation and that fact, she was Muggleborn Gryffindor- well, even Harry could guess what kind of gossip Pansy Parkinson's lot might spin out of it, and it wasn't very nice. 

No, Harry was going to have to break up with her. It was the only sensible option. 

"Wouldn't it be better if I break up with you?" he said. "I'll just say I want to focus on quidditch or something."

"That's hardly even a lie," said Draco.

"I know," said Harry, "that's why it's a good idea."

"It gives Theo a good opening, too; once you break her heart, he can step in and sweep Hermione off her feet."

Hermione brightened up at the mention of Theo, and even if Harry thought that the possibility of Theo sweeping anyone off their feet was impossible, he knew better than to say it out loud. 

Now that Harry and Hermione's entanglement had been sorted, it was Draco's turn in the spotlight, and for once, he didn't seem very happy about it. 

Harry knew Draco wasn't going to ask Parvati out, and considering how understanding Hermione looked at his squirming, she knew it, too. In fact, the only person who hadn't realized was Draco. 

Who still hadn't come to terms with the fact that he was too much of a pansy to do it, and rather than face that fact, he quickly made an excuse and left, vanishing among the stacks. 

After Draco's abrupt departure, Hermione sighed. "Did I say something wrong?" she asked. 

"Not, exactly," said Harry, "It's just that as much as Draco likes the idea of wooing, I think he's not so keen on doing it himself."

" Ah ," she said, "I think I understand. Shall we get on with it then? It's not like our essays will write themselves."

It's not as though she was wrong, and Harry begrudgingly returned to his essay. 

The rest of Harry's Tuesday flew by in a rush, even with the looming prospect of breaking up with Hermione hanging over his head and the dawn of the day of the deed arrived far too early, at least in his humble opinion. 

Harry hardly touched his breakfast; even the idea of eating made him feel a bit ill. The dread of what he knew he had to do after sat like lead in the pit of his stomach, a constant reminder of what was to come. 

"You look a bit peaky," said Draco when he joined Harry. "Are you ill?"

"I wish," mumbled Harry. 

"What happened then? Has Lavender proposed?"

"No," said Harry, "it's Wednesday."

"What's wrong with Wednesday?" asked Draco. He'd obviously forgotten their plan, and with Theo sitting not even two feet down the table, it's not as though Harry could remind him.

"I have to do something unpleasant," muttered Harry, "and I don't want to."

"Oh- oh!" said Draco, and then he started laughing, leaning into Harry's shoulder. "Don't be such a baby, it'll be fine-" he leaned even closer, whispering in Harry's ear, "it's not even like she's going to be upset; you're doing her a favor -"

It's not like Harry didn't know that, but it didn't feel like he was doing Hermione a favor; it felt like he was an arse.

The plan had been to do it outside the great hall just after breakfast. That way, word would get around quickly, and Theo would know that Hermione was single and had her heart broken so that he could pick up the pieces. 

Harry could only hope that picking up the pieces didn't also include cursing him into oblivion. 

And it's not as though their plan didn't work. It did, but maybe just a little too well, and once Harry caught Hermione's arm on her way out of breakfast, it was as though a spotlight had turned on the two of them, and every student within the vicinity was paying rapt attention.

It was horrible being stared at like that, and it left Harry even more awkward than usual. His shoulders pulled up to his ears while he stumbled through his little spiel, something that he'd been practicing since the night before. It had seemed a bit silly, but now that he had an audience and could hardly think straight, it was a bit of a blessing. 

Hermione was just as uncomfortable as he was, her lips thinning into nothing, with misery painted across her face. By the end of it, tears welled in her eyes, and she turned, hurrying into the crowd before Harry could finish. 

It was one of the worst things Harry had ever done, and he wanted to crawl into a little hole and stay there for the next ten thousand years or so.

Afterward, when they were sitting in Runes, Draco told him he was being dramatic, and Harry made the mistake of saying that it was a bit rich coming from him.

Draco kicked him in the shin,  an affront that Harry hardly deserved after suffering all morning. 

For the rest of the day, Harry couldn't get the image of Hermione's tears out of his head, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find her to apologize either. Draco didn't seem to think it was all that big of a deal.

"It was part of the plan," he said, "she knew what she was getting herself into."

That might be true, but it didn't make Harry feel any better. 

The next morning, Harry didn't feel any better, and the fact that his classmates were still all a buzz from the spectacle the day before didn't help. After all, it was awfully hard to forget about something when it was all anyone wanted to talk about. 

