Fran's archive: Are You Going To Let Me Win?
I know I’ve missed Draco’s Birthday, but I really did want to post something for him.
While searching through my WIP stories folder, I came across this. It was written in November 2001 for a competition on HP_FanFiction group, and had to include the following words/phrases: ‘Birthday’, ‘one year’, ‘1040’, ‘singing cake’ and ‘storyteller’. It was also my first attempt at writing a short HP story. Back then I hadn’t even thought about writing H/D, so any subtext wasn’t intentional *grins*
Are you going to let me win?
Summary: Gryffindor and Slytherin are involved in the longest Quidditch match in many years. Can Harry keep his concentration with the Slytherin Seeker getting in his way?
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Rating: PG
Are you going to let me win?
The game had been going on for over three hours and Harry was exhausted. Not only exhausted, but hungry and thirsty. The sun had been beating down out of the spring sky for all of the game and his Quidditch robes were stuck to him with perspiration.
He desperately wanted to get Ron's attention to get him to call a time out, but the Gryffindor captain was too busy trying to defend the goal hoops from the Slytherin onslaught. As for the Golden Snitch, he had never known it to be so fast or so elusive as it had been during this match. Both he and the Slytherin Seeker had attempted, probably a dozen times each, to catch the wretched thing, but each time they got close to it, it disappeared yet again.
Harry stopped his broom above the pitch and tried to get himself better orientated to it. He kept getting sidetracked now, his mind wandering away from the Snitch and back to the previous evening when Sirius and Remus had finally bowed to his wishes of hearing tales of his parents' time at Hogwarts. At first they had both been hesitant, but soon the two storytellers were attempting to out do each other with more and more ludicrous stories, half of which Harry was sure weren't even true.
He was brought back to the real world by the thwack of a bat against a Bludger inches from the back of his head. He ducked automatically, his broom dropping several feet.
“Watch it, Harry!” Neville Longbottom (who might be permanently forgetful but who could whack a Bludger better than most) manoeuvred his broomstick down and alongside the Seeker. “That nearly had your head off.” He sped off before Harry had chance to thank him.
The near miss did serve to wake Harry up, however, and he tilted his broom upwards, shooting high into the blue sky before dropping down towards the pitch in a lazy controlled spiral. The Slytherin Seeker was matching the manoeuvre, but in the opposite direction and they formed a double helix pattern in the sky which, if they'd been low enough to hear, actually produced “ohhs” of delight from some of the female contingent watching.
A cheer went up and Harry skidded to a halt, swinging his broom in the direction of the Slytherin goal just in time to see Hermione (who, once she had gotten over her fear of flying, turned out to be a brilliant Chaser) score yet another 20 points. She looped-the-loop though the three Slytherin goal hoops and Harry was sure she poked her tongue out and gave a rude gesture to the Slytherin Keeper. Harry sped down towards her and the two slapped hands as they passed.
“Gryffindor 890 to Slytherin's 920.” Dean Thomas' voice echoed over the stadium. “Just how much longer this game is going on for is anybody's guess, but if someone doesn't catch the Snitch soon, we might as well start getting out our sleeping bags.”
Dean was right. Someone had to bring this game to a halt and it had to be either him or the Slytherin Seeker. Harry found a new reservoir of strength and concentration and set about the task of finding the elusive Snitch. He zipped across the pitch, eyes darting left and right and only just managed to pull up in time to stop crashing into the stationary broom of the other Seeker.
“Watch it, Malfoy!” Harry's voice carried in the still air way above the pitch.
Malfoy said nothing, but pushed a shock of blond hair from his flushed face. Harry thought Malfoy might have pouted as well, but that could just have been a trick of the light.
Harry manoeuvred his broom alongside the Slytherin. “Something wrong?”
Draco tilted his broom upwards and somehow tipped himself up and over Harry and his broom, coming down smoothly on the other side. “Are you going to let me win?”
Yes, Harry decided, there was definitely a pout. “Why would I do that?”
