Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Feint

The air whistled in his ears, singing to Draco as he picked up speed. The clouds in the sky blurred, and his fellow players became little more than streaks against a blue sky. He could distinguish neither opponent nor ally, but that was okay. He wasn't focusing on them, but was instead focusing on the ground rushing up to meet him, looming larger and larger in front of him, so wide and expansive and—

He pulled up, long before he had to, his body jerking with the force of his sudden stop. Weasley blew past him, easily outdistancing him to catch the Snitch.

Draco didn't even have the energy to be disappointed in himself. His heart was still pounding, and the ground looked both far too close and far too far away for his comfort. He closed his eyes to try and block out the sensation, and instead focused on trying to unclench his fingers from around the broomstick.

It didn't work. They were white-knuckled, clenched so tightly around the handle that he didn't think he'd ever let go. He'd lost feeling in his fingers because of the restricted blood flow. Even if he had successfully completed the dive, he never would have been able to catch the Snitch. He wouldn't have been able to let go of the broom.

He heard a dull sound, a roaring, and realized that the game was over. Of course it was. Weasley had managed to not only finish the dive, but to finish the game and lead the Holyhead Harpies to another win.

"Fuck," he muttered. Again. It had happened again. Once more, for what both felt like the thousandth time and might have actually been the thousandth time, he'd failed to catch the Snitch because he couldn't let go of his fears long enough to stay in a steep dive.

When he touched down, after politely congratulating Weasley on her win and congratulating the other members of the opposing team, his father wasn't there anymore. He'd been there at the start of the game, but Draco didn't expect his father to be there to see him lose. Why would he want to stay to see his son lose?

Regulus, however, was there. The new coach, only hired just in time for this game after the last coach had quit, was staring at Draco with wide eyes. "Your father told me that you had some trouble—" he started.

Draco cut him off with a brutal shake of his head. "Some?" he asked, and let out a bitter laugh. "Some trouble implies that I've ever succeeded, and that's not the case." He wanted to throw his broom, to snap it over his knee, and instead he… didn't. He took a deep breath and clenched his fingers even more tightly around the broom so that he wouldn't do either of those things.

He headed off to the changing rooms, and ignored his teammates who were kindly telling Draco that things were fine, that these things happened and there was no problem with the fact that they'd lost again because of Draco's inability to do anything right. Instead, Draco focused on taking an incredibly quick shower, then pulling on his street clothes. He was out the door long before his teammates could join him, and ignored the offers he got to go out with them for an after-game drink.

It wasn't that he wasn't in the mood to drink, because he definitely was. It was just that he was in the mood to drink by himself. He didn't want to hear his teammates telling him that it wasn't his fault that they'd lost, that the keeper should have blocked more goals or the chasers should have done more scoring.

It was like they thought that by cozying up to Draco, they could get the owner of the team to keep them around. Like that would happen. Lucius never listened to what Draco said about the team. And besides, the only person Lucius would keep on the team until they started winning was Draco himself, and that was only because he couldn't stand the thought of his son failing at something.

Like Draco hadn't already failed. Like he wasn't the laughing stock of the Quidditch world.

Like Potter would ever notice him if he didn't figure it out.

Draco groaned and stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk. He didn't need to think about Harry bloody Potter, best Seeker in England and perhaps best Seeker in the world. He didn't need to think about Potter's graceful dives, about the way he handled his broomstick. He didn't need to think about Potter's smiling face on the cover of Witch Weekly, under the headline of "Most Eligible Bachelor for Five Years Running."

He didn't need to think about any of that.

What Draco needed, more than anything else, was to get drunk.

He turned into the closest pub and proceeded to do just that.

ooOOooOOoo

He woke up the next morning with a terrible headache and the certainty that he should just quit Quidditch. He should walk away before he embarrassed his father even more than he already had.

Regulus would probably be pleased. With Draco gone, he'd finally be able to hire a real Seeker, one who actually was able to score some goals. Assuming, of course, that Regulus was able to find a real Seeker who was willing to play for a team like the Peacocks, which was a rather large assumption.

Their reputation was the worst in the league, after all.

Draco dragged himself out of bed and into his shower after taking a mild dose of Pepper-Up. It worked well enough, and by the time he finally got out of the shower, Draco felt like he hadn't been out drinking for the entire night the night before. Which was, of course, a lie. He'd been very, very drunk, he thought, by the time he got home. He couldn't actually remember…

But the thoughts from last night, the one thing that he could actually remember thinking just before he'd slammed back another glass of firewhiskey, stood: it was time for Draco to stop pursuing Quidditch and to start working towards something more practical. Like a potions Mastery. He was still very good with potions, and he knew for a fact that his father's old friend from Hogwarts, Severus Snape, would be more than willing to take him on as a Mastery student.