Even Ron. Who had cornered Harry outside the Great Hall on his way to breakfast, yanking him into a small alcove behind a pillar. 

"Alright?" he asked. Harry nodded but kept his eyes on his feet because if he didn't, he might blurt out something stupid- like that, he hadn't really been dating Hermione anyway. 

"Are you sure?" said Ron, "because you don't look alright."

Harry didn't get a chance to answer because Dean popped his head around the pillar. "Oy, Lavender's about to have a Kneezle. You’d best get going, mate," he said.

Ron groaned and rolled his eyes skyward like he was praying for patience from some great old deity before he patted Harry on the shoulder.

"We'll talk later," he said and left. As much as Harry really wanted to believe Ron, he didn't. They hardly got to see each other before, and now it seemed like they just never had the time.

But maybe that was for the better. Or if it wasn't, at least Harry could pretend that it was. 

Later, once classes were over Harry was back in the Library. He had an hour to kill before quidditch practice and was doing his homework. For once, Draco didn't seem to have anything to say and also had his nose stuck in a book, so there was actually a chance Harry might be able to focus.

Maybe. 

The problem was that this Charms unit was particularly boring, and just because this was a good opportunity to do his homework didn't mean that Harry wanted to. Really, he'd rather be doing just about anything else, so it would figure that, for once, Draco didn't feel like being a distraction. 

Harry was tempted to nap, but before he could settle comfortably on top of his Charms book for a snooze, Hermione came swanning around the end of the table and dropped into one of the empty chairs. 

She was so happy that she was glowing, and in contrast to how she looked the last time Harry saw her, it was a bit of a shock. 

"What's got you smiling like that?" asked Draco. "You looked a bit possessed. Honestly, it's creepy."

Hermione's face dropped, and she glared for all of England. 

"That's so much better!" he chirped. 

Harry rolled his eyes and tried to kick Draco- really, why was he such an arse? Weren't he and Hemrione friends? But he missed, and got the chair leg instead. 

"Bugger," muttered Harry, his eyes watering. His big toe was going to smart for at least the rest of the evening.

Hermione pointedly ignored Draco- which, all things considered, was probably the best course of action. 

"Theo asked to sit with me in Arithmancy," she said, leaning forward as though she were sharing a secret. "And—" she continued, "then at the end of the lesson, he asked if I wanted to study with him! Me ! I'm supposed to meet him in ten minutes."

"So he's going to ask you to Hogsmeade then?" asked Harry.

"Er-" said Hermione, “it's not like there's a guarantee or anything, but I think he might."

Her eyes were alight with enthusiasm. "He seems so driven," she continued, "like he'll go after whatever he wants. It's refreshing."

"I told you," said Draco. "Theo is something of a catch."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't go that far," she said. "He is, after all, only human, but, well, I certainly won't complain if he does ask me-" she paused and reached across the table to hold on to Harry's hand, "and I wanted to apologize for making you break up with me like that, the whole idea was terrible, and I dragged you into it without thinking and-"

Harry pulled his hand away gently and patted her on the arm. "Don't worry about it," he said and added, "You’d best go meet Theo- if he finds out that I kept you, he'll murder me in my sleep." 

Hemione agreed and swanned off to meet Theo down by the lake. 

"That sounds like a shit place to study," he said once she was gone. 

"You're not wrong. But it is rather a good place for snogging-"

"You don't think-" said Harry, eyes wide.

"It's Theo," said Draco, and sniffed.

"Yeah, but it's Hermione."

"Ugh," moaned Draco, flopping onto the table, his cheek pressed against the cover of his book. "I don't caaaaare."

"Actually, I rather think you do," said Harry, and Draco glared at him. From this angle, he looked a bit like a very grumpy tiny owl, and really, Harry was very tempted to pat him on the head, but he didn't because he was well aware that the price of disturbing Draco's hair was probably something worse than death, and at the moment he was rather keen to keep all his limbs attached thanks. 

"Somehow, it doesn't seem fair that Hermione's the only one who ended up with a date," grumbled Draco. 

Harry nodded because what else was he going to do? Tell Draco he could have had a date if he wasn't such a baby about Parvati? 

That wouldn't do anything beyond making Draco furious, and if they were both going to be stuck in the castle over the weekend, then it would be far better to sulk together than to sulk apart. 

