A Dream For The Dead

A Dream For The Dead

Chapter 39

I’ve Lost My Fear Of Falling

”Alright, alright, now let’s get to the topic everyone is really looking to hear about: the Quidditch Finals. What do we say, boys? Who do we think is going to take home the cup this year? Will Puddlemere United keep up their steady streak and claim the cup again? Or will Oliver Wood finally snatch it away from his former team?”

“Oh, well, you know Liam, I think if anyone is going to snatch the cup from Puddlemere it’s going to be Draco Malfoy’s doing, rather than Wood. Don’t get me wrong: Wood is a phenomenal Keeper who has proven his worth time and again, but you can’t deny that Malfoy is the shining star of the British and Irish League, forget just the Catapults. I mean, after his spectacular defeat of the Harpies -actually using the Plumpton Pass! –and then managing to play against the Canons last week after that debacle with his son and the man who was threatening him, well…you’ve got to admit, Malfoy’s got bollocks!”

“We don’t have to admit anything! Honestly, Finn, you can’t sit there and shovel that tripe out for Liam and I, thinking we’ll swallow it! Malfoy’s personal problems aside, it doesn’t take much to defeat the Canons, regardless of the miracles it took to get them into the semi-finals. Malfoy would have been the laughing stock of the League if he had allowed the Snitch to be caught by Anthony Wimbley, of all people. Losing to the Canons would have been the most humiliating defeat for the Catapults since the match against the Tornadoes all those years ago. That said, what would the Catapults have done if Malfoy hadn’t shown? Their reserve Seeker, Astoria Greengrass, was arrested for her involvement with the whole kidnapping business. Malfoy didn’t manage any spectacular feat by showing up and paying more attention than a man who can’t tell up from down half the time.”

“Say what you will about Wimbley, Miles, but that does not change the fact that Malfoy secured a prime standing for the Catapults going into this final game. Besides, with players like Wood, Turner and Peakes behind him, how do you think he’ll manage to lose?”

“I don’t want to interrupt this admittedly fascinating argument, but there was a rumour that Malfoy’s lost his so-called ‘sixth sense’ after the ordeal with Dean Thomas and Astoria Greengrass. They say that whatever made him brilliant before is lost and he only one against the Canons because, well, they’re the Canons.”

“Oh please, Liam, you can’t honestly believe that rubbish! The papers have been publishing tripe like that for years now, often about Malfoy. From what I saw of the Canons match, he was perfectly on his game. Furthermore, what makes Malfoy a spectacular Seeker is no ‘sixth sense’ or magical enhancement, but rather his training and his skill. Seekers like that are made, boys. Not born.”

“Who knows if that twaddle is just that, or if there’s something more to it? I’ve always said that the way Malfoy wins his matches is questionable. It’s common knowledge that he’s been into the Dark Arts and unopposed to cheating. Surely it’s possible that he’s used his experience to, shall we say, help him along?”

“Oh, bollocks. That’s just what all the sore losers of the game have been rambling about since they witnessed Malfoy’s magnificence on a broom. Either way, it doesn’t matter anyway, as he’s been thoroughly investigated on a number of occasions. The Ministry couldn’t find anything wrong, so why keep assuming? And I should think you wouldn’t want to think too long on it anyway, considering how much you loathe Malfoy. You realize that by propagating those rumours you’re only increasing his fame, yeah?”

“Infamy, maybe…”

“Alright, I think we’ve strayed a bit too far off topic here. So then, Finn. You’re clearly of the mind that the Catapults will come out the victors in this match. Do you think that Puddlemere’s Seeker is a worthy opponent for Malfoy? Popular opinion claims that Frank Little is the weakest player on the team and the only reason Puddlemere United made it to the finals was because their Beaters are the sharpest of the League.”

+++++

Deep breaths. Just stay calm.

“You’ll be fine, Draco,” a voice was telling him, but he was moving past consciousness to something else. “You’re brilliant. You can’t train your focus, remember? You don’t need to.” Draco took a deep breath. “Where’s the arrogance I’ve come to know and love from you?”

Cracking one eye open, Draco frowned at Harry who was massaging his shoulders and gazing at him with a mischievous smirk on his face. Draco was leaning back, half naked, against the cold metal of the lockers in the change rooms. None of the rest of the team had arrived yet, though Wood was due at any moment. Harry smoothed his hands down Draco’s chest and tweaked his nipples. Draco arched and gasped slightly before wrapping his hands around Harry’s neck and pulling him into a deep kiss.

Harry pressed his body against the lean line of Draco’s and kissed him back, but pulled away much too soon. Making a sound of protest, Draco tried to pull him back, but to no avail. Harry waggled his eyebrows and sniggered.

“Afraid not,” he said smoothly. “You’ve got a game to win and there’s no sense in giving you your prize before you’ve earned it, is there?”

Draco glared at him as Harry danced out of his reach. As much as he wanted to pretend displeasure, he couldn’t. He watched Harry move, fully clothed –much to his dismay –but still infinitely desirable, toward the other side of the room.

“You know, shagging would be a fantastic way to settle my nerves,” he suggested lecherously. Harry snorted and shook his head.

“Think of this instead as incentive not to let your nerves get to you,” he twirled his wand between his fingers. “Imagine all the sinful things I’ll do to you –and let you do to me –if you come home with the Quidditch Cup.”

Draco’s mind immediately flooded with all forms of completely inappropriate thoughts, which, in turn, caused blood to flood somewhere else. Growling in displeasure, Draco shot a glare at Harry that could have melted ice. Harry gazed back with a smugness Draco would have once wanted to hex off his face, and merely ambled over to the doorway.