Who cared if it wasn't what he loved? The point, he was certain his father would tell him, was to do something he could succeed at rather than doing something he loved. And though Draco still loved Quidditch, loved it with everything in him, with a passion he'd never hope to match, it was painfully clear that he'd never be able to succeed at it.

With a heavy heart, Draco Apparated away from his flat and to the pitch they used for training purposes. He supposed it would one day be used for home games, if the Peacocks could ever get enough fans to justify the expense of putting in seats for them to sit at. When that finally happened, Draco would no longer be playing for the Peacocks.

He sighed and, instead of heading to the locker rooms where the rest of the team would be getting ready for practice, he headed for Regulus' office. It was better to just get this over with, he thought. He'd made his decision and now that he'd made it, he needed to stick with it before he could chicken out again.

He reached Regulus' office and frowned. The door was closed, which wasn't often the case, and he could just barely hear two muffled voices on the other side. He could recognize Regulus' voice, and there was something familiar about the other voice, or so Draco thought. Was it… no. That wasn't possible.

Draco laughed, a little uneasy. It sounded like Potter was there, but that didn't make any sense! What would Potter be doing here, in the office of the coach of the Peacocks? It couldn't be him. That just… it didn't make any sense.

Draco took a deep breath and made himself knock on the door. It turned out as more of a tap than a knock, but he managed to do it. Once he'd made the first tapping sound, breaking into whatever conversation was happening, he found it easier to make himself knock once more. A proper knock, this time. Then he stood back and waited.

The voices stopped and Draco heard the sound of a chair scraping back. The door opened a second later, and Regulus beamed at Draco. "What a coincidence! We were just talking about you!"

Draco froze and his heart dropped. It was Potter, the Harry Potter, sitting in the seat opposite Regulus' desk. He looked perfectly calm, but then, why wouldn't he? He was probably getting an exorbitant job offer that he could just turn down and walk away without any consequence.

And Draco… Draco was being replaced.

He told himself that it was okay as he forced a smile onto his face. It didn't matter that Regulus had already started looking for his replacement. After all, he'd already decided to quit. He swallowed the hurt that he felt and held out a hand to Potter. "Potter," he greeted quietly, politely.

Potter grinned at him and took his hand to shake it. "So formal, Draco?" he asked. "There's no need for that. Not when we'll be working so closely together in the coming weeks."

What? What the hell did that mean? "W-what?" Draco stammered. He took a step back, confused. What did Potter mean, in the coming weeks?

Now Potter looked confused. "I'll be helping you with your dives," he said, his brow furrowed. "That's what Regulus and I were talking about, getting you to a better place with your diving."

Draco swallowed. "I…" He glanced from Potter to Regulus, not sure if he was being serious or not. When Regulus nodded encouragingly at him, Draco swallowed again. "Oh."

Now Potter's face fell all the way. "You're not happy," he said, the brightness fading from his gaze.

Draco scrambled to correct that assumption, even though it wasn't totally wrong. "No, no!" He tried a smile on and hoped that it looked genuine. "I just… when I realized who Regulus was talking to, I thought that I was being fired."

"Fired?" Regulus laughed a little. "Draco, you're a good Seeker! You—"

"I've never caught a Snitch!" Draco snapped. "Don't patronize me by saying that I'm good when I—"

"No, he's right," Potter said, interrupting Draco. "You've got the right build for it, and your broomwork is superb. You're incredibly maneuverable, at least horizontally. Your problem is vertical maneuverability, but once you've got that down, I think you'll be unstoppable."

Once he had that down? Potter said that so casually, like it wasn't a problem Draco had been living with for years. Like he hadn't tried to fix his 'vertical maneuverability' more times than he could count.

He swallowed those angry words back as well. "If that's all it will take, I'm sure you'll have me up in the air as a proper competitor within a week," he snarked.

Potter's eyes, oddly enough, lit up once more at Draco's sarcasm. "Oh, it might take a bit longer than that," he said, grinning.

Draco blinked. The smile was… strange. It looked odd on Potter's face, not like the standard smile he tended to give in public. If nothing else, Draco thought that Potter looked predatory, which didn't make any sense at all.

He took another step back. "I guess I should get ready for practice," he muttered, and ducked out of the room. His heart was pounding for reasons he didn't want to look at too closely, and distance was the best solution to his current problem.

He headed to the changing rooms. By this time, all of his fellow players were already changed and would be out on the field, doing their morning warm-ups. Draco was glad for that, because he could take his time changing. He could use a few quiet minutes to gather his thoughts.