“Because...” The broom dropped away below Harry, and slowly rose on the other side. “It's my birthday.”
“No it isn't. That was last week. We all got to hear that singing cake your mum sent. Did Crabbe and Goyle leave you any? They were stuffing their faces when I left the Great Hall.” Harry sped away, the words of Happy Birthday dearest Draco sung in a high-pitched shrill voice drifting behind him back to Malfoy.
The Slytherin Seeker zoomed passed Harry, somehow executed a perfect 360-degree turn and ended up in front of him again. Draco flew backwards for a few feet then stopped dead, forcing Harry to do the same. Green robes floated elegantly on the breeze. “But you didn't get me a present.” He huffed in a petulant voice.
Harry laughed. “I've never gotten you a present in the seven years we've been here. And, coincidentally, you've never given me a present either. Now, will you get out of my way?”
Both ducked as a Bludger sped passed, just missing their heads. Colin Creevey (the second Gryffindor Beater who was a much better Beater than he was a photographer), however, didn't miss Malfoy and a trailing leg caught the Slytherin on the shoulder. Malfoy fell sideways, but managed to keep his grip on the broom.
He pulled himself upright again. “You're never here for your birthday, so how could I give you anything.” He tossed his head, hair obediently falling back into place like a silver waterfall.
Draco's voice faded as Harry tilted his broom skyward again and fled from the strange conversation. Was Malfoy on drugs or something? Harry wished that just for one year, Draco would play fair. It was bad enough trying to concentrate after three and a half hours without him frolicking round showing off his flying skills and, well, being a pain in the butt.
Harry mentally chastised himself for letting Malfoy interfere with his concentration and he quickly set about his search for the Snitch. He raised a hand and ran it through his fringe, pushing it back off his forehead. His hair was damp with perspiration and it slicked back, allowing the rush of air to cool his face. He ran the hand through the hair curling over the nape of his neck, holding the hair away from his hot skin for a moment. And why was it that Malfoy looked like he just started the game? He wasn’t all hot and covered with sweat. His robes weren’t sweat-stained and dirty!
Harry mentally slapped himself. Where the bloody hell was the Snitch!
“It doesn't have to be a big present.”
“Malfoy!” Harry arched his broom round, narrowly missing Malfoy in the process. “Listen, you git, I am not going to get you a present. And there is no way I will throw this match just to satisfy your need for a gift. Now, go and get on with the game.” His little speech had taken him twice round the Slytherin Seeker.
“There's no need to be so horrible, Harry.” Draco looked like he might cry and his big, sad grey eyes reminded Harry of an awful picture Aunt Petunia had on the wall of her bedroom. It was of a child with huge sad eyes completely out of proportion to the size of its head.
“What!” Harry's exasperation made him shout. “We're in the middle of the longest game of Quidditch this school has seen in years and you're talking about presents. Get out of my way, Malfoy.” Harry shot forward, then stopped, head turning slowly toward Malfoy. “What did you call me?”
“Oh,” The sweetest smile Harry had even seen slowly spread across Draco's face. He looked like an angel and long eyelashes fluttered down over his cheeks as he momentarily closed his eyes. “Nothing.”
And then he was gone.
“What...”
Harry saw it. The Snitch. And realised Draco had seen it as well.
The tiny golden ball whizzed across the pitch, directly away from the Slytherin Seeker who was gaining on it at a rate of knots. Momentarily confused, Harry did nothing, aware of the wall of sound rising from the spectators below. It took him several precious seconds to get his broom going, but once in motion, he shot after the retreating green figure, but not gaining fast enough.
“Bugger.” The wind whipped the word away and Harry swore again and again as if the words would help speed up his Firebolt.
It couldn't end like this. It mustn't end like this.
The Snitch suddenly changed direction heading at right angles to the two Seekers. They turned as one, Draco on Harry's right as they closed on the winged ball. It climbed upwards, streaking into the sky, high above the stadium, followed by the green and red blurs of the flyers.
