Darry

Chapter 6

Harry woke up on Sunday morning with a dry throat and a pounding in his skull. He groaned and reached for the glass of water on his bedside table, splashing some over his t-shirt as he gulped it down. A glance at the clock told him he had overslept. He looked over at Ron's bed, where red hair was sticking up from under the covers.

"Ron."

He was answered with some strained mumbling.

"Ron, get up, we're supposed to meet everyone on the Quidditch pitch at twelve."

"Whattimeisit?" Ron said in one continuous whoosh of air.

"11:53."

Ron stuck his hand out of his covers and waved it around. "We have time."

Harry chucked his pillow at him, eliciting an, "Ooph."

"Let's go!"

After drinking some hangover potion they'd gotten over the summer from George, they dressed as quickly as possible, grabbed their brooms, and high-tailed it down to the pitch. They even skipped breakfast, which Harry didn't mind because he hated flying with food in his stomach; it made him feel heavy and awkward on the broom.

Last night, they had made plans to meet a few others for a casual game of Quidditch. In hindsight, this was one of those ideas that sounded great under the haze of drunkenness but which made no sense the day after. Harry loved Quidditch, obviously, but today he just wanted to sit on his arse in the common room and feel miserably hungover. Hangover potions could only do so much, and they did wear off after a while.

They ran up to the pitch, panting—in Harry's case, converse untied and everything—to find the group already assembled. They had the trunk with the balls out already and—oh fuck, Malfoy was there, too. Hadn't he left before they'd made these plans? Harry sighed in frustration, not excited to spend the next couple of hours with him after the way they'd left things.

"Here come the sleeping beauties," Seamus said. "It's about time."

"Fuck off," Ron said, catching his breath. "Did you guys decide teams yet?"

"Yeah, it's me, Dean, Zabini, and Malfoy versus you, Harry, Smith, and Boot. Everyone get in formation!"

They huddled together into two teams.

"Alright," Harry said. "What positions do you all want?"

"You're obviously Seeker," Smith said. "I want our team to win. I'm Beater, Ron's Keeper, and Boot's Chaser."

"Works for me," Harry said. "Everyone else?" Ron and Boot nodded. "Alright, then. Let's win this thing."

Harry stepped forward, swinging a leg over his broom, and waited for the other team to finish choosing positions. His teammates similarly got into position behind him. After a minute, the other team dispersed and Malfoy came forward to meet Harry in the middle.

Harry scowled. "Of course."

With a smirk, Malfoy mounted his broom. "Like old times, hey?"

"I believe I beat you all those times."

Malfoy held up two fingers as Seamus walked over with the Snitch. He counted down, and on three, he let it go.

Harry wasted no time racing in the direction of the Snitch as it flew into oblivion. Malfoy's broom whooshed in the air right behind him, tight on his tail. But the Snitch had performed its first vanishing act of the match, and Harry slowed down.

He flew in wide, slow circles above the pitch, keeping his eyes peeled for any glimmer of gold. Malfoy was doing the same, but in the opposite direction. They were like two lions circling their kill, waiting for the right moment to pounce. In the middle, their teammates flew back and forth with the Quaffle.