"I suppose," said Harry, "but at least next week, the whole business will be over, and we can all move on with our lives."

"That's not how romance works," muttered Draco. Harry ignored him and continued, "It could be worse," he said, "at least we'll have each other."

"Oh fuck off," said Draco. He shoved his things back into his bag and skulked off, leaving Harry alone. Harry sighed; he still had twenty minutes until quidditch practice . No matter what Draco said, he was glad it was almost the weekend, and Harry was sure that things would get better after Valentine's Day had passed. Surely, everything would go back to normal. Right?

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: Hogsmeade Weekend Blues

Valentine's Day's arrival was rather anticlimactic. It was, after all, just another Saturday. Harry was less affected by it than expected. Maybe he'd already used up his angst quota for the year, or perhaps it was just that the whole ordeal was finally almost over, so life could go back to normal. 

Breakfast was, as it always was: loud and lively, and Harry was so involved with his bowl of porridge that he wouldn't have given the day more than a passing thought if Draco hadn't been a picture of woe. 

His mood had taken a sharp downward turn over the past three days, and when they left their dormitory that morning, he was so forlorn he was approaching the edge of weepy. 

It was a truly pitiful sight, and Harry would have felt bad for him if the whole thing wasn't entirely his own fault. At any point, Draco could have girded his loins and asked Parvati to Hogsmeade. 

But Harry wasn't about to say that out loud because if he did, there was a good chance Draco might try to gouge out his eyes. 

It didn't help that they'd run into Hermione on their way to breakfast. She'd practically been glowing; cheerfulness radiated off her like the sun, and to mere mortals, it was overwhelming. 

The news she was going to Hogsmede with Theo wasn't a secret. With how gossip ran in the castle, it only took about an hour for everyone and their mother to know that Theodore Nott had asked Hermione Granger to go to Hogsmeade after Arithmancy. 

"He kissed her hand and everything! It's not fair; I wish my boyfriend was like that. All he cares about is bloody gob stones!"

Draco had glowered at her on their way past, but for once, he kept his mouth closed, which was probably for the best. Once they sat down, Harry had hoped that perhaps a hearty breakfast would do Draco good, but Draco didn't so much as eat a bite, as he pushed a lone sausage around his plate with such gusto that he looked a bit like a rain cloud personified. 

After breakfast, the entryway outside the great hall was packed full of excited students milling about, waiting to be allowed to leave for Hogsmeade. Lavender and Ron were among them, their hands tightly clasped together. 

And just like that, any good will Harry had had was gone.

Draco slung an arm around his shoulder and steered him toward the Dungeons. 

"Ah, misery," he said with fake cheer, "it's always better with company."

"Fuck that," groused Harry, "I'm not going to be miserable today."

"Oh?"

"I mean it; I'm tired of letting something stupid make me feel awful."

"It's not stupid, you dolt," said Draco.

"It is," said Harry, "if it wasn't for some bloody stupid holiday, I wouldn't have spent nearly the past two weeks sulking about something I really can't do much about."

"You would have; you just wouldn't understand why you were upset."

Harry scoffed, and Draco jabbed him in the ribs with one of his overly pointy elbows. "You can't go around blaming a holiday for the fact you're the twat who developed feelings for a Weasel," said Draco blandly. 

At the end of the corridor, Pansy appeared from around the corner, a rather dangerous glint in her eyes. Draco froze, gripping Harry's arm so tightly it was sure to leave marks. 

"Help me," he whispered, his eyes wide as she approached. Even if Harry wanted to risk getting between Pansy and her prey, it would be a lost cause. Pansy was an unstoppable force, and in her presence, a mere mortal like Harry Potter posed as much of a threat as an ant posed a boot. 

It was well-known that whatever Pansy Parkinson wanted, Pansy Parkinson got, and who was Harry to try to stand in her way? 

"YOU~," she said when she spotted Draco, her voice echoing in the empty hall. "How could you do this to me? You're just so mean! Neglecting me like this- don't you know it makes me cry? Do you want me to cry? I'll get wrinkles! Wrinkles, Draco, if you give me wrinkles, how will you be able to live with yourself?"

By the time she reached them, Draco was resigned to his fate, and when she wrapped one of her tiny hands around his wrist, he let her drag him away from Harry without putting up a single iota of resistance. 

Resistance was futile when it came to Pansy. 

Now that Harry had been left on his own, there was only one thing for it. He would go flying. 