Closing in, the two Seekers where side-by-side and the crowd below fell silent in anticipation. The silence seemed as loud to Harry as the noise had been a few moments before. It rang in his ears and set his nerves on edge, urging him on faster and faster.
If Draco felt the same rush, he didn't show it. Gone were the big eyes and the pouting lips. In their place was a determination so similar to the look on Harry's face they could have been twins.
It was almost in reach now and Harry could feel Draco's left knee against his own, they were so close. He held out his right hand and, was aware of Draco holding out his left. The Snitch stopped in mid air for a fraction of a second and dropped again. If Harry could have, he would have started singing Me and My Shadow, Draco was following his every move. Or was it the other way round and Harry following Malfoy?
The Snitch stopped again and the two rushed passed it. As they did both boys closed a hand round the golden object. A roar came up from the grandstands below as everyone thought their Seeker had claimed the prize.
Small beating wings struggled to get free from the fist that enclosed it, but that fist was held tightly by a second hand. Harry winced as the Snitch’s beating wings briefly cut into his fingers, little rivulets of blood flowing out and over Draco's clasped hand.
They touched down together, still hand-in-hand. Finally, his face set with frustration, Draco let go and Harry held the Snitch up for all to see.
“And that's a 150 points to Gryffindor.” Dean Thomas' voice was almost drowned out by the cheers. “Which mean Gryffindor win 1040 points to 920!”
Harry looked at the blood running down his hand and across the Snitch. He swapped the ball to his left hand and wiped his right down his trousers, leaving a trail of red in its wake. He turned to Draco and did something he had never done before. He held out his hand. “Good game, Malfoy. Excellent flying.”
Draco looked at the hand for a moment and then at Harry's green eyes. There was a sparkle there, which said he was speaking honestly. Draco slowly gave a half-smile and reached for the hand. “Yeah, good game.”
“Oh,” Harry kept hold of Draco's hand and opened it out, palm upwards. He placed the Snitch in the middle of the Slytherin's palm and closed the fingers about it. “Happy birthday.”
--------------------
While searching through my WIP stories folder, I came across this. It was written in November 2001 for a competition on HP_FanFiction group, and had to include the following words/phrases: ‘Birthday’, ‘one year’, ‘1040’, ‘singing cake’ and ‘storyteller’. It was also my first attempt at writing a short HP story. Back then I hadn’t even thought about writing H/D, so any subtext wasn’t intentional *grins*
Are you going to let me win?
Summary: Gryffindor and Slytherin are involved in the longest Quidditch match in many years. Can Harry keep his concentration with the Slytherin Seeker getting in his way?
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Rating: PG
Are you going to let me win?
The game had been going on for over three hours and Harry was exhausted. Not only exhausted, but hungry and thirsty. The sun had been beating down out of the spring sky for all of the game and his Quidditch robes were stuck to him with perspiration.
He desperately wanted to get Ron's attention to get him to call a time out, but the Gryffindor captain was too busy trying to defend the goal hoops from the Slytherin onslaught. As for the Golden Snitch, he had never known it to be so fast or so elusive as it had been during this match. Both he and the Slytherin Seeker had attempted, probably a dozen times each, to catch the wretched thing, but each time they got close to it, it disappeared yet again.
Harry stopped his broom above the pitch and tried to get himself better orientated to it. He kept getting sidetracked now, his mind wandering away from the Snitch and back to the previous evening when Sirius and Remus had finally bowed to his wishes of hearing tales of his parents' time at Hogwarts. At first they had both been hesitant, but soon the two storytellers were attempting to out do each other with more and more ludicrous stories, half of which Harry was sure weren't even true.
He was brought back to the real world by the thwack of a bat against a Bludger inches from the back of his head. He ducked automatically, his broom dropping several feet.
“Watch it, Harry!” Neville Longbottom (who might be permanently forgetful but who could whack a Bludger better than most) manoeuvred his broomstick down and alongside the Seeker. “That nearly had your head off.” He sped off before Harry had chance to thank him.
