Harry thought about Draco a lot in the days to come. The days leading up the first Quidditch match of the season. The match that was ironically against Slytherin.

Angelina had the team out at every opportune moment, determined to rival Oliver Wood's reign as captain in the previous years. She, along with the rest of the team, took Harry's self-isolation as a bad reaction to his break up with Seamus and desperately tried to drag him back into the spirit of things. Fred and George seemed to have decided that, instead of teasing him for being gay (which had, through Seamus, become even wider public knowledge) they should take it upon themselves to tease everyone else for being straight.

Harry wasn't sure what this said about the twins.

"We can share, Montague." Angelina's voice was brittle as the two teams faced each other. "One end of the pitch each. It's fair." Harry could see Draco, his broom propped up against Crabbe's shoulder. Their eyes met and both narrowed; but Harry did not feel the usual spiking hate that always prickled the back of his neck when he regarded Draco. He actually thought Draco's scowl was quite cute.

"And why would we do that?" Snorted the Slytherin captain. Graham Montague towered above her and the rest of the Gryffindor team, leering unattractively down at them. She glared back. Harry could feel Ron trembling beside him. He debated testing something.

Gently, he took Ron's hand into his and squeezed it comfortingly. Ron didn't react at first, squeezing back ever so slightly until he realised it was Harry. He glanced at him, his thick brow twitching in confusion. Harry lent in, murmuring to his hair.

"Just experimenting." Ron nodded, looking forwards again. Harry hoped he didn't take that the wrong way.

Sure enough, Draco caught sight of their hands. He smirked broadly at Harry, eyes flashing. Just as Angelina and Montague decided that they could occupy half a court each, Draco mimed 'kissy kissy' with his lips.

They kicked off and the balls were released (there were spare quaffles so each team could have their own), all fourteen players rising into the air and whizzing past each other, green buffeting red. Harry soon realised that he and Draco would be competing over the only practice snitch. They came together at the centre of the pitch, slightly higher than the other players. Harry eyed Draco's body, emerald robes swirling in the wind around his slight figure. Silver flowing hair cascaded across his face and he held himself flat to his broomstick. The two boys circled each other. Harry watched Draco's hand tighten around the handle of his broom, eyes fixed upon the way his knuckles gripped the shining wood. Something about the way he stroked the long shaft reminded Harry of their time together, only a few nights ago.

"Distracted, Potter?" Draco smirked. Harry snarled slightly.

"Not really." He glanced over at the goal post, towards Ron.

"You want to turn this into a little game, Potter?" Harry's stomach clenched and he turned to face Draco again. "Let's say… Whoever wins gets a favour off the other."

"Why would I do that, Malfoy?" The other boy merely raised his eyebrows.

"It's a deal." Harry held out his hand, determined to touch Draco. As they shook on it, eyes not moving from the other's, Fred Weasley fell off his broom.

They spent most of the practice-time circling the pitch, darting around the chasers and goal hoops, avoiding each other. Every glint of gold they saw they disregarded as something irrelevant: a watch reflection, shimmers of sunlight as it pierced the clouds. By the time the rest of their teams were leaving, calling to them to come down to relay team tactics or have a shower 'you stinky git Harry' (George), they actually started to look for it.

Everyone had gone back up to the castle when Harry and Draco had said that they wanted to practise together longer. Harry left out the word together when he explained this to Angelina.

The afternoon light dimmed, yellow easing into the blue, burning to an orange sunset. Clouds cleared and Harry hovered above the goalposts to admire the heavens. He heard the gentle rustle of Draco's broom near him, approaching him.

A tiny streak of yellow gold passed their eyes as they flew closer to each other. They both started, twisting their brooms to persue it, focusing in on the tiny winged ball. The gap between them narrowed and they bounced off each others shoulders roughly. Friction burnt their skin as the green and red cloth slid roughly with every motion of their brooms. Harry's heart was racing, his glasses pressed onto the bridge of his nose as the thick evening air whipped against his face.

Draco extended his hand, Harry's just beside it. Their desperate fingers clutched at nothing. They plummeted, racing towards the ground. Harry couldn't ignore the way the whole of the left hand side of his body was pressed up against Draco's.

For a split second he forgot about the snitch. He didn't even notice the small patters of rain that were slapping him in the face. He wasn't thinking about the quidditch match in two days or dinner up at the great hall or the incomplete divination essay. He forgot he was on a broomstick.

Being this close to Draco, as cheesey as it sounded, made him feel like he was flying.

They collapsed into the stands, stumbling to keep control of their brooms. Draco was hooting in triumph, waving the snitch wildly above his head. Harry chuckled, brushing off his sleeves of imaginary dust. He actually felt nervous, now that they were truly alone together.

Draco picked up his broom, smirking at Harry. Harry wondered why he bothered keeping up the enemy pretense. He made no move to react, merely smiling and standing, hobbling slightly where he had hit his shin on something hard.

"Where are you going, Potter?" Draco simpered, spite glinting his icy blues. "We have a deal, remember?"

"Yes, Draco. You're right; we do." Harry grinned, gripping the top of his broomstick and running his hand down its entire length. Draco, looking taken aback by the way Harry addressed him by his first name, watching Harry rub his palm over the hard wooden handle. His fingers scratched the polished surface. Something suddenly broke the tension and the two started to walk out of the stands, not saying a word as they entered their separate changing rooms.

Draco was waiting for Harry outside, leaning against the wall. He rolled his eyes has Harry approached him, hair damp from his rushed shower. They opposed each other, defensive, ready for the other to strike. Boldly, Harry stepped forward, gently placing his palms on either side of Draco's head.

"And you want me to…?" Harry raised his eyebrows slightly.

Draco grabbed Harry's shoulders and yanked him down, fingers winding in his hair. Their lips pressed together, Draco's tongue snaking into Harry's mouth. He shivered, pressing his chest against the smaller boy's, hands around his waist. Their hips rubbed together ever so slightly.

The kiss was over quickly and they both shyed away from the other for a few moments. Harry reached out and gently curled his hand into Draco's.

"I'll see you later." He promised. Draco nodded, waiting for Harry to start walking away before taking his own route back up to the castle.