Flying, as always, was the right decision. The sky was clear, and after looping once around the pitch, he'd already forgotten all about the Valentine's business. 

Harry stayed out flitting about the sky until his fingers went numb and headed inside windswept and red-faced, sometime late in the afternoon.  

Draco beat him back to their dormitory, and he was lolling about on his bed when Harry came in. 

Harry flopped fully clothed onto his bed. 

"How's Pansy?" he asked. 

"Terrifying," said Draco. "She talked my ear off for about a million years before that Greengrass girl showed up and saved me."

"Astonia?"

"No, the other one. Apparently there was a disturbance at Madam Puddifoot's-" Draco paused for effect, propping himself up on pillows to share his gossip with his captive audience. 

"Oh no," said Harry, "pandemonium in the tea shop- how will we live?"

"You say that now," said Draco, "but you'll want to hear this."

"I really don't think I do."

"Fine," Draco drawled, "I won't tell you that Ron and Lavender broke up-"

"WHAT!"

Harry sat straight up on the bed; Draco now had his full and undivided attention.

"No, no," said Draco, "I couldn't possibly bother you with such petty gossip-"

"Did they really break up?" 

Harry's question was so hopeful that Draco took pity on him and told him the details. According to the Greengrass girl, Ron and Lavender had gotten into a roaring argument that ended with Ron loudly announcing that if 'that's the way things are, then I don't think there's any point in me being here' and storming out. 

Lavender burst into tears, and the whole thing was rather dramatic.

"Or at least that's what the Greengrass girl said. Oh, there is one other thing," said Draco, "and you're going to owe me for this-"

"Owe you?"

Draco nodded. "For being the very best mate in all the world and bringing you good tidings even after I was abandoned to Pansy's mercy."

"What are you on about?"

"Ron's sulking down by the lake."

Harry stared at him, completely baffled by his announcement.

"Good for him?" said Harry.

"Merlin's beard-" exclaimed Draco, utterly exasperated, "you're supposed to go comfort him, you ninny!"

"Why would I do that?"

Draco covered his face with his hands and made a high-pitched, frustrated sound reminiscent of a neglected tea kettle. 

"Harry," he said after a moment, "my dear friend, I am trying to help you. Really, I am. Can't you see how hard I'm trying?"

"Sorry?" said Harry, even though he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. 

"You should be, now, turn your arse around and go talk to your one true love and sort your shit out; this is doing my head in." 

Harry sat up. "I don't know-" he started, but Draco cut him off. 

"I know you don't know," he snapped, "but I know, so get off your sorry arse, and go. Talk. To. Ron."

There was no room for argument, so Harry reluctantly got up, left his dormitory, and went back outside. It was a sunny day for February, and it hadn't been bad out on the pitch, but there was always wind by the lake, and Harry shivered the closer he got. 

He found Ron under the small cluster of willows, chucking rocks into the lake in a very poor attempt at skipping stones. 

Harry stood lurking in the shadows of the trees until he worked the nerve to say something. 

"Alright?" he asked, shuffling out into the little clearing. 

Ron didn't say anything; his mouth was set in a hard line. He hardly glanced at Harry before he chucked another rock into the lake. 

Unsure of what to say, Harry settled on a large tree root while Ron stood at the lake's edge, the water slowly soaking into his trainers. The sun had started to set, and the shadows grew ever longer, creeping out over the lake, stretching like gnarled fingers reaching out to catch you. 

With the shadows came the chill, and it wasn't long until Ron swore loudly, clenched his fists at his side, and stormed back toward the castle. Coming had been a bad idea; Harry had known it would be, but a little part of him had hoped that maybe Draco was right that Ron would want to be consoled and that somehow something good would come out of him coming out here. 

But it hadn't, and now he was the one sulking by the lake. Harry stayed until the moon reflected in the water, and he could no longer feel his feet. When he finally stood to go back to the castle, he stumbled, his legs stiff from the cold. 

Draco was waiting for him, propped up against a mountain of pillows with the quilt wrapped over his shoulders. He looked rather like a tiny pointy owl. 

"What's happened then?" he demanded in a loud whisper. 

Harry ignored him, flopping face-first onto his bed. 

"I don't want to talk about it," he said. 

"Oh dear ," replied Draco.

"Fuck off," said Harry, and he burrowed under his blankets.

The next day, Harry was dismayed to find that  Valentine's Day may be over, but its influence lingered, and what was worse, Ron was now firmly stuck in his head. 