Yes, Potter was here to work with him on his diving, but where the hell had he gotten the idea to do that? Who had told him to come here, and why had Potter listened?

He'd come today planning to quit, planning to go study under Severus Snape, planning to give up on his dreams, and now… now… Now he was going to be training under Harry Potter, who'd never lost a single game? Draco's world had been turned upside down, and he couldn't begin to figure out which way was up.

He heard the creak of a door opening behind him and realized with a start that he was standing, half-naked, in the locker room, without any clue as to how long he'd been standing there. He hastily put his street clothes into his locker and pulled out his practice robes, but froze when he felt a hand on the small of his back.

"Taking your time, Draco?" Potter asked, and didn't move his hand.

Draco spun around, startled, and found Potter practically plastered against his back, and now almost nose to nose with him. "P-potter," he stammered.

Potter, to Draco's immense surprise, pressed closer and closer, until Draco was stuck between him and the lockers, his heart hammering in his chest, his cheeks heating up. "P-potter," he stammered again. He brought a hand up and braced it against Potter's chest. The intention was to stop him from getting closer, but it also let him feel the rise and fall of Potter's chest as he breathed.

"Draco, didn't I tell you not to be so formal with me?" Potter purred. He stepped impossibly closer, so that the two of them were almost sharing the same breath.

"I don't…" Draco took a deep breath. His heart felt like it was going to fall out of his chest. "I'm sorry, I'm still very confused. I don't know what's going on."

Potter's hand lifted and stroked along Draco's cheek. "Is that so?" His hand stilled, so that he was cupping Draco's cheek. "I can't say that I'm surprised. You were pretty trashed last night."

"L-last night?" Draco felt like he couldn't move, like if he tried to move that he would just shatter. Potter's hand was impossibly warm on his cheek, and Draco honestly didn't know if he wanted to lean closer or pull further away. So he held still.

"At the bar," Potter clarified. "You really don't have any recollection of it, do you?" Potter finally dropped his hand, but he didn't step back.

"I remember that I decided that it was time to quit Quidditch," Draco said faintly. He closed his eyes and tried his hardest to remember anything after that point, but nothing came to mind in spite of his best attempts. "Nothing after that," he finally admitted.

"You don't remember the other team arriving to celebrate?" Potter asked, like he was trying to jog Draco's memory.

Draco strained, trying his hardest to remember, but it didn't come. He shook his head with a sigh. "I'm sorry, but no." He opened his eyes. "I don't remember."

Potter pouted at him. "That's an absolute shame," he said, with a sad shake of his head.

Draco tried to figure out what he'd done last night that could have resulted in Potter being here and flirting with him. Volunteering to coach him, for Merlin's sake! It was the stuff of dreams, and he couldn't remember the night that brought it about.

Just how much of a fool had he made of himself that night?

When he asked Potter, though, Potter just laughed and shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he said cheerfully, all traces of his pout gone. "You should finish changing so that we can get out there." He finally stepped back, giving Draco some space.

Draco hesitated. He wanted to know, and a very large part of him wanted Potter to go back to standing so close to him, but… He nodded. "Yeah," was all that he said.

Potter grinned at him, the expression bright and warm. Before Draco knew what he was doing, Potter had darted forward, kissed Draco on the nose, and pulled back.

Draco squeaked, the sound escaping him before he could stop it, and Potter laughed wildly.

Draco didn't think that fun was the word that he would use to describe what was probably about to happen. He turned back to his locker resolutely and finally started putting on his robes, trying to ignore the heat of his cheeks and the weight of Potter's gaze on him as he dressed.

He only partially succeeded.

ooOOooOOoo

Practice went terribly. Potter wound up watching for the first part of it, and because Draco knew that he was being studied by the best Seeker ever, he was more nervous than he normally was. That translated to dropped balls, failed maneuverability exercises, and in one horrible moment of embarrassment, falling off of his broom.

It only got worse when Potter joined him in the air and tried to walk him through a simple dive.

In the end, Regulus had to call for the end of practice because Draco flubbed one too many times and got one of the Beaters hurt when he collided with him. The whole thing was a nightmare, and Draco was more certain than ever that he needed to quit before things got even worse.

But Potter wouldn't let him go to see Regulus. "You can't quit now," Potter said. "You haven't even given me a real chance to help you."

Draco sighed. "It won't look bad for you if you can't help me," he said. "Not yet, anyway. Not while nobody knows that you're trying. But if people find out, and I'm still terrible…" He couldn't deny that Potter's reputation was a large part of his decision to give up already. He'd already ruined his family's reputation with Quidditch; he wasn't going to ruin anyone else's.