“I’ve got to go out to the stands now and tend to your most loyal fans,” he said as though Draco cared to know. The fact that Draco did care was completely beside the point. Harry laughed to himself disappeared behind the door, off to find their sons.

Draco really wanted to tug at his hair in frustration, but knew better. The gesture was something that Harry would do and he refused to let any more of Potter’s bad habits rub off on him. Just what other habits Harry managed to taint Draco with was neither here nor there.

Sighing heavily, Draco allowed himself to slide down the locker until he hit the bench. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes just as Wood Apparated into the change room. Wood didn’t notice Draco at first, as he always Apparated facing his own locker and so absorbed into his pre-match thoughts that a herd of rampaging unicorns could have passed behind him and he wouldn’t blink an eye.

Draco rubbed his eyes, trying to force them to focus and accomplishing quite the opposite. He groaned and leaned back until his head smacked against the locker. Wood finally turned around –though not because of the noise, it was simply part of his routine –and noticed Draco. After blinking a moment, he smiled and pulled his team jumper over his head.

“All right, Malfoy?” he asked. Draco sucked on his lip a moment and then forced himself to stand.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “Just nerves, I imagine.”

“Ah, well, best shake them off,” Wood told him, turning back to pull on his robes. “Can’t go out there feeling doubt, can we?”

Wood flicked his wand at a blackboard in the corner and the chalk began to outline various plays. Draco wanted to roll his eyes but was instead consumed with an inexplicable affection and urge to laugh.

This is Potter’s doing, surely.

Ever since they had returned from the otherworld, Draco had felt things differently. Everything was slightly off from the way it had been before, but never in ways that were overt or particularly clear to identify. He could scarcely tell how something had changed, he simply knew it had.

There were only two very obvious changes. One of them wasn’t terribly monumental, though it felt that way to Draco. Before he had changed his soul, Scorpius had looked like the spiting image of him, down to every last detail. It was so striking, in fact, that many had wondered if magic had not brought Scorpius into the world rather than birth, as he looked absolutely nothing like his mother.

But now, when Draco looked at Scorpius he saw differences that weren’t there before. While they still looked more alike than father and son generally tend to do, Scorpius’ lips were slightly rounder than Draco’s and his hair was ash blond, rather than Draco’s white blond locks. He supposed the ashen colour was to do with Ophelia’s influence, but the fact remained that Draco was deeply unnerved at the notion that he did not, in actuality, know the full details of his son’s appearance. He was overwhelmed with irrational fear that he would never recognize Scorpius again.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Draco was forced to deal with the other obvious change in his life –his focus. Before the bond with Harry, Draco had always simply known where the Snitch was at any given time. His focus was so perfect that he needn’t even see it to know where to find it. Since his change, however, Draco noticed an inability to focus so fully on anything in his life. He was more easily distracted and sometimes lost track of his thoughts. Harry suggested that, first and foremost, it was more a side effect of aging than it was of anything else. He then proceeded to reassure Draco that he was still young and gorgeous and just as focused as ever –it was only in his mind.

That, of course, distressed him all the more.

The match against the Canons was hardly enough proof that Draco was still on point and hadn’t lost a thing. It was the Canons, after all. They could have lost that match and still been in the finals if he had chosen not to pay attention. The fact that the Canons’ Seeker came oddly close to catching the Snitch before he did was alarming. After the fact, the opposing Seeker admitted that he had know knowledge of the Snitch’s whereabouts at all, which is why Wimbley actually veered out of the way when Draco soared toward him.

Draco was unconvinced.

Tonight was the true test of his skills and Draco dearly wished that there had been more practice beforehand –for the first time in his Quidditch career. He knew this was the match of all matches. If he broke his winning streak by losing the Snitch to Puddlemere, then not only would his team lose, his carefully built reputation be dashed, but Puddlemere would have bragging rights that they took down the undefeatable Draco Malfoy.

He could not have that.

Draco took a deep breath as he turned to finished dressing. He kept his breathing as slow and calm as possible, focusing first on his heartbeat, counting out the rhythm and pushing everything else from his mind. Then he pushed away the sound and instead focused on the picture that was tacked to the inside of the locker. He stared into his son’s silver eyes and pushed himself out of his own body, forgetting the earth and the ground and everything associated to it.

He focused on the air and all its movements. The image before him split into two layers of transparency, sliding in opposite directions as though his eyes had broken contact and insisted on seeing the world separately.

He had to remember that the focus was within him and he could not lose it. He had to remember that regardless of whether the world was tinted differently, everything was still the same. The Snitch was still gold, the Quaffle still red, the Bludgers still black. There was no change in the fundamentals of their properties. Perception did not mean fact.

Remember the facts.

Draco tied his robes around his neck and picked up his broom, weighing it in his hand and feeling the power of it course through him. It was a promise of freedom that Firebolt offered in their brooms. It was liberation.

Draco let his magic rise to the surface of his skin and meet the magic of the broomstick until it felt as though it was a part of him. He had never done it before, but suddenly it seemed right. He wondered, for only a moment, if that was what Harry felt when he flew, if that was the key to Harry’s natural flying ability, and then pushed the thought away.

He couldn’t imagine that he might have gained Harry’s Quidditch skills on top of his own. He had made a name for himself in the sport without Harry, proving himself to be the best. He needed to rely on his own powers, his own skills…not some metaphysical power that Harry might have transferred to him in the transformation of their souls.

He is what grounds me. Without him, nothing would tether me to the world and I would live in the sky.

That was what Harry gave him. Harry gave him a reason to come down whereas Scorpius was his reason to fly.