It was distracting. So distracting that a bludger nearly took his head off. 

"Sorry!" shouted Greg. 

"What are you sorry for?" replied Harry, "you're just doing your job. I'm the idiot who wasn't paying attention;"

"Yeh," said Greg, "but if I take your head off, we'll lose the cup, and no one wants that."

"Guess I better pull my head out of my arse then," said Harry wryly and shot toward the far side of the pitch.  

But knowing that he needed to focus and actually focusing were two entirely separate things and didn't make paying attention any easier. 

Ten minutes later, Harry took a bludger to the thigh. 

"Buggering fuck~!" he shouted, and nearly tipped sideways off his broom. 

"Sorry!" moaned Greg, sounding thoroughly miserable. 

Getting walloped with a bludger hurt , and Harry’s leg ached for the rest of the practice and he limped on his way to the locker room, once they’d finished for the day.

The sun had started to set, drawing long shadows across the grounds, and the whole team's minds had turned to dinner.  They hurried through changing and charged off to fill their stomachs, leaving Harry behind to lock up. Greg hovered around the door, like a huge guilty puppy until Harry shooed him off. 

"There's no point in us both missing dinner," he said, "off you go."

Greg didn't argue. 

It's not like Harry would be far behind. He just had to lock up, then he could be on his way..  

Ron was waiting for him, outside the locker rooms leaning against the wall near the door.

"Are you waiting for me?" Harry asked.

"Yep," said Ron, his hand shoved deep into his robe pockets. "Can we chat?"

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

"You know what I meant," said Ron, falling into step as Harry started up toward the castle. The walk was silent and horrible, like some weight was strung between them, and Harry hated every second of it. They'd only made it halfway when he couldn't take it anymore. 

"Nice chat," Harry said, "must be off," and tried to veer off toward the lake. It would be a longer walk, but at least it would be less awkward. 

"Wait-" Ron caught his arm. Harry stopped and instantly regretted it. 

"Look," said Ron, "I really need to talk to you. Can you meet me at the pitch tomorrow?"

"Why tomorrow? Why can't you just tell me now?"

"Because," said Ron, his brow furrowed, looking slightly constipated, "So tomorrow, six thirty?"

"Fine," said Harry, and he turned to leave. He only got two steps before Ron grabbed his arm again. 

"What?!" Harry demanded. 

"I changed my mind."

"For fucks sake," said Harry.

They turned back toward the quidditch stands. The prospect of dinner, getting further away with every step. They settled in one of the lower boxes. Ron sat in the far corner, and Harry settled gingerly right by the door. 

Neither of them spoke. 

Harry looked out over the pitch; the sun had set, the wind picked up, and Harry's arse had started to go a bit numb. Whatever Ron wanted to say seemed important, but Harry only had so much patience, and it felt like he'd been waiting for such a long time. 

"Either tell me what you want to say, or I'm leaving," said Harry. 

"Lavender broke up with me because she said I spent our whole date talking about you-"

"What?"

"She thinks I'm in love with you," said Ron, gaze fixed firmly on his feet, his fingers wrapped tight around the edge of his seat. "I-I panicked, I guess, I still don't know what to do."

“But are you?”

"What? Am I in love with you?" asked Ron, eyes still glued on his trainers. I don't know, maybe?"

"Maybe?"

Ron nodded. He turned to meet Harry's eyes, "so what are you going to do about it?"

Harry was taken aback- what was he supposed to do about it?! Ron was the one who didn't know. 

"That depends," he said, "on whether or not you are."

"And If I am?"

"Then I'd kiss you."

"Better kiss me then."

It took a moment for Ron's words to register, but once they did, Harry lunged at him, grabbed his face, and smashed their lips together. 

As far as kisses went, it lacked finesse, but Harry didn't care because it was Ron, and really, he hadn't realized how very, very much he wanted this until he was doing it. 

Ron kissed back, leaning into Harry, his hands pulling tight on the front of Harry's shirt. 

It was far too short of a kiss for Harry’s liking, and when Ron leaned back breathless and grinning, he said, "Merlin-- we could have been doing that the whole time-"

"Yeah," said Harry, "only you were too busy snogging Lavender-"

"What about you and Hermione?"

"Er-" said Harry, and then he explained the whole rather stupid chain of events.

"I think we're idiots," said Ron once Harry finished his tale. 

"Probably," said Harry. 

"You should kiss me again," said Ron. 

So Harry did.