The near miss did serve to wake Harry up, however, and he tilted his broom upwards, shooting high into the blue sky before dropping down towards the pitch in a lazy controlled spiral. The Slytherin Seeker was matching the manoeuvre, but in the opposite direction and they formed a double helix pattern in the sky which, if they'd been low enough to hear, actually produced “ohhs” of delight from some of the female contingent watching.
A cheer went up and Harry skidded to a halt, swinging his broom in the direction of the Slytherin goal just in time to see Hermione (who, once she had gotten over her fear of flying, turned out to be a brilliant Chaser) score yet another 20 points. She looped-the-loop though the three Slytherin goal hoops and Harry was sure she poked her tongue out and gave a rude gesture to the Slytherin Keeper. Harry sped down towards her and the two slapped hands as they passed.
“Gryffindor 890 to Slytherin's 920.” Dean Thomas' voice echoed over the stadium. “Just how much longer this game is going on for is anybody's guess, but if someone doesn't catch the Snitch soon, we might as well start getting out our sleeping bags.”
Dean was right. Someone had to bring this game to a halt and it had to be either him or the Slytherin Seeker. Harry found a new reservoir of strength and concentration and set about the task of finding the elusive Snitch. He zipped across the pitch, eyes darting left and right and only just managed to pull up in time to stop crashing into the stationary broom of the other Seeker.
“Watch it, Malfoy!” Harry's voice carried in the still air way above the pitch.
Malfoy said nothing, but pushed a shock of blond hair from his flushed face. Harry thought Malfoy might have pouted as well, but that could just have been a trick of the light.
Harry manoeuvred his broom alongside the Slytherin. “Something wrong?”
Draco tilted his broom upwards and somehow tipped himself up and over Harry and his broom, coming down smoothly on the other side. “Are you going to let me win?”
Yes, Harry decided, there was definitely a pout. “Why would I do that?”
“Because...” The broom dropped away below Harry, and slowly rose on the other side. “It's my birthday.”
“No it isn't. That was last week. We all got to hear that singing cake your mum sent. Did Crabbe and Goyle leave you any? They were stuffing their faces when I left the Great Hall.” Harry sped away, the words of Happy Birthday dearest Draco sung in a high-pitched shrill voice drifting behind him back to Malfoy.
The Slytherin Seeker zoomed passed Harry, somehow executed a perfect 360-degree turn and ended up in front of him again. Draco flew backwards for a few feet then stopped dead, forcing Harry to do the same. Green robes floated elegantly on the breeze. “But you didn't get me a present.” He huffed in a petulant voice.
Harry laughed. “I've never gotten you a present in the seven years we've been here. And, coincidentally, you've never given me a present either. Now, will you get out of my way?”
Both ducked as a Bludger sped passed, just missing their heads. Colin Creevey (the second Gryffindor Beater who was a much better Beater than he was a photographer), however, didn't miss Malfoy and a trailing leg caught the Slytherin on the shoulder. Malfoy fell sideways, but managed to keep his grip on the broom.
He pulled himself upright again. “You're never here for your birthday, so how could I give you anything.” He tossed his head, hair obediently falling back into place like a silver waterfall.
Draco's voice faded as Harry tilted his broom skyward again and fled from the strange conversation. Was Malfoy on drugs or something? Harry wished that just for one year, Draco would play fair. It was bad enough trying to concentrate after three and a half hours without him frolicking round showing off his flying skills and, well, being a pain in the butt.
Harry mentally chastised himself for letting Malfoy interfere with his concentration and he quickly set about his search for the Snitch. He raised a hand and ran it through his fringe, pushing it back off his forehead. His hair was damp with perspiration and it slicked back, allowing the rush of air to cool his face. He ran the hand through the hair curling over the nape of his neck, holding the hair away from his hot skin for a moment. And why was it that Malfoy looked like he just started the game? He wasn’t all hot and covered with sweat. His robes weren’t sweat-stained and dirty!