"Draco," Potter said. He touched Draco's face again, and Draco would be lying if he said that he didn't lean into it. "Do you really think I give a fuck about my reputation?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

Draco considered the question. It was true that Potter had a habit of ignoring questions he didn't like and walking out of interviews when he grew bored with them. And he never hesitated to speak his mind when it came to controversial issues, which were frequently brought to his attention given that he was the heir to the Potter family seat on the Wizengamot.

Much like Draco was, technically, his own father's heir. He supposed that James Potter was a far more tolerant man than Lucius Malfoy. "I guess not," he said finally. "But Potter—"

Potter's smile turned vicious and sharp. "If you call me Potter one more time, you won't like the consequences," he said, his voice a low purr that made heat stir in Draco's stomach. "Given how close we're going to be, Draco, I really do think it would be best if you were to use my first name, don't you?"

Draco swallowed. "Yes, Harry," he squeaked out. His cheeks felt like they were on fire. "If you say so."

"I do say so," Harry said. He leaned in again and pressed another quick kiss to Draco's nose. "Now. I'm going to suggest that you go home, get some rest, and tomorrow, be ready to work with me. I'm not going to let you go early, whether or not Regulus decides to cancel practice again."

Draco nodded. "Yes sir," he said.

When he was released, he fled without any hesitation. He didn't know what he was going to do tomorrow, didn't know how he was going to make it through practice, but he would figure something out. He hoped.

ooOOooOOoo

Draco made it home and sagged against the door with a sigh. The day had been stressful and confusing, and had been even more stressful because it was so confusing. It didn't help that he didn't remember the night before, where he'd apparently been so drunk that he'd asked Potter to teach him to fly.

Harry.

Merlin, it still hadn't quite sunk in that he had Harry's permission to address him by his first name. That he'd… that he'd flirted with him.

Draco let out a tiny squeak and covered his face to hide the blush that was trying to appear. Not that there was anyone at his flat to see it, but still. This was ridiculous.

He forced himself to take his hands away from his face and drew in a deep breath. "It's okay," he told himself. "Your idol is just going to be teaching you how to dive, that's all. Nothing to worry about. Even though you've tried this a thousand and one times before, and you're probably going to fail and ruin everything, and…"

He cut himself off. This wasn't productive. He knew how it would probably turn out, and he knew that dwelling on it wouldn't help him. He left his doorway behind and instead flopped onto his couch, where he turned on the wireless.

"...and in other sports news, did you hear that Seeker Potter retired from Quidditch today, in a move that shocked Quidditch fans everywhere?"

"Mid-season, too! Thankfully, Puddlemere has a fantastic reserve team and this shouldn't throw them off too much."

"Any word on why Potter retired so suddenly?"

"Well, there's been a lot of speculation, but—"

Draco turned off the wireless before he could listen to anymore of the program. Harry had retired from Quidditch? To what, coach him? No, that couldn't be it. There had to be more to the story. There was no way that he would have just, what, impulsively retired to coach some drunk, never-was Seeker?

He groaned and flopped backwards on the couch. All this guesswork wasn't going to get him anywhere, and it wasn't like he could just walk up to Harry and ask him about it. Well. He probably couldn't. Could he?

Maybe tomorrow…

When they practiced flying again, but before Draco could disappoint him too much. Maybe then he'd at least be inclined to answer some of Draco's questions.

Until then, though, it was approaching dinner time, and he hadn't exactly had much for lunch because he'd been too nervous to eat with Harry there, sitting right next to him. There was a monster in his stomach that needed some form of satiation.

Maybe cooking something quick and easy would be enough of a distraction for him. Probably not, but at least it was something.

ooOOooOOoo

The next day, Draco didn't even make it to the locker rooms before he was stopped by Harry, who was wearing casual Muggle clothes. Draco tried to ignore how very nice they looked on him, and instead asked, "Shouldn't we be headed into the locker room to get ready?"

"We're going to try something a little less conventional today," Harry said, and offered him a sunny smile. He handed Draco a bag and said, "Go put this on, okay?"

Draco hesitated. He glanced into the bag, and found only a mass of fabric. Trousers, maybe? He sighed. "If you insist," he muttered, and trudged off to the locker room. The bag, he found, contained a set of Muggle clothes, jeans and a t-shirt which bore an outline of a witch on a broomstick, and read Yes, I can drive stick.

Draco was sure that it was a joke, but he didn't get it.

He emerged from the dressing room feeling rather uncomfortable in the oddly-fitting Muggle clothes, but Harry's eyes lit up when he saw them. "That looks good on you," Harry said, his voice a little husky. "Ready for an adventure?"

