Ex-Friends || A Drarry Story

One : Eleven

Outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, Draco waited impatiently for Harry Potter to leave. When he finally did show up, Draco tugged him quickly to behind the tent, hoping that none of his teammates saw.

Harry opened his mouth, but Draco said quickly, "Don't interrupt me."

"I---I wasn't."

The blonde turned to face Harry, his silver eyes joined by the odd gleam of sunlight. "Good luck out there."

"Thank you?"

Draco pursed his lips, glancing around before adding in a whisper, "Did you tell Granger about the Philosopher's Stone? Flamel?"

Harry nodded, murmuring, "Said she'd look into it." He couldn't stand the thought of how Draco would react to Harry saying that Snape was their prime suspect, so he didn't. "Is that what you dragged me here for?"

"Well, not entirely," replied Draco, sighing. "But I saw my godfather go into the third-floor corridor again early this morning." He looked directly into Harry's eyes, asking, his voice bored yet tinging with malice, "Do you think he's after the stone?"

Harry stammered, "W---well, it makes sense, doesn't it?" There was a pause before Draco nodded, his lips pursed as he turned away. "Wait, Dr---"

"Tell me if you see him doing anything, Potter." And he left without another glance to Harry, who stood there, trying to move his legs. He couldn't.

Draco had looked so. . .disappointed when he brought up Snape. Was it just because he was Draco's godfather? Or was it something more?

Harry gulped and walked onto the Quidditch pitch, his heart pounding in his chest as cheers from the crowd filled his ears. He took a deep breath as Wood spoke to him, but he couldn't quite hear him over Lee Jordan saying over the megaphone, "And there's Harry Potter! The Boy Who Lived! The Seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch team!"

Oliver shook his shoulder roughly, his daze forgotten. "You feeling alright?"

"Yeah." Harry blinked and glanced over at Snape, who looked furious. He turned his gaze to the professor's stands, where Dumbledore sat, his long, silver beard gleaming in the sunlight. "Dumbledore's come to watch?"

"Yep," Oliver Wood replied, his grin wide. "I heard that Dumbledore was quite the Quidditch player in his day. Chaser."

Harry took a deep breath as Snape blew his whistle, telling the teams to assume their positions. Harry thought he sounded more like a football referee rather than what he was supposed to be.

When Snape blew his whistle again, Harry shot into the air, grinning despite his circumstances. After flying as high as he would dare, Harry looked down at the other players, Wood's words from the locker rooms fresh in his mind. Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch, it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favour Hufflepuff too much.

"No pressure," Harry murmured to himself as George Weasley aimed a Bludger right at Snape. The professor-turned-referee called for Hufflepuff to shoot a penalty shot, earning many groans from the Gryffindors.

"And there we have it, folks," Lee Jordan said through the magic megaphone. "A wonderful display of disgusting favouritism."

"Jordan!" McGonagall said, and there seemed to be a commotion, as it sounded as if her and Lee were wrestling for the megaphone.

"Sorry, Professor!"

Over in the stands, Draco shivered, crossing his arms and shoving his hands under his arms, trying to warm his tingling fingers. He squinted his eyes as he watched Harry Potter closely, searching for any sign of additional trouble.