TW: Harry Potter!AU, Non-graphic Violence

Trott was so confused.

The snitch had been barely three metres away, the victory even closer- and then it wasn't. The crowd was roaring, as usual, but someone was screaming, and someone else was leaning over him and pressing their wand to all his joints, and that sure as hell wasn't usual .

And, okay, that hurt. Huh.

Another someone was grumbling about "That damn Hufflepuff-", and then Trott wasn't so confused. That damn Hufflepuff. What was it with him and attracting Bludgers, like he was some kind of weird seeker-y magnet for bullshit, he swore.

He could hear Smiff's voice, too, a little further away, but didn't care enough to work out what he was saying. The Bludger Trott had taken to the face (oh god not his face, his beautiful face) had said enough of what Smiff was obviously trying to say.

Damn, and Trott had been doing so well on the whole not-having-an-arch-nemesis thing, but no, Smiff had to go and stick his hands into everything. Just like someone was sticking their hand into his leg. Wait, no, that was his broken broom. His leg was broken. Huh. Trott figured passing out was probably the best course of action.

And he would've happily stayed passed out, if that asshole hadn't decided to come pester him in the hospital wing.

Smiff was all 'apology this' and 'I'm sorry that', and though he sure as hell wouldn't admit it to anyone (except maybe Ross), Trott thought it was kinda cute. And a little endearing. Even though he'd just broken his leg.

"So I should probably cancel our slot in the 'hot enemies duel to the death' competition, then, is that what you're saying?" Trott cut Smiff off, grinning when he looked taken aback, even if it was just for a second.

"You think I'm hot?"

Shit, Trott had really hoped he wouldn't notice that.

"Uh, you broke my leg."

"And you still think I'm hot," Smiff shouldn't be allowed to leer at him like that. Asshole.

Trott didn't reply. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep suddenly, Smiff would go away. He was probably used to people passing out from boredom when he was talking, he could probably pass it off as that. (Okay, there was no way that would work, because Smiff was weirdly fascinating, but it was a matter of principle, dammit.)

"Okay, how about I start making it up to you for the leg thing. Honeydukes, weekend after next. I'll meet you outside your dorm, yeah?"

"Only if you promise to carry me, don't want to strain my leg." What was Trott even doing. What was he saying. What was this.

"Promise." Smiff grinned, and fuck, he sure was stunning, even with a split lip and bruised cheekbone, presumably both from the Quidditch match.

And then Smith leaned down and kissed his cheek, all gentle and sweet, before grinning at him again, even brighter than before, and wandering off out of sight.

Trott was so confused. (Also, slightly aroused. (Absolutely not, forget he said that.))

Trott's date with Smiff was only three days away, and he'd still managed to avoid seeing him. Ross had started taking a shot (of Butterbeer) every time Trott denied avoiding Smiff, but it was true . Absolutely true. So damn true.

It was the end of the year, though, and exams were getting close, and honestly, Trott didn't have a single good excuse. Because his brain was an asshole that wouldn't give him any damn excuses when Smiff confronted him.

Well, less 'confronted', and more 'winked at across the DADA classroom and then picked Trott as his dueling partner'. And then made some shitty 'long time no see' joke.

Trott was so, so fucked.

"Busy being a champion of Quidditch and exams, mate," Trott took it back, he loved his brain. His brain was beautiful.

"And the champion of my heart." Smiff waggled his eyebrows, which really didn't work with the dramatic way he clutched his hands to his chest and stared 'wistfully' out the window.

"Uh," Trott said eloquently. He double took it back. His brain officially sucked.

And then they had to actually duel , which made everything so much worse. Especially since Smiff was actually pretty good, for a Smiff.

Dueling was actually fun, for a while, trading curses and countercurses and actual like, swearing curses, and Trott actually started to relax a bit. Trott was never going to relax again. Talk about a fatal fucking error.

He'd gotten used to Smiff blocking everything he threw at him, only for one of his jabs to actually land and send Smiff crashing back into the wall, knocking off one of the weird pictures their professor kept on the wall. The universe fucking hated him.

"Smiff? Smiff- shit, are you okay? Shit, shit-"

"G uuh ." Smiff grumbled, his mouth hanging open.

"Fuck-" Trott crouched beside him, touching his arm carefully.

Smiff turned to look at him and flashed him a grin, clapping a hand on Trott's shoulder. "God, the look on your face," He laughed, shaking his head and letting his legs splay out on the floor.

"What?"

"Fucking with you, mate," Smiff hauled himself up a little, knocking his head against the wall and wincing a little. "There was no way I would've let any of your little charms hit me."

"I- Dammit," Trott stood up, throwing his hands in the air before laughing and offering Smiff his hand. "You're an asshole, and you owe me even more now,"

"Would it be improper to offer you a second date before we've even had our first?"

"Probably." Trott grinned, bumping their shoulders together. How was he fond of him already. What was this- magic?

"Well, you should probably fight me about it, then."

"What?"

"We're supposed to be duelling right now, remember?"

"Oh."

Trott was like, double screwed. Screwed beyond belief. Damn Slytherins and their damn jokes and their damn- everything. So, so screwed.

Credit to quackingfish on Ao3