Harry mentally slapped himself. Where the bloody hell was the Snitch!
“It doesn't have to be a big present.”
“Malfoy!” Harry arched his broom round, narrowly missing Malfoy in the process. “Listen, you git, I am not going to get you a present. And there is no way I will throw this match just to satisfy your need for a gift. Now, go and get on with the game.” His little speech had taken him twice round the Slytherin Seeker.
“There's no need to be so horrible, Harry.” Draco looked like he might cry and his big, sad grey eyes reminded Harry of an awful picture Aunt Petunia had on the wall of her bedroom. It was of a child with huge sad eyes completely out of proportion to the size of its head.
“What!” Harry's exasperation made him shout. “We're in the middle of the longest game of Quidditch this school has seen in years and you're talking about presents. Get out of my way, Malfoy.” Harry shot forward, then stopped, head turning slowly toward Malfoy. “What did you call me?”
“Oh,” The sweetest smile Harry had even seen slowly spread across Draco's face. He looked like an angel and long eyelashes fluttered down over his cheeks as he momentarily closed his eyes. “Nothing.”
And then he was gone.
“What...”
Harry saw it. The Snitch. And realised Draco had seen it as well.
The tiny golden ball whizzed across the pitch, directly away from the Slytherin Seeker who was gaining on it at a rate of knots. Momentarily confused, Harry did nothing, aware of the wall of sound rising from the spectators below. It took him several precious seconds to get his broom going, but once in motion, he shot after the retreating green figure, but not gaining fast enough.
“Bugger.” The wind whipped the word away and Harry swore again and again as if the words would help speed up his Firebolt.
It couldn't end like this. It mustn't end like this.
The Snitch suddenly changed direction heading at right angles to the two Seekers. They turned as one, Draco on Harry's right as they closed on the winged ball. It climbed upwards, streaking into the sky, high above the stadium, followed by the green and red blurs of the flyers.
Closing in, the two Seekers where side-by-side and the crowd below fell silent in anticipation. The silence seemed as loud to Harry as the noise had been a few moments before. It rang in his ears and set his nerves on edge, urging him on faster and faster.
If Draco felt the same rush, he didn't show it. Gone were the big eyes and the pouting lips. In their place was a determination so similar to the look on Harry's face they could have been twins.
It was almost in reach now and Harry could feel Draco's left knee against his own, they were so close. He held out his right hand and, was aware of Draco holding out his left. The Snitch stopped in mid air for a fraction of a second and dropped again. If Harry could have, he would have started singing Me and My Shadow, Draco was following his every move. Or was it the other way round and Harry following Malfoy?
The Snitch stopped again and the two rushed passed it. As they did both boys closed a hand round the golden object. A roar came up from the grandstands below as everyone thought their Seeker had claimed the prize.
Small beating wings struggled to get free from the fist that enclosed it, but that fist was held tightly by a second hand. Harry winced as the Snitch’s beating wings briefly cut into his fingers, little rivulets of blood flowing out and over Draco's clasped hand.
They touched down together, still hand-in-hand. Finally, his face set with frustration, Draco let go and Harry held the Snitch up for all to see.
“And that's a 150 points to Gryffindor.” Dean Thomas' voice was almost drowned out by the cheers. “Which mean Gryffindor win 1040 points to 920!”
Harry looked at the blood running down his hand and across the Snitch. He swapped the ball to his left hand and wiped his right down his trousers, leaving a trail of red in its wake. He turned to Draco and did something he had never done before. He held out his hand. “Good game, Malfoy. Excellent flying.”
Draco looked at the hand for a moment and then at Harry's green eyes. There was a sparkle there, which said he was speaking honestly. Draco slowly gave a half-smile and reached for the hand. “Yeah, good game.”
“Oh,” Harry kept hold of Draco's hand and opened it out, palm upwards. He placed the Snitch in the middle of the Slytherin's palm and closed the fingers about it. “Happy birthday.”
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