Draco swallowed. "Yes?" he tried. He was pretty sure that he wasn't any way ready for whatever Harry had planned for him.

That thought was only solidified when Harry slung an arm around his shoulders and Side-Along Apparated them to an out of the way alcove in the middle of a giant area filled with Muggles. It was loud, obnoxiously so, and there were screaming children running everywhere. There were also giant structures that roared like dragons, with people screaming inside of them as they flew past Draco's head.

Draco froze, his eyes widening. "What—" he tried, but couldn't get any further than that. There were bright lights that lit up loud stalls where children seemed to be playing all sorts of games. "Where?" he tried, and that was at least a bit more coherent.

Harry grinned at him, his eyes twinkling. "Never been to an amusement park, Draco?" he asked, and took Draco's hand. He towed him out into the crowd, and Draco found himself following along, helplessly.

"I've never even heard of one," he said, trying to drink in the sights that surrounded him. He couldn't even begin to make sense of it all.

"Then you're in for a treat," Harry chirped. He dragged Draco along, seeming to know exactly where he was going although Draco had not a single clue, until they reached a long line of people under a wooden awning.

The wait was terrible, and Harry didn't even tell him what they were waiting for. It was ridiculous, and Draco might have pouted, but he had a question to ask, since it was clear that Harry wasn't going to budge on the answer of what they were doing waiting in line. "I heard on the wireless last night—"

"That I retired?" Harry finished, before Draco could. "Yeah, Siri was pissed. But he should have known it was coming. I always told him that I wouldn't play long past my 25th birthday."

Draco swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Then it wasn't just because of me?" he asked tentatively.

Harry glanced down at him, eyes a little wide with surprise. "Not entirely, no," he said. "I mean, I'll admit that it was a bit more sudden because I wanted to help you, but I was always planning on leaving at the end of this season. I've always loved helping Siri coach, and I want to get more into that." He winked at Draco, then, and added, "In a way, you're helping me out, you know."

"How?" The line advanced, and Draco suddenly realized that they were in line for one of the things that had roared past their heads earlier. He reached for Harry's hand without even thinking about it, and relaxed slightly when Harry took it immediately. These things couldn't be that dangerous if Muggles all rode them with such glee, and nobody else in the line looked frightened.

"Letting me practice my coaching," Harry said cheerfully, and then the line was advancing once more, and they were being ushered to sit by a bored Muggle teenager.

They were strapped in, and then they were moving, and Draco's grip on Harry's hand was white-knuckled. "Why are we on this?" he asked, as they slowly began to climb into the air. It moved much slower than he would have thought, given the way that one of them had roared past them earlier.

"I thought that roller coasters might help you get over your fear of diving," Harry replied cheerfully.

Draco was about to ask what he was talking about when they crested the top of the hill, and then the ride got much faster, and the ground was roaring up at them. Draco was pretty sure he broke Harry's hand, he clutched at it so hard. He slammed his eyes closed and his his face as best he could, burying it in Harry's shoulder, which wasn't nearly as easy as he'd thought it would be because of the restraints.

He didn't die, though, and the ride was over soon enough. Draco stumbled off of it, feeling sick. "I don't think that helped," he mumbled.

Harry just beamed at him. "Don't worry, that was just the first one. We're going to try a bunch more, and eventually, they're going to get faster!" His smile, impossibly brightened.

Draco barely made it to the nearest trash can before throwing up. Harry Potter was, apparently, a sadist. How had that never made the news?

A few more of the roller coasters later, and Draco was revising his opinion of Harry once more. They were actually kind of fun, once he got used to them, and accepted that the adrenaline wasn't going to kill him. Draco still held Harry's hand on the coasters, but it was a much more relaxed kind of hold. And now he wasn't doing it because he was terrified, but because he enjoyed it and Harry hadn't told him to stop.

Then again, given the way Harry would occasionally glance at their joined hands and flush, Draco was pretty sure that he was enjoying it too.

The sun was setting, though, and they'd ridden their last roller coaster for the day. Now, they were about to get onto another ride, each with an ice cream cone that Harry had bought them. This ride was much slower, a large wheel that moved vertically, a Ferris Wheel according to Harry, and Draco smiled a little as they settled on the bench and the wheel jerked into motion.

"This is nice," he murmured. He shifted closer to Harry, a bit hesitantly. He could be reading the signs wrong, but this felt… almost romantic to him, like the end to a particularly nice date, and he didn't mind the idea of that at all.

"Did you have fun today?" Harry asked, his voice taking on that same husky tone it had at the beginning of the day.

Draco smiled at him, shyness making him duck his head. "I did," he said.

"Me too," Harry murmured.