The reason Draco caught the Snitch was something entirely his own.

As Draco stood, preparing himself in every way imaginable and solemnly wishing that he actually believed in good luck rituals or charms, the rest of the team appeared and readied themselves. The atmosphere before the start of the match was heavy with nervous energy. Sooner than Draco would have liked, Wood called them all into position and they stood on the edge of the Final.

“Everyone ready?” Wood called as a last strategy session. “Remember, Puddlemere is weakest when hit with the unexpected. Force them to break ranks, to swerve and veer off whenever you can. Keep on your toes. We need to win by a margin of one hundred points if we want to take home the Cup.” This last was directly mostly at Draco, who nodded absently. He had memorized the sound of the number in his head. He knew that, if he needed to, he would have to keep the opposing Seeker off the Snitch until that time. “Alright, everyone. Let’s go win the Quidditch Finals!”

And then they were out there, soaring high above the stands. The flight into open air was a blur to Draco. He knew that he had performed his usual aerial acrobatics and put the opposing Seeker to shame, but he could not remember what he had done. He could not remember them calling his name. He could not remember anything but the feel of the broom beneath him and the air that flowed through him as he moved.

He joined the ranks of the team to fly a lap around the pitch to the cacophony of cheers emanating from the stands. He could see magical banners that flashed in red and pale green with massive catapults pitching an orb into an illustration of the Quidditch Cup. He could see brilliant shining signs with his name emblazoned on them in silver over a red and green background and he felt stronger.

He heard the chanting of his fans as they cried out his name like an incantation, willing him success and victory. He had never heard the cries before. He had never heard the calls and encouragement of his supporters and, for the first time in his life, Draco felt strong and right and exactly as he wanted to be.

He flew around and hovered before the Top Box where the Minister was seated. With him stood Harry, grinning brightly at him with a brilliant longing in his eyes. Draco knew the longing as surely as he knew he was alive. It was not longing for flight. It was longing for him. In front of Harry stood two boys who looked remarkably as though they had made use of a Time-Turner. Scorpius and Albus Severus stood leaning and jumping against the edge of the box, waving madly at him with their faces painted in red and green. Draco caught his son’s eyes and smiled, allowing the strength of his son to flow through him.

Win it for him. For them,

Draco winked at him and flew off to take his place on the pitch. The announcer called out the usual as Draco faced off against Frank Little, staring him down and willing himself to pull all the old Malfoy intimidation out of his soul.

Little’s pale honey eyes tried to match his stare but couldn’t. The critics were right: Little was the weakest player on their team. As Draco’s eye bore into his soul, he could see the discomfort and concern etched on the opposing Seeker’s irises. He could see that Little was desperately searching Draco’s face, in turn, for some sign of weakness. Draco arched his eyebrows and smirked, pushing his doubts out of his mind.

“Good luck, Little,” Draco called to him. “This is going to be fun.”

Little’s expression shifted, clearly in an attempt to look more confident, and he paused just a little too long before responding.

“I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you, Malfoy,” he answered in his nasal voice. Draco schooled his face into calm, ignoring the way the tone grated on his nerves. “My team’s ahead of yours and they say you’ve lost your touch.”

Draco snickered.

“I could be blindfolded,” he answered, amused. “And still catch the Snitch before you.”

Little opened his mouth to retort but it was drown out by the deafening rumble of the announcer’s call. Draco turned his attention to the ground where the referee released the balls and then the Snitch from the trunk.

Draco inhaled as he watched the Snitch move and paid closer attention to it than he usually would have. He saw it dart and soar off into the distance and grasped wildly at the feeling of it, at the knowledge of its location in the back of his mind. He tried to stay calm and nonchalant as he whirled away in a random direction to let the game happen.

The Catapults’ Chasers were weaving and spinning and doing the kind of aerial acrobatics that Draco was best known for. Puddlemere’s Chasers could hardly keep up, while their Beaters were going mad smacking the Bludgers desperately toward the opposing Chasers. Peakes and Ackerly were well on their game, however, defending the Chasers so they could score without fear of losing a limb.

Draco smirked as he watched the intricate dance his teammates performed in the air. Puddlemere were good, but he knew he and his team were better. The opposing Keeper was hovering carefully in front of the goal hoops as Brookway made his way over with the Quaffle.

He swerved and feinted and as he moved left under pretense to score, he passed the Quaffle back to Turner who swung around and sent it flying. Kerry, the opposing Keeper, however, was too fast. She jerked sideways and smacked the Quaffle away from the goal and back to her own teammembers. Draco cursed silently to himself, glancing back at Wood, whose face was unreadable. Wood hated Kerry because she had been given the post of Keeper for Puddlemere over him, mainly because she was younger and likely to last longer than he would. The owners of Puddlemere United, however, were obviously wrong, given that both Wood and Kerry intended to retire at the end of next season.

Draco licked his lips and took a deep breath, focusing on the Snitch and where it was hovering at the base of the third goalpost on the Catapults’ side. Or, at least, he thought it was.

This isn’t going to be as easy as I had hoped.

+++++

The game was brutal. The players swooped and sped across the pitch and for every time a player caught the Quaffle, they lost it. The red ball never seemed to stay in the Chasers’ hands for more than few moments before it was dislodged either by necessity or by force. There were goals scored, but they were too close in points for either team to get far ahead.

They were too well matched.

“This match is going to go on forever, isn’t it?” Harry heard Scorpius ask quietly to no one in particular. Harry squeezed Scorpius’ shoulder, unsure of what he could answer that wouldn’t be a lie.

