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But at the end of the day I know that this is important to Potter, which means I'll do it.
Merlin, I'm pathetic.
A hand catches me in the chest to stop me as I make to step after Potter towards the others. I raise an eyebrow at Weasley and he flushes, snatching his hand away from me.
"Just-" he begins, pointing at me. He glances around and lowers his voice. "If you hurt him, I'm going to hex your balls off."
"Eh?" Not my most eloquent, but I think it conveys nicely just how bewildered I am.
"You heard," Weasley says, the threat clear in his voice.
He marches away and I stand still for a moment, frowning. What the hell is that all about?
"Malfoy! Get your arse over here if you're playing!" That's Finnegan shouting at me in his thick Irish accent and I start, walking quickly over to them.
Much to my surprise, he holds his hand out as I reach him. "I've ignored Harry's judgment before and I ain't gonna be doin' it again," he says. "If you's alright by him, you's alright by me."
I nod and shake his hand.
"The same goes for me," a quiet voice says as the players all wander to the middle of the pitch they've rented. I turn to see Hermione Granger looking at me. "Harry says you've changed and I'd like to believe him after everything we went through."
"Honestly, so would I," I say and she almost smiles.
"Go and play then," she says with a sigh, pausing for a moment. "It goes without staying that your wand stays away," she adds, her tone hinting towards stern.
I scowl and open my mouth indignantly but she gives me a look and carries on talking, speaking over me. "However - I've told them if they do anything out of line when you're playing, I won't be stopping you if you decide to hex them."
I shut my mouth and manage a smirk, looking up and cast my eyes over the assembled players who are being split up into two teams, laughing and joking all the while. "I'll behave if they behave."
"Could have done with that line of thinking when you were twelve, Malfoy."
I glare at her but then realise she's teasing me, a mischievous look on her face. "Oh go away," I snap somewhat petulantly and she laughs.
Something has gone very wrong in the world for Hermione Granger to be teasing me and not receiving a curse in retaliation. I suddenly remember what my Mother said to me after the newspaper article about me and Harry. "And if drinking in the Leaky Cauldron with Harry Potter makes you happy, then bugger to all and do it."
I guess playing Quidditch and hanging round with Muggle-borns counts too, right?
Blaise is going to shit a Hippogriff when he finds out.
After the game we end up in the pub. I don't want to go, but Harry pleads and threatens in turn. I don't want to suffer the indignity of being carried into the building over his shoulder like he promises to do if I make a fuss, so I follow him in with a bad grace.
I end up sat in-between him and Granger, which isn't too bad. I'm perfectly content to listen to the banter and conversation around me, sipping my drink and replying to Potter when he inevitably turns to repeatedly ask if I'm alright.
"I'm fine you prat, shut up," I answer sharply after his fourth enquiry. He grins sheepishly but before he can reply-
"Hey, he's being nice to you," Ron snaps. "The least you could do is act grateful."
The table goes quiet, tense. Eyes are flickering between Ron, Harry, and myself and I feel my face heating up. Christ, what I wouldn't give for some of my Fathers composure right now. I never really got the hang of it though - and around Potter this weakness always becomes ten times more pronounced.
"Ron," Hermione says gently, trying to placate him but he ignores her, red in the face and voice rising in anger.
"No, I'll put up with him but I'm not going to let him sit there and be a cunt to you," Ron says angrily.
I want to point out that Harry calls me names as often as I call him them, but keep my mouth shut, taking a swallow of my drink instead. My hands are shaking and I don't like it. I really don't want to be the cause of a fight right now, and I definitely don't want to be involved with one, especially one I'm outnumbered in. I'm still not entirely used to being in confrontation without Crabbe and Goyle standing either side of me.
"Ron it's fine," Harry says levelly. "He didn't mean anything by it, it's just the way we talk-"
"You've been nothing but nice to him and he's still-"
"Ron," Harry says in warning, his voice low. "Shut up. You don't know anything about us-"
Anger and exasperation lace Weasley's tone. "Yeah, because you didn't tell us about it! It doesn't give him a free pass to be a twat just because you fancy him!"
"Ron!" That's Granger, sounding shocked. The Weaselette is saying something but no-one is paying any attention.
"Well so what if I do?" Harry snaps back defiantly and I choke on my mouthful of drink. All the voices stop abruptly - it's like someone is casting fucking silencing charms over the table the way that keeps happening.
I look up through watering eyes to see that Harry is glaring at Ron, who is returning it with equal force. "It's not your say." Harry says tightly.
"Harry?" That's the Weaselette, sounding uncertain and hurt. Christ, now I know why he didn't want to marry her.
Finnegan and Charlie are staring at me and I blanch. Shit. I quickly stand up, my leg bumping the table and sloshing several drinks.
"Malfoy-"
"I'm fine," I say, my voice uneven. "Bathroom-"
I bolt away from the table, hearing the raised voices that flare up the moment I leave. In my haste to get to an exit I bump into a man who is turning from the bar; his pint slops over his wrist and he swears. I hastily mumble an apology and continue, spotting the door that leads out to the patio and smoking area.
It's empty and I sink down onto a bench, my head spinning. That blows my previous estimation of Potter's sexuality straight to hell.
That blows my previous estimation of Potter's opinion of mestraight to hell.
Now what the fuck do I do? Before, I could entertain romantic notions of unrequited lust and allow myself to admit that I fancied Potter because he wouldn't fancy me back and that meant nothing would come of it.
Knowing he does - it slams the whole scenario into pinpoint focus and I realise what a dangerous game I'm playing. Before, leaving my world seemed appealing but it was just a dream, a fantasy, built up on what I thought was a one way crush.
It's suddenly a real possibility.
Could I do it? Leave everything behind and pursue Harry? No, what am I thinking- I've only really known him for weeks, all his friends hate me, he's my ex-enemy, I nearly got him killed for fucks sake.
I'm scared. I hate the feeling, and I hate admitting that I'm scared. I've been called a coward countless times by nearly everyone I've ever come across, and it still makes a hot embarrassed flush rise in my neck. When I was younger that hot prickly feeling would make me lash out, but now it just makes me feel miserable and a bit pathetic.
I don't want Potter to think I'm a coward anymore. I don't want my friends to be annoyed at me. I don't want to be pushed around like a pawn in society games. But whilst I'm being very adamant about what I don't want, I don't have a bloody clue what I do want.
"Malfoy?"
Granger comes out with a glass of water in her hand, her appearance thankfully ending the thoughts that are racing through my head without conclusion. She sits next to me and passes it over; I take it without argument.