In the silence, Draco studied the sunset. It was a bright and beautiful one, with a myriad of colors streaking the sky. Then Harry's arm landed around his shoulders, and Draco flushed brightly, but didn't protest. That was very nice too, and he nestled just a little bit closer.

After, Harry took them back to the practice pitch, where he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Draco's cheek. "Get some rest," he said as he pulled back. "Tomorrow's going to be busy."

Draco nodded. "Thank you!" he called after Harry, once Harry had turned and started off in the opposite direction of Draco's flat.

Harry turned and winked at him again. "Trust me," Harry called back, "It's my pleasure!"

Draco did trust him, and what was more important, he liked Harry, and as much more than a distant idol. He wanted to impress him, wanted to do well so that Harry would be pleased with him. He had to succeed tomorrow.

Failure was no longer an option. He didn't want to see what Harry looked like when he was disappointed in him, because Draco was afraid that it might break his heart.

ooOOooOOoo

Draco had been so excited to try flying again the next day. He'd felt like he might actually be ready, like there might actually be a chance that he could do it. It was sort of fun, doing it on one of those Muggle roller coasters. It should have been fun doing it while he was in control of himself, too.

It should have been even more fun, for Merlin's sake!

It wasn't even like he had a good reason for being so easily terrified of crashing when trying to dive. If he'd seen someone be injured, if there were a valid reason for the way he froze up whenever he got too far into the dive, that would be a different story. But there wasn't, and he was just a failure.

Draco groaned and scrubbed at his eyes, trying to pretend like they weren't watering. At least the bar was dark. Nobody would bother him, and even if they did, it wasn't like anybody was coming who'd seen his humiliating failure.

Was he asking too much of himself? No, he didn't think so. What kind of Quidditch player was he? A bad one. He was a terrible Seeker, and he really did need to put his broomstick away before he lost any more games, cost his father more money, and ruined Harry's reputation.

Maybe Harry wouldn't hate him if he got out now. Maybe they could still be friends. Merlin, Draco hoped so.

He caught the bartender's attention and ordered his usual, though he made no move to drink it. The last time he'd gone out to drink, he'd ruined Harry's career. Instead, he sighed and folded his arms on top of the bar, then rested his chin on top of them, and stared at the amber liquid inside the tumbler. Everything was awful, but at least he knew now.

He had made a decision, again. He would stick to it this time. Nothing would change his mind. Tomorrow, he would quit.

He didn't know how long he'd sat there, making no move to drink his firewhiskey, when Harry settled down next to him. "You okay?" Harry asked, his voice gentle.

Draco sighed. "What do you think?" He reached for the glass, but stopped when Harry caught his hand and held it. "I have to quit."

"We've tried one thing," Harry pointed out. His voice was still gentle, like he was talking to a frightened animal. "And yeah, it didn't work out as well as I'd hoped, but that's okay. There are other things we could try."

"Like what?" Draco shifted his hand so that he was holding on to Harry's.

"Did you drink anything before this glass, or have you just been staring at this all evening?" Harry asked, instead of answering the question.

"Just staring," Draco answered honestly. "I thought about drinking it, but then I remembered that I somehow convinced you to coach me the last time I got drunk, and I didn't think that was a good idea."

"Twice in a week?" Harry laughed. "No, you shouldn't get that drunk that often, Draco." He tugged lightly on Draco's hand, dragging him to his feet. Harry then tossed a few Galleons onto the counter, then pulled Draco out of the bar. "Let's go try something else."

"It's after dark!" Draco protested. Still, he didn't fight as Harry dragged him back in the general direction of the practice pitch.

"And no one will be watching," Harry pointed out gently. "Just try this with me, okay? And if it doesn't work, if you still feel like you need to quit, I won't stop you anymore."

"And we'll still be… doing whatever it is that we're doing?" Draco asked, his steps slowing.

Harry turned back and stepped into his personal space in one smooth motion. "Absolutely," he said, his voice lowering. He kissed Draco's forehead, then resumed towing him to the pitch.

It was deserted, and Harry took him out to the field. The moon was full, and the sky was cloudless, meaning that the pitch itself was lit up well enough that they didn't need to bother with spells or any other forms of light.

Harry unlocked the equipment shed and pulled out one of the spare brooms that were kept in there. This one wasn't really suited for a Seeker, but was instead a Chaser's more sturdy, reliable broom. Harry mounted it, then shifted forward and raised an eyebrow at Draco. "Wanna go for a ride on my broomstick?" he asked, with a salacious waggle of his eyebrows.

"I can't believe those words just came out of your mouth," Draco muttered, even as he moved to settle behind Harry. "Don't you dare pull any of your ridiculous stunts."