“Your dad’s a brilliant player,” Al answered suddenly, offering Harry a reprieve. “He never loses. And Frank Little is bollocks compared to him. If the match goes on for a long time, it’ll only make it easier for your dad to win, yeah?”

Scorpius looked at his friend, a mixture of concern and hope in his eyes and then smiled and nodded. Harry relaxed slightly and glanced to his side. James and Lily were also with him. Draco had secured seats for all the children as an early Christmas treat. He had offered Ginny the chance to join them but she politely declined. Harry never thought he would have seen the day when a Malfoy and a Weasley were being civil to one another.

So much has changed… and yet so little.

James was standing up at the edge of the box, pressing his omnioculars desperately to his eyes so he did not miss a thing. Lily was, meanwhile, tugging at his arm and demanding that he give her a turn with the device. James was artfully ignoring her. Scorpius and Al were trying to look through one eyehole each and failing.

Harry was looking through his own omnioculars between glancing at his children. Eventually he leaned over and touched his hand to Lily’s shoulder. She turned her attention to him with pleading eyes.

“Daaaaad,” she whined. “James won’t share and I can’t see!”

He smiled and handed her his own omnioculars at which point her eyes lit up and she giggled, smacking her brother on the shoulder and sticking her tongue out at him.

Harry shook his head, willing them to enjoy themselves as much as they could, before turning his attention back to Draco. He had learned to follow Quidditch matches without the benefit of magical aids long ago. He found Draco hovering over the pitch with a somewhat stricken expression on his face. He was clearly following the progress –or lack thereof –between the Chasers and would periodically swerve off in a spiral to try and distract Little.

Little had apparently chosen the same to deal with Draco as many Seekers before him: he was shadowing Draco’s every movement. The problem with Little was that he was mildly better at deciphering which moves were designed to distract and which ones were designed to win so he did not fall into the same traps that others have done. Draco was clearly getting frustrated with him.

Harry bit his lower lip and glanced over at Wood who performed a spectacular save and launched the Quaffle back towards Fitzgerald who immediately spun into a corkscrew and tossed it to Turner.

Come on, come on…

Turner bolted forward before falling into a rather abrupt dive and dropping the Quaffle into Brookway’s waiting arms. As Turner dropped and forced the Beaters to veer off to avoid her, Fitzgerald shot through the ranks of the Puddlemere Chasers. Draco suddenly soared forward and held out his arm, making as if to reach for the Snitch which he seemed to see right beside Kerry’s head. The Keeper saw him coming and seemed to hesitate between pushing herself in his way and moving aside to save herself from the collision. Once she saw that Little was tailing Draco and gaining on him, she swerved out of the way. Draco flew past her and pulled abruptly upward just in time to allow Little to crash into the goalpost and distracting Kerry enough to allow Brookway to score completely unhindered on the right hoop.

“YES!” Harry cried out as he watched Draco speed off in the opposite directly, clearly very pleased with himself. Turner and Fitzgerald cried out in support of their teammate and then the Quaffle was back in play. Frank Little was back on his broom, a little worse for wear, but determined as ever.

Harry knew that Draco’s little stunt was not likely to work again in the same game, but if Wood could maintain his posts and not let in another goal, then it might have been worth it.

They needed to win by a margin of one hundred points and, as it stood, they were ahead by forty points only. Harry fought hard against the nervousness that demanded that he perform some kind of twitch or jitter. He tried to focus on the children who were jumping and celebrating as though they had already won the Cup.

There was a mixture of cursing and cheering emanating from the Top Box and Harry decided not to turn around and see who it was who was cursing. Instead, he watched Draco fly. He seemed to have released some of his anxiety, but his expression was solemn and determined. He needed to catch the Snitch and he needed to do it at precisely the right time.

Soon the sky grew darker and the players changed. They were already tired; it was clear. None of them had played a game this demanding. They were two of the top teams in League history and too perfectly matched for anyone to really know how it might end.

Then the rain started to fall. Little pattering drops, at first, hitting the edges of the box and the railings. Then it began to fall harder and faster, obscuring the clear view of the players. The teams became painted blurs on a watercolour canvas and Harry spelled his glasses to stay dry. Casting umbrella charms over the children as they leaned over the sides, he wished he could cast one on Draco.

When Harry looked back up, something had changed. Puddlemere had altered their strategy. The Chasers moved in offensive formation and broke when they needed to, if they had to. The Catapults were scoring more regularly and the Quaffle did not make it to Wood’s end of the pitch very often. Harry felt uncomfortable. He knew something was wrong.

When he found Draco, the blond was doing a complicated manoeuvre in the air, appearing, at first, to be performing ballet on a broom, until Harry realized why. The Puddlemere Beaters were flying in formation with their Seeker and directing all of their attacks on Draco and Draco alone. The blond was desperately trying to avoid a perpetual bombardment of Bludgers.

Draco was moving so quickly and erratically through the air that there was no way he could pay proper attention to the Snitch without consciously allowing himself to lose a limb.

Fuck.

+++++

Draco had never gotten winded while flying before. He pulled every trick out of his arsenal and completed what he was sure appeared to be some kind of dramatic performance to the audience. The Bludgers were coming from all sides and he was almost certain that there were more than two iron balls coming at him.

He cartwheeled in the air as both of them grumbled past him, narrowly missing his head and flying in opposite directions. Draco dropped into a Wronski Feint and soared right between Peakes and Ackerly, catching their attention for long enough to indicate that he was in serious trouble.

The Catapults’ Beaters finally stepped up and knocked the Bludgers back toward Little instead, but the opposing Beaters stopped at least one of them and sent it zigzagging back at Draco.

