Cliché

chapter 9: Catch Me If I Fall

   "Come on!" Ron yelled, scowling at the Quaffle. His game was off today, and he couldn't seem to block the ball from entering the hoops.

"It's okay, Ron." Harry whispered to his friend, watching him struggle from his broom. He was extremely high up, searching for the Golden Snitch. Harry lost grip of his Firebolt for a moment, and had to move in an awkward half-turn.

A flash of green flew by him, and Malfoy parked next to him, in the sky, "Training for the ballet, Potter?"

It was exactly the words he had spoken in their second year, and it caused Harry to feel a little sick.

Malfoy's words the first time had been filled with malice, and hatred, but when he said the words now they were different. It was a whisper, as to not draw attention, and it was an actual question. Malfoy was doing his best to try to be nice to him. It was a wake-up call to Harry, as if telling him to get back into the game.

"Could ask you the same." Harry's comeback was weak, and pathetic. Just like his knees around the boy in front of him.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Ballet is a manly sport. It takes flexibility, and patience."

Harry spotted the Snitch, "In which you have neither." He took off, chasing after the small orb.

The Slytherin was right behind him, racing overhead the Gryffindor. Robes of green sped in front of robes of red and Malfoy's porcelain hand reached out for the gold.

Harry raced forward just as the blonde's hand met the tip of the Snitch's wing. Harry's broom knocked into Malfoy's, sending the boy flying sideways, completely out of control.

Everything in motion seemed to slow, like in an old Muggle film. Harry witnessed Draco slip from his broom. He held on with one hand, plummeting downwards. He had almost gotten control when the Bludger hit his broom, snapping it in half and sending the Slytherin through the air. Motion resumed and Malfoy fell through the sky, towards the ground.

"No!" Harry screamed, diving down on his broom in an effort to save the blonde.

"HARRY! GET THE SNITCH!" Ron screamed.

The snitch or the boy?

Gryffindor or Slytherin?

His friends or his enemy?

Fame at winning another game, or disgust and questions he could not answer?

His refusal to make a choice caused time to run out, and Malfoy hit the ground with a loud crack.

Some of Potter's Gryffindor teammates cheered, but Harry's heart dropped. The snitch flew by his head, spinning in circles, tauntingly.

Potter put in no effort as he emotionlessly gripped the orb, sending the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors into a loud applause.

The Slytherins went into an uproar, and the Hufflepuffs were freaking out.

Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson were already on the pitch, racing towards their best friend, screaming.

"What have you done, Harry?" He whispered to himself.

'What if the damage was undoable? What if he was seriously injured?' Potter's heart stopped, 'What if he dies?!'

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Draco was lying in the hospital bed, showing no sign of living except his shallow breathing. His body was covered in bruises, scars and blood. His eyes were shut, and the roots of his hair was speckled by his own blood. His thin body was covered by the sterile, white sheets, but in worse condition then imaginable.