On the third day after the Potions class, there was an important Quidditch match.

Harry's heart sank into his stomach as soon as he remembered the fixture was Gryffindor v Slytherin.

He'd managed to avoid Malfoy entirely since The Incident, but there was no avoiding him today - he was the opposition Seeker, for fuck's sake. He'd be all over him.

"Just don't look at him, mate," was Ron's advice. "Block him out."

His friend was still weirded out that the revelation that Harry might be in love with the boy who'd bullied them all for years, but he did his best to be supportive.

"If he's cruel to you, Harry, let it spur you on to do better than him," Hermione added, and Harry nodded.

"Thanks guys, I'll try," he said. "I don't think Slytherin are going to take it easy on me, though. I've got a bad feeling about this match."

"Are you... do you think you're looking forward to seeing him?" Hermione asked tentatively.

Harry blanched. "About a million times less than normal. And I usually want to see him about as much as I want to cut my own arm off with a rusty spoon."

"Still pretending you hate him, then," Ginny piped up from across the room. "I see."

Harry sighed; he hadn't even known she was there.

"Ginny, can you stop being so bitter?" he asked. "I told you before that I do hate him, and I want to be with you if you'll let me. The only barrier between us right now is you, so stop pretending I've done anything wrong."

"I will when you stop pretending you haven't!" she sneered before storming off, leaving the three of them lost for words.

"She's spirited," Ron offered after a second. "Gets it from Mum."

"Thanks, Ronald."

Harry groaned. "I really don't need this stress. I mean, I'm already anxious enough about the game - if Malfoy lets me get that far without beating the shit out of me, that is."

"You'll be fine, mate," Ron insisted, and Hermione agreed. Secretly, though, both were equally terrified for him. They knew all too well what Malfoy was capable of.

"Come on," said Ron after letting Harry mope for another minute. "We'll go down together. I've got you."

And he had, for now. But however bad Harry had imagined Draco would be on the pitch, he was a thousand times worse. And all the support in the world from Ron couldn't make Harry feel any less awful over it.

"Hard, Potter?" the blonde called with a gloating grin the second the Gryffindors flew onto the pitch.

"You wish," Harry managed, but it sounded feeble even to him. He steadied himself on his broom, shit, why was he so shaky?

"I suppose you're going to think about me in the showers after this, are you?" Malfoy taunted him. "Better lock the door to the Slytherin ones, boys, before he gets any ideas!"

The other Slytherins guffawed and Harry felt like a sex criminal.

"I haven't done anything wrong, I'm not a fucking pervert," he had to remind himself. "And even if I was attracted to him, I still wouldn't be in the wrong."

It threw him massively off his game, though. As Draco soared effortlessly around the pitch, Harry struggled to make a decent turn without wobbling off.

And the Slytherin onlookers in the stands only made it worse. Harry noticed they'd had different banners drawn up for this match to their usual kind, and most of the messages focused around the theme of Malfoy's "broom" and what they expected Harry would like to do with it.

Several of these banners had been angrily confiscated by McGonagall throughout the match, but Harry had still seen them, and still been humiliated. He felt like the messages would be burned into his brain forever, like everyone would be laughing at him forever.

By the time the Slytherins eventually caught the Snitch, Oliver Wood was absolutely fuming, and Harry left the pitch as quickly as he could, mortified. He'd never played so badly in his life, even as a First Year.

"Hurrying off for a wank, Potter?" Malfoy jeered after him, and Harry broke into a half run, not stopping until he reached the showers and could tear his kit off in peace to stand under the hot water and cry.

He stayed there until long after the others had left for dinner, even Ron, but he was only calmed slightly by the feeling of the hot water soaking over his skin.

At least no one could look at him in here, though, no one could laugh and make assumptions or cruel jokes about what was happening to him. No one could make unsolicited comments or show him crude banners, or shove him around. He was hidden.

It felt to Harry as though a light switch had suddenly been turned on over the whole of Hogwarts and illuminated this desire for Draco, like someone had planted the feeling in him against his will and then lit him up like a Christmas tree for everyone to stare at and use for their own enjoyment. It was thoroughly unpleasant.