This is fucking ridiculous.

Draco couldn’t think anymore. He could hardly breathe. He flew in elegant swirling lines over the pitch as he tried to avoid the Bludgers and artfully misdirect them so they hit Puddlemere Chasers instead.

“Turner scores! Kerry seems to be growing disoriented from the constant attacks on her goal hoops. The match stands at one hundred and forty points to forty in favour of the Catapults!” The announcer’s words burned into Draco’s mind and his eyes widened. He needed to catch the Snitch now.

Turning on a head, Draco sped back in the direction he came, needing desperately to find a way to safely re-examine the pitch and find the Snitch. He couldn’t feel it at the back of his mind anymore. He couldn’t sense its location.

Draco panicked, his blood pulsing and his heart racing. He blinked away the rain and flew upward noticing suddenly that Little was diving. Draco jerked his broom and altered his course, flying directly at Little and forcing him to spin his broom to the side, spinning off without control. Draco glanced back to make sure that the Snitch was nowhere near him and forfeited his awareness of the Bludgers to do it.

There was a sickening crunch as the Bludger hit its mark and knocked Draco in the centre of his chest. He gasped, unable to breathe and was thrown backward off his broom. There was a frightened gasp from the crowd as he watched the world turn upside-down and felt the air betray him.

He threw out an arm and grasped desperately at the broom as he watched and felt his legs spin over his head. His fingers wrapped around the polished shaft of the Firebolt 250 and held on for dear life. Draco sputtered and gasped, trying to catch his breath as his fingers began to slip, a result of the rain.

Throwing his other arm up he caught the broom and tried to readjust to force himself back onto the broomstick. But he couldn’t breathe and he had lost sight and sense of the Snitch.

Draco’s panic overwhelmed him and the sounds of the crowd increased until he was completely deaf to their meaning. Blinking away the rain and stinging worry, he looked around him.

What was he doing? Why was he even here? How had he made it so far without any real talent if the ability to know the Snitch had been a handy symptom of Death’s trace on him?

You cheated.

The voice was not his own, but rather an amalgamation of all the critics and angry fans that refused to believe he could accomplish anything without resorting to nefarious means. It was everyone who had ever doubted him and ever condemned him, before and after he was exonerated for his crimes.

Draco found the Top Box and saw Scorpius clutching the railing as surely as Draco was clutching the broomstick, hoping it seemed to give his father strength through the gesture. Draco watched as his son mouthed out the words Please, Papa, please… and he felt his body empty.

There was no more panic in him, no more fear, no more doubt. He smiled because he knew, then, that Death had not given him any special power at all. It was Scorpius who gave him his focus and always had. He always would.

Draco nodded, though he couldn’t be sure Scorpius saw him or understood it, before gathering his strength. He jerked his broom sideways and forced his body limp so that it swayed like a pendulum. He heard the sound of Bludgers coming at him from both sides and waited, biding his time, before swinging his body around with all the strength he possessed, ignoring the pain that shot through his chest –no doubt from broken ribs –to land back on the broom.

As Draco caught the broomstick with his legs, the two Bludgers flew into view and collided beneath him, smashing against one another until they broke chunks off of one another, leaving jagged pieces in their place.

Draco took a deep breath, still forcing the pain away, and opened his eyes, knowing where the Snitch was fluttering.

He grinned to himself and spun around just as Frank Little flew up to his level. Little’s eyes were wide and his face was shining with dread. Draco offered him a wolfish grin before flying directly at him, forcing him to drop to avoid him. Draco bolted off toward Wood’s goalposts. Wood knocked the Quaffle away from his goals and back into Turner’s hands before noticing Draco. Draco held out his left hand and Wood nodded, catching it.

Draco grasped Wood’s wrist as tightly as he could and Wood urged his broom in the opposite direction that Draco was going, slowing his progress and driving him into a spin. Draco kicked his broom sideways to accommodate the spin and threw out his right hand to wrap his fingers around the little golden ball that hovered just behind the centre hoop. To finish the spin, Wood allowed himself to be pulled back and they flew between the hoops, spun around and evened out.

Draco held the Snitch high above his head and the roar of the crowd quaked through his body though he could not hear it. Wood cried out and threw his arm around Draco to hug him in victory. Draco ignored the searing pain again and let the brilliant smile overwhelm him.

The rest of the team rushed back toward him and assaulted him with cheers. Draco felt a relieved laugh escape him and melt away into the cacophony of screaming. They flew him back to the ground where he was swarmed by photographers and fans and soon raised into the air on the shoulders of his team members.

They were screaming songs and chants with his name and Draco felt so warm. He laughed and held the Snitch tightly, clinging to the reality and refusing to believe that it might all be a dream.

Then he saw Harry standing with four children at the edge of the pitch. Harry smiled fervently, holding Lily against one side and the other hand on Scorpius’ shoulder.

Draco got the team to release him and as soon as his feet touched the ground he ran toward his son. Harry released Scorpius, who immediately bolted. Draco caught him in his arms and held him tightly, laughing and almost wanting to cry from the overwhelming feel of it all.

He embraced his son and let it all roll over him. Then he heard Wood call and he kissed Scorpius on the forehead before standing, his son’s hand in his, to turn to his Captain.

“It’s your cup, mate,” Wood told him, pride and wild happiness glowing in his eyes. He handed the shining golden Quidditch Cup to Draco.

Taking it steadily in one hand, Draco felt as though his face would crack from the power of his smiling. He held it high over his head in celebration and then handed it to Scorpius before picking up the little boy and holding him up instead, as Scorpius hoisted the cup into the air for all to see.