Harry's laugh was just a little bit evil, and Draco fought the urge to get off the broom then and there. But, in spite of his laughter, Harry wasn't particularly daring. At least, not at first. He started slow, gradually flying them higher and higher into the air. He moved them in lazy twists and turns, not really doing anything that could be considered dangerous.

Then he started to get faster, moving them into a more complex maneuver. Draco was okay with that, as long as they were flying on one level. But Harry decided to loop them around, and Draco found himself flinching, his arms wrapping tightly around Harry's stomach. He made himself relax when Harry let out a pained grunt, and the next time Harry looped them, he didn't cling quite so tightly.

Once Draco started to relax even further, leaning against Harry and genuinely starting to enjoy being looped and twisted at immense speeds, Harry shifted forward, and then urged the broom into a shallow dive. Draco squeaked a little, but managed to stay mostly calm.

"You okay back there?" Harry asked, even as he shifted forward even more.

"I don't know," Draco said honestly. "What are you going to do next?" He shifted forward as well, so that he was practically covering Harry's back. Whatever it was, he didn't think he wanted to risk throwing off Harry's balance.

"Oh, just one of my favorites," Harry said cheerfully. Then he tipped them forwards, and Draco shrieked as the ground began to rise up towards them at an alarming speed.

"Stop, stop stop stop!" Draco screamed, but Harry didn't stop.

He didn't stop until what felt like centimeters from the ground, when he pulled them out of the dive with the type of precision that Draco could only dream about. They were so close to the ground that Draco could see the blades of grass rushing by beneath them, and when he twisted to look back, he could see that it was touching their feet.

"Too close," he gasped out, his heart pounding. But there was a smile forming on his face. As terrifying as that had been, it had also been… fun.

"I've had closer calls," Harry pointed out. He landed, then, and slid off of the broom. "Want to try it yourself?"

And Draco very much did want to try, but then, want had never been the problem. He'd always wanted to dive, he just had never managed it. Still… "Yeah," he said quickly. He shifted on the broom, moving to be more in control, and started to climb through the air.

Maybe he wouldn't manage a perfect Wronski Feint on his first try, but he didn't have to. He just had to dive once. If he could do it, if he could manage to get closer to the ground than he'd ever done before, wouldn't that be enough of a success? Wouldn't that prove that he could still maybe turn this around and be a good Quidditch player?

Wasn't it worth a shot?

He drew in a deep breath, feeling like he was at the crest of that Muggle roller coaster, then twisted the broom around. Harry was barely a speck beneath him, but Draco didn't have to be able to make out his facial features to know that he was watching, probably with bright eyes and an even brighter smile.

Draco closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, then dove. The air rushed by him, faster and faster, and he opened his eyes to watch the ground, to see how close it was getting. Close, closer, closer, closer than it had ever been before. Too close! But he kept pushing himself, forcing himself past that instinct to stop in midair, and pulled up only at the last possible second, his heart thundering in his chest.

He slowed down, then let himself fall off the broom, and with only a handful of feet to go, he barely felt the impact on the soft grass. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the moon. A laugh bubbled up from inside of him, slightly hysterical and fueled by adrenaline. "I did it," he said through his laughter.

Harry's face appeared between him and the moon. "You did," Harry agreed, beaming at him. His face got closer, and then he was kissing Draco, their lips touching lightly, sweet and barely there. Then he pulled back. "Now get up and do it again, because you have a match this weekend, and I want you to blow them out of the water."

Draco laughed again, the sound breathless. "Okay," he said, and sat up. He stole a kiss, just as quick as the one Harry had given him, then got to his feet. "But let me try it with my own broom this time?"

"Of course," Harry said. "And Draco?"

"Harry?" Draco gave his full attention to Harry, his lips still stretched in the biggest smile he'd ever felt on his own lips.

"I'm not giving you anything more than a few kisses until you win me a match," Harry said with a wink. He blew Draco a kiss, then collected the spare broom. "Now go get your broom, and let's see what we can do!"

ooOOooOOoo

The next few days were exhausting, but in the best possible way. There were still moments when Draco froze up while trying to dive, but those moments were becoming rarer and rarer as he continued to practice with Harry. Regulus told him how much better he was doing, and how excited he was by the progress Draco had made, but it wasn't really Regulus' opinion he cared about. It wasn't even his father's.

It was Harry's. Harry, who occasionally would grab him on their way to or from somewhere and kiss him breathless in the shadows, who cheered for him whenever he accomplished a particularly difficult dive, who went to dinner with him after practice and made sure that he was actually eating the right things instead of whatever the pub was serving, who Draco had always looked up to but had never really known before, and now that he did know him, who was more amazing than Draco had ever imagined.