"God, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him," muttered Harry angrily as the water cascaded over his face.

Loathing coursed through his entire body like acid, making every atom vibrate with wrath. It was as though his body was purely powered by rage against Draco Malfoy, and Harry hated it. He didn't even recognise himself.

He dressed slowly, avoiding the mirror, and made his way anxiously down to the Great Hall. He wouldn't eat anything, he felt too drained and upset, but he'd see Ron and Hermione at least and that might alleviate some of his suffering.

Draco, meanwhile, was feeling pretty damn good.

He knew he'd played better than ever that day, and as well as the attention he would receive for winning the match that evening, there was the added interest because of the whole ... Potter situation.

"Is Potter madly in love with you, Draco?" some younger Slytherin girls simpered over dinner at the Great Hall.

"I can see why he would be," one whispered boldly, and the group collapsed into giggles.

"Has he made a move on you?"

"Have you had to fight him off?"

Draco preened, smoothing back his hair arrogantly as the questions were fired around him.

"He's kept his distance... for now," he smirked. "Probably knows I'd knock him out if he tried anything. Besides, he was too busy embarrassing himself on his broom today, in case any of you noticed."

"Stop being such a prick, Malfoy," Ron snapped, striding over from the Gryffindor benches. "You said yourself that he hasn't done anything to you. And he's told us he doesn't want to."

"Look at the state of you, Weasel," Malfoy looked up at the newcomer, delighted. "Got your panties in a twist because Potter fancies me? Are you jealous? Oh, this is good."

"I am not jealous," Ron huffed, but it was too late; half the Hall appeared to be laughing at him.

"No, I think you are," Malfoy replied, licking his lips with anticipation. He loved a drama.

"I think you're going to have to comfort Potter later after his big defeat on the pitch, what do you say, Weaselby? You and those creepy brothers of yours could Eiffel Tower him."

Ron pulled a disgusted face. "You're a scummy little bastard, you know that, Malfoy?" he spat.

"And your best friend can't get enough of it," Malfoy shot back. "Now he's finished riding your slaggy little sister, that is- AGHHH! You've broken my fucking nose, you moron!"

Blood dripped all over the table and Malfoy leapt to his feet, making no attempt to stem the crimson flood. It poured menacingly over his pale, sharp features, looking as though a wide gash had been sliced through his entire face.

Ron bid a hasty retreat back to the Gryffindor table to hide with Hermione, who was very impressed.

"That's almost as good as how I did it in Third Year," she noted under her breath. "Good work, Ronald."

"You'll regret this, you fucking ginger tramp," Malfoy growled across the room. Blood dripped over his lips as he spoke, but he didn't seem to care.

"Staring at something, Potter?" he lashed out at the dark-haired boy, who was sat, open-mouthed with horror at the scene that had unfolded. "Wanna lick it off my mouth?"

"I'd rather die," Harry managed, and Draco flashed him an excruciating glare before he turned and strode out of the Hall, trailing scarlet openly behind him.

Pansy and Blaise allowed themselves a minute of hysterical laughter before they followed their friend to the refuge of the Slytherin Dorms.

"This is unbelievable," Pansy giggled as they walked. "Not even a week since we pulled that prank, and already I've heard Potter's getting kicked off the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Weaselby's punched Draco in the face, and apparently Potter was even crying in the showers for two hours this evening, that's why he was so late to dinner."

"It's incredible," Blaise agreed. "Dramatic, but incredible. Amazing what one little interference can do."

"Do you think we ought to tell Draco it isn't real?"

Blaise thought, then shook his head. "It's made all the more hilarious by Draco's gloating, I wouldn't want to take that away from him."

"You're right," Pansy agreed with a grin. "Let's keep it between the two of us, then."

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a/n: thanks for reading!

please vote if you're enjoying, i know it's early days but i hope you get a good ✨vibe✨ off it haha i've been working hard!

lots of love

~ paradisedraco