Draco felt the other children rush up to see him as well and celebrate with their friend. An arm snaked around Draco’s middle and a pair of warm lips pressed to his ear.

“Is it everything you always dreamed it would be?” the voice asked him softly. Draco hummed softly and returned Scorpius to the ground so the kids could run off with the team for pictures. Draco turned and looked into Harry’s shining green eyes.

“No,” he answered quietly. “You are.” He pulled Harry into a heated kissed not caring who saw him now. Harry’s arms wrapped more tightly around him but pain couldn’t matter to him now. He pulled back after a moment and then smirked. “But the Cup doesn’t hurt.”

+++++

Harry slid his tongue passed Draco’s lips and ground his hips down to increase the delicious friction between them. Draco groaned, his hands in Harry’s hair, pulling him into an even deeper kiss. Harry was dizzy from the heat and lack of oxygen but would not have pulled out of the kiss for anything in the world. At least until he heard Draco make a noise that sounded more like pain than pleasure.

Pulling back, Harry pushed himself up until he was on all fours over Draco, not touching him anywhere. Draco unconsciously bucked, trying to retrieve the rough pressure that had elicited moans only moments prior. In doing so he must have done something wrong because his beautiful pale face screwed up in pain.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, breathless and worried. The celebrations had lasted for hours and hours. The children had been left with Draco’s parents for the night (which was a sign of how much Harry trusted Draco) and Harry had accompanied the Catapults on their gallivanting celebration. True to his word, Wood had managed to shut down all of Wales (or, at least all of wizarding Wales) to adequately party. Draco had seemed alright during the dancing and drinking and joking as masses gathered to toast the Catapults’ win.

But then, Draco was also operating on adrenaline, wasn’t he?

Harry had managed to pull him away when Hit Wizards showed up to break up the madness at around five in the morning. He had been hard and desperately randy for Draco for what felt like ages.

He wondered now if he had been a little too enthusiastic.

“Argh,” Draco groaned as he tried to move. “The bloody Bludger. I think it broke some ribs when it hit me.” Harry’s eyes widened as he remembered how his own heart had stopped at seeing Draco thrown from his broomstick. Then he frowned and fought the urge to punch the blond beneath him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Harry scolded, pulling out his wand. Draco rolled his eyes and wisely refrained from answering. Harry cast a spell Hermione had taught him at the beginning of his Auror days when he and Ron were tracking down Death Eaters. It would identify the problem and then suggest a spell to fix it. “I’m going to kill those Beaters,” Harry murmured under his breath. Draco did have broken ribs. He was grateful there was no other damage and the spell to heal them was relatively simple. There was only one problem: Draco would not be capable of strenuous activity for at least twenty-four hours.

“Well?” Draco demanded, impatient and clearly still very hard. Harry licked his lips, his eyes travelling to the considerable bulge in Draco’s trousers.

“You bloody prat,” he shot. “I can heal you but you’ll have to take it easy for a day.”

Draco groaned again and then winced from the effort. Harry rolled his eyes and cast his spell. There was an unpleasant cracking sound as the ribs re-set themselves and Draco ground his teeth together from the momentary, blinding pain. After a few seconds, the pain passed and he opened his grey eyes to look up at Harry.

“Thanks,” he said, gingerly testing his own chest by poking it with his fingertips. Once he had deemed himself fully healed, he caught Harry’s eye again and grinned mischievously. “Now, I believe you promised me something if I won.”

Draco flipped them both over so quickly Harry hardly had time to object –as much as he wished he didn’t have to. He found himself on his back with Draco between his legs, rutting against him like a teenager. Harry moaned and gripped Draco’s arms, determined not to let Draco get off so easily –in more ways than one.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Harry asked through a pseudo-moan. “No rigorous activity!”

Draco stilled and then leaned down slowly to capture Harry’s lips. They kissed in a slow and sensual way that sent fire through Harry’s veins. Harry felt himself giving in, sliding his hands over Draco’s back and arching into the embrace.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to be gentle with you,” Draco purred. Harry snorted but it was cut off when Draco pressed a wet kiss to one of his nipples. Harry gasped when Draco banished both of their clothes. The sensation of skin on skin was too much for Harry to deny when he had been aching to possess Draco since the heated kiss they shared in the changerooms.

Draco sucked on Harry’s nipple as his left hand tweaked the other one and his right hand travelled down to grasp Harry’s cock. The Auror felt strangely pleased that the ‘reward’ Draco had chosen was to first give Harry pleasure. He didn’t quite know if he should trust that or not, but when Draco’s skilled fingers twisted just so around the head of his leaking cock, Harry forgot everything else.

As Harry cried out softly, Draco released his nipple and trailed his tongue down Harry’s stomach, dipping into his navel before moving further down. Draco wasted no time before pressing molten kisses to Harry’s shaft, lapping at the sensitive head every so often. Taking the length slowly into his mouth, Draco hummed and sucked and drove Harry wild.

“Oh, god, Draco,” Harry moaned, descending rapidly into incomprehensible babbling. Draco chuckled softly and the vibrations rolled over Harry’s erection, eliciting a moan. He arched into Draco’s mouth, his hands buried in the soft blond hair.

The blond slid two fingers up the side of Harry’s shaft and took them into his mouth as well, coating them liberally with saliva. Still sucking and swirling his tongue over the Auror’s cock, Draco probed Harry’s entrance with his finger, slowly pushing in deeper and deeper, ignoring his own promise to be ‘gentle’ with Harry.

