April 11th, 2009
|dracofiend||08:18 am - The Most Fantastic Never-to-be-Forgotten Quidditch Match in the World|
Title: The Most Fantastic Never-to-be-Forgotten Quidditch Match in the World
Genre: Romance, ~750 words
Summary: Draco is caught with something of Harry's in his pocket. Written for scrtkpr's long ago birthday. scrtkpr, I hope you like this! Happy REALLY REALLY late birthday! *hugs*
It tumbles out when Harry's not looking because he's watching the play at the far end of the pitch. If it hadn't made a surprisingly loud thunk, Harry probably would've trod on it or bumped it off the plank, where it would've fallen and fallen, down to the never-seen dirt beneath the stands. As it is, the scrum in the air is distant and in progress, and the crowd around is quiet, waiting for them to score or to move back up the pitch. So Harry shifts aside Draco's cloak that he's holding on his lap and glances at his feet, and he sees it. It's heavy and silver, a snake with gem eyes, and Harry grins as he scoops it up, recalling the first time he ridiculed it aloud. Your family couldn't find a better jewelry maker guy? Because this is hideous. Looks like something a fake pirate would wear. Draco hadn't been wearing anything else at the time.
No, Draco had answered snidely. It looks like something a Malfoy would wear. It's an heirloom that's been in the family for centuries and stop doing that, I don't take it off.
Harry had asked if was cursed to stay on and Draco had put a knee in his crotch with some little force, and that had stopped the talking and started the naked wrestling, which was okay by Harry, any day. It turns out to be true, too--Draco never takes off his super ugly heirloom ring, as far as Harry can tell. Until today. Harry squeezes it in his palm and grins, waiting for Draco to come back.
He does, a few minutes later, arms full of pie and chips that he skillfully maneuvers around their neighbors in the stands. "They ran out of beef so all I got was chicken," he says, easing into his seat, handing over a drink, sorting the napkins, balancing the paper boxes on his thighs with deft aplomb. "Did I miss anything good?" He tears open his straw and jams it into the lid.
"I wouldn't say that," Harry grins at him, and immediately Draco arches a brow.
"What?" he asks dryly, looking at the pitch. The players are hovering at the near end now, batting Bludgers and throwing Quaffles with end-of-season ferocity.
"Guess what I found in your pocket?" Harry says, holding up the snake ring. He reaches over to relieve Draco of some pie and chips but stops short at the look on Draco's face. "What?" he asks, alarmed. Draco's staring at the ring. Harry thought he'd seen every expression there is to see on Draco but apparently he was wrong. He can't tell what Draco's thinking--his face is still and pale, like he's caught but he's not scared. Harry knows when Draco's scared--this isn't it. Harry moves for Draco's hand, to give him his ring, to help him put it on--and that's when he sees. Draco's wearing it.
Harry frowns in confusion; he looks at the ring he holds. "You have two?"
Draco moves in his seat. Somewhere far off, someone scores a goal. "No," he says slowly. It's a bit difficult to hear with the celebratory shouting that's erupted on either side of them but Harry's listening hard. "That one's yours," Draco says to him. "If you want it." He pauses, then looks away with a careless shrug, picking up a chip and biting off the top. His eyes swivel up to the pitch; Harry watches their abstraction from behind the sudden kicking of his heart. It's overwhelmingly loud, the arena. He's holding the ring between fingers and a thumb so it's poised to be slipped back onto Draco's finger--there's another storm of cheers. The Wasps have scored again.
Harry puts it on. It sits on his finger heavily, warm from his palm, and the eyes cut from emeralds gaze at him watchfully. Harry smiles back. He laughs.
"It looks bloody awful!" he laughs, stretching out his hand a bit, letting his head spin and spin. He feels he might spin away entirely so he catches himself against Draco, throws an arm around him, jostling his chips, his drink as he presses into Draco's weight and his woollen-scarfed neck. His chest beats into Draco's arm; he can barely breathe.
His grin, pushed to Draco's ear, half-hidden by blond hair, is too wide for talking. Almost.
"Draco," he says. It comes out a bit gravelly despite the infinite lightness of his heart. "I won't take it off."