Harry, who Draco was pretty sure he was falling in love with.

He would have been worried about that, except Draco wasn't an idiot. He could see the warmth in Harry's eyes when Harry looked at him, could feel his affection whenever Harry smiled at him, and was almost positive that Harry felt the same way.

Maybe, if he was lucky, after Draco won the match for the Peacocks over the weekend, that was a conversation that they could have.

ooOOooOOoo

Of course, thinking that he had a chance at winning and then actually coming face to face with Harry's old team, Puddlemere United, weren't quite the same thing.

"I can't do this," Draco said, stumbling over the words. There was a massive crowd outside of the locker rooms, and Draco didn't have to see them to know that none of them were in the Peacocks' colors, and Harry was standing beside him, looking as calm as ever. "Harry, I can't win this. There's no way I can get the Snitch. I'm going to make a fool out of us both this time."

Harry's hands landed on his shoulders, heavy and reassuring in their weight. Then Harry leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. "You can do this," he said quietly, firmly. "You didn't flub a dive at all yesterday in practice. And honestly, Smythe isn't that great. You can beat him."

Draco drew in a shaky breath. "You really think so?" he asked, his voice small.

Harry leaned in and kissed him, their lips barely brushing. "I know you can," he said. "And if you do, I have a surprise for you. So you go out there and give it your best, okay?"

Draco closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and nodded. He opened his eyes and offered Harry his best attempt at a cheeky smile. "Another kiss for luck?" he asked.

Harry kissed him again, this one softer and more lingering. "Good luck," he murmured when he pulled back.

And then it was time, and Draco had no idea if he was going to succeed or not. But he knew that he was going to try.

The first part of the match was more boring than anything else. Nothing was happening ,and though Smythe was shadowing him, neither of them were really spotting anything. Then Smythe took to occasionally going into a steep, short dive, then laughing about it when he pulled up, staring at Draco all the while. It wasn't like Draco's issues with diving weren't incredibly well-known, but Draco could honestly say that he'd never been mocked for it.

By the second time it happened, Draco felt a fire roaring within him, one that was determined to get the Snitch before Smythe could, no matter how close to the ground he had to get to do it. Each time it happened after that, the fire inside of Draco burned ever brighter. And then Draco spotted it, a glint of gold out of the corner of his eye, near the grass on the far side of the pitch. He started towards it, driving his broom faster and faster.

The air whistled in his ears, singing to Draco as he picked up speed. The clouds in the sky blurred, and his fellow players became little more than streaks against a blue sky. He could distinguish neither opponent nor ally, but that was okay. He wasn't focusing on them, but was instead focusing on the Snitch, darting around just out of his reach.

He caught it, to the sound of astonished cheers that echoed throughout the stadium.

It was over. The Peacocks had won, by only 10 points, and Draco had done it. He'd caught the Snitch. He'd dived from who knew how high, and caught a Snitch for the first time in his entire Quidditch career.

He held the Snitch through the hug he got from Regulus, and through the exuberant cheers of his team. He felt like he was living in a dream, a feeling that only grew more intense when Harry darted out onto the field to pull him into his arms in a joyful hug.

Then Harry's lips were on his, fierce and strong, in front of the hundreds of Puddlemere fans who'd shown up for a game, and when Harry pulled back, he breathed in Draco's ear, "I knew you could do it," then kissed him again.

"I love you," Draco blurted out as soon as they'd parted once more, as the noise level in the pitch rose to a crescendo.

"I love you too," Harry said, and then kissed him again.

"You never did tell me what I said to you that night at the bar," Draco said, leaning into him. "Or how pathetic I looked saying it, as drunk as I had to have been."

"You told me that you'd always admired me," Harry said, his arms tightening around Draco's waist as they walked off the field together. "And that you loved flying, but you always seemed to freeze up, and you were starting to hate flying. And since flying is my most favorite thing, I couldn't have that."

Draco stopped just out of the view of the stands. "That's it?" he asked, incredulous. He stared at the man he loved, his eyes wide. "That's all it took for you to give up your career?"

Harry shrugged. "I told you, I'd already been planning on trying out coaching." He leaned in and stole a quick kiss, his eyes twinkling. "Besides, who am I to walk away from a pretty blonde thing like yourself in distress? If I could help, it was my moral obligation to do so."

Draco didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything at all. He just kissed Harry, and hoped that the rest of his life would be as happy as this moment. Somehow, with Harry involved, he was pretty sure that, if nothing else, it wouldn't be boring.

A/N: In my head, this story was called Draco! on Air, due to its source of inspiration, the phenomenal Yuri! on Ice. Hopefully you enjoyed it!