Harry tried to relax around the breach and soon felt his lover’s long digits hit the right spot and he spread his legs further. Draco simultaneously sucked and stretched him, pushing two fingers into him. Harry bucked and cried out.

“Ah, Draco, ngh,” he clenched his jaw. “Can’t hold much longer…”

Draco removed his fingers as though to heed Harry’s warning, but his tongue continued to work Harry’s cock. Harry could feel the orgasm building deep within him and was distantly aware of Draco’s fingers at the base of his cock. Then, suddenly, Draco pulled back and released his shaft.

“What –” Harry began, panting. Then he saw the smug look on Draco’s face and the very tight black ribbon tied around his cock. Harry dropped his head back in frustration and glared at his lover.

“Can’t have you finishing too soon,” Draco whispered. Harry licked his lips and considered him. Then he had an idea.

“Of course not,” he said with a slow smirk. “Not before I’ve had my way with you.”

Draco cocked one eyebrow and Harry pushed himself up and flipped Draco back to their original positions. He straddled his lover and splayed his hand on Draco’s chest to keep him down.

“No strenuous activity, yeah?” Harry repeated at Draco’s questioning look. “You’ll have to lie there and let me do as I will.”

Draco might have contested this decision, but Harry quickly lifted himself and positioned Draco’s cock beneath him before sliding himself down, slowly impaling himself on it. There was a steady burn as he did, but he ignored it in favour of the delicious jolt of pleasure that having Draco inside of him caused.

“Fuck, yes,” Draco groaned, his hands immediately grasping Harry’s hips. Harry lifted himself slowly and then sank back down, panting and moaning with every move. He tried to find a steady rhythm while keeping Draco as flat as possible. The blond did not want to cooperate, however. Harry glared at him and stopped moving.

“I won’t let you come at all if you don’t stop moving,” he warned. Draco bit his lip and treated Harry to his fiery gaze, but eventually nodded his consent. Harry began to move again, slowly increasing his pace and relishing the slide of Draco’s heavy cock in and out of him. He leaned back and thrust down, managing to let his lover’s length hit his sweet spot again, and again, and again.

Harry was groaning out incoherent babble again, feeling the pleasure grow and grow within him, unable to find release. He brought his own fingers to his mouth and sucked on them while Draco watched, entranced. Licking his digits elaborately, Harry bobbed up and down on Draco’s cock. Then he slipped his hand behind him, between Draco’s legs and teased his entrance.

“Oh, fuck,” Draco growled, spreading his legs to allow Harry access. Harry acquiesced and pushed his finger into his lover just as his lover was penetrating him. Draco moaned loudly and deeply, unable to stop himself from moving much. He bucked into Harry but Harry couldn’t really reprimand him. Draco thrust deep into him while Harry slid in another finger. “So good, Harry… feels so good.”

Harry moaned his assent and moved on Draco faster and harder, needing to feel Draco in him deeper and harder, needing to penetrate his lover further. Draco cried out and his grip became bruising on Harry’s hips.

“Come, Draco,” Harry told him, wanting to fill him come undone. “Come for me.”

“With you,” Draco growled, roughly tugging the ribbon free of Harry’s cock and wrapping his fingers around the hot shaft. Harry had to shut his eyes, his body moving of its own accord as he sought out his climax.

With Draco’s hand on his cock, Draco’s cock in his arse and his name on Harry’s lips, Harry let his orgasm overwhelm him. He shot a jet of thick liquid onto Draco’s stomach just as he felt Draco submit to his own climax. Draco filled him completely and Harry continued to move, fucking himself on Draco’s cock and fucking Draco with his fingers, to ride out the orgasm to its end.

When it passed, Harry was shaking and empty of all strength. He lifted himself off Draco, only due to the knowledge of Draco’s still-healing injury, and dropped down on the bed next to his lover. The blond turned to him, ignoring the mess they had made of each other, and buried his hand in Harry’s hair before kissing him slowly.

“Thank you,” Draco whispered, his eyes half-lidded. Harry laughed softly and kissed him. It seemed a strange time for thanks.

“What for?”

“For saving me,” Draco told him, his eyelids giving up and sliding down completely. “And for letting me save you in return.”

+++++

The morning sun was warmer than it had ever been on a winter’s morning before Christmas. Draco slit his eyes open, intending to glare at the offending light that lifted him from sleep, but couldn’t manage. The first sight that met his gaze was that of a sleeping Harry Potter, his hair more dishevelled than ever and his lips slightly parted. Draco smiled and pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead.

The Auror’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked several times before acknowledging Draco and then smiled.

“Morning,” he said sleepily.

“Was that your idea of non-strenuous activities?” Draco asked him with a smirk. Harry’s eyes sharpened and he frowned.

“You didn’t give me much choice,” he answered. “You seduced me. I relinquish responsibility.”

Draco laughed and rolled on top of Harry, pressing their lips together.

“That sounds like something a sneaky Slytherin would say,” Draco mused. He snickered. “I think I’ve corrupted you.”

“I’ve always had Slytherin tendencies,” Harry admitted smugly. “You just bring them to the fore.”

“I bring out the Slytherin in Harry Potter?” he replied with mock surprise. “I rather think I put the Slytherin in Harry Potter.”

Harry snorted.

“You think so?” he laughed. Draco smirked and kissed him again, slipping one leg between Harry’s and pressing his thigh against Harry’s stirring cock.

“I know so,” he hissed. “I’ll prove it.”

Harry’s arms snaked around him just as Draco aligned their cocks to stroke them to full hardness. A tapping at the window stilled his movements, however, and Draco groaned, glancing over.

There were two owls tapping impatiently at the windowpane. Rolling his eyes, Draco rolled off his lover and wandered over to let them in. Both flew in and landed on Draco’s armchair. He sniffed indignantly and went over to release them of their letters. Both owls took flight immediately after Draco took the letters from them.

He picked them up. Both of them had Ministry insignias on them. He tilted his head and thought it over. What could they be?

“Who are the letters from?” Harry asked, rolling out of bed and ambling over to meet Draco. He was pleasantly aware of the fact that he and Harry were still naked and very much intended to keep it that way.

“The Ministry,” Draco answered. He flipped the first of the two and broke the seal. Scanning the letter quickly, Draco almost stumbled back into Harry. Harry’s arm was around Draco’s waist and so steadied him. “They’re… they’re returning Malfoy Manor to me.”

Harry slid around him and glanced at the letter.

“That’s brilliant,” he said happily, then considered Draco’s expression. “Isn’t it?”

Draco weighed out his options and mulled over the new information. He ran his tongue over his teeth.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I’ve been thinking I might sell it.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he gaped at Draco.

“But you’ve been working for years to get it back,” he said. “You don’t want your home returned to you?”

Draco thought further.

“Yes,” he said. “And no.” He hated ambivalence. He had never been quite so ambivalent before. “It was my home… but it’s not for Scorpius. This is his home, as much as I wanted to pretend it wasn’t.” He looked around. “The Manor is important to me, but I don’t know if it will even recognize me as a Malfoy anymore.” Harry nodded quietly, apparently understanding his reference. “And it won’t recognize Scorpius thanks to Thomas and his little stunt with Ophelia…” It pained him but he couldn’t deny it. “Perhaps this is what needs to be done. We have numerous other properties. None were quite as opulent as the Manor, but that’s mostly because they fell into disrepair during the war.” He hated to part with his childhood home, but he thought he might have to. “I can rearrange all the other Malfoy assets to recognize Scorpius, but the Manor is a magic unto itself. Like Hogwarts.” He shrugged and Harry took his hand.

“You don’t have to make any decisions now,” Harry told him. “And if you do decide you want to keep the Manor, I’ll help you find a way to change the magic. Whatever it takes.” He kissed Draco softly. “But it’s your decision.”

Draco nodded and tried to smile again. It was easier than it should have been perhaps, with Harry standing by his side.

“But where would we find an answer?” Draco asked. Harry shifted.

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ve come to notice that I’m generally a rather poor Auror… at least when it comes to solving crimes. I’m only good at the fighting part, see…” He looked away from Draco and then thought better of it and met Draco’s eyes. “I’m going to resign. Or, well, retire.” Draco felt his lips parting to say something but Harry continued quickly. “I was going to ask Professor Sprout to take up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. No one has managed to keep the post for longer than a year anyway, even since the end of the war.” Draco smirked.

“And you think you’re the one to break the curse?” Draco asked. Harry rolled his eyes but stuck out his chin.

“If not, at least I’ve tried it,” he said. “I seemed to do rather well teaching the DA, years ago. Furthermore, I’ll be near my children more often, which is hardly a drawback.”

Draco nodded and laughed.

“Alright, then,” he said. “I can’t imagine the trouble you’ll get into back at Hogwarts without proper supervision, so I suppose I must come along.” Harry gave him a confused look.

“You’re quitting Quidditch?” he asked incredulously. Draco shook his head.

“No,” he answered. “Not yet, anyway. But I’ve always fancied a property in Hogsmeade.”

“I hear the Shrieking Shack is available,” Harry offered nonchalantly. Draco arched one eyebrow, unsure of what that meant precisely.

“Right,” he said. “And anyway, imagine how exciting it would be to shag on school grounds.”

Harry laughed as Draco pulled him close and pressed their bodies together.

“You’ve forgotten one letter,” he pointed out. Draco deflated slightly and tore open the other missive. When he read the short note, he nearly dropped it. “What is it?”

Draco’s heart raced and he wanted to burst out laughing and scream and jump and do all sorts of things that were entirely unbecoming for a grown man. Instead, he pulled Harry tighter and kissed him passionately.

“That was from the Department of Magical Games and Sports,” he said with a grin. “I’ve been appointed Seeker on the International English Team.”

Harry blinked at him, stupefied and then laughed as Draco pushed him down onto the bed, falling on top of his lover.

“That’s brilliant, Draco,” Harry told him, breathless. “It’s what you’ve always wanted, yeah?”

Draco kissed him and carded his fingers through Harry’s hair.

“I’ve got everything I want,” he agreed.

“So how does it feel then?” Harry asked, playing with Draco’s hair. “How does it feel to be given the highest honour in your field? You’re on the tallest tower, now.”

Draco nodded and kissed Harry again.

“I know,” he answered quietly. “But it’s alright. With you on the ground, I’ve lost my fear of falling.”

------
Author's Note: This took WAY longer than it was supposed to because it IS way longer than it was supposed to be. T_T But I hope you liked it anyway! I think I've dealt with everything and given you some yummy smut in the process! At least, I hope so! :D The journey on which this fic brought me was completely insane and I'm forever grateful to those who decided to come along with me! Thank you SO much to all the reviewers; you are all SO fantastic and I love you :D Lots and lots and lots. <3 <3

I'll be posting some oneshots soon, I hope, and then working on some other fics. I have one for Draco Big Bang I need to work on for the LJ community. And a whole different one in mind too. I'm also writing some gift fics (hehehe surprise gift fics), so that should be fun. :D *gives you all love and thanks and cookies* Please let me know if you would like to be on my permanent alert list, oki? *more love*