Archiving: just ask.
Date: May 2003.
Summary: Simple truths are what you never have allowed.
I've Seen an angel lose his wings in flight before.
"Are you happy?"
Draco looked at Harry Potter, Harry Potter with his fists clenched and eyes blazing, facing him across the pitch, where they had just separated after their most vicious struggle for the Snitch yet. In the end Draco had shoved all his weight against Harry Potter and the Snitch had done a nosedive out of sight, fleeing both of them. The crowd was on its feet in the stands, a massive annoying blur of colors in the bright afternoon sunshine--and Harry, a few feet away from him, was glaring at him.
"Well?" he spat again. "Are you happy, Malfoy? Does it make you feel good to have to play dirty? Not even playing to win, just to keep me from winning. Does it?"
Catching his breath, Draco wiped the dirt and saliva from his mouth with the corner of his robe. Harry Potter's breath was coming fast too. His shoulders heaved, and sweat formed at his temple. Neither of them were scanning the skies, but Harry Potter was scouting whatever he saw in Draco's face as intently as if there were gold flickering behind it.
Draco glared back. Glared at Harry Potter's hair, at the windswept disheveled mess flying every which way and shielding his eyes even more effectively than his stupid glasses. There was no mistaking it, across a field or across a Quidditch pitch or across the Great Hall at dinnertime, and he hated it. Hated it because the sight of it made his heart ache. Just like the certain swish of a robe in a certain way, in a certain light, could make him tremble, or the certain flicker of a smile or even the arch of a pale neck could bring him to his knees. Could bring him to his knees and cost him sleep and sometimes both at once.
He glared at Harry Potter's hands, that always knew just where to go and how to win, that could do no wrong, not even when they had Hermione Granger's dirty mudblood fingers wrapped around them. The shudder of revulsion, the wince of disgust, and it would still be there. Draco would still be there, trapped in a moment between confusion and disdain and despair, and all the while that soft tug of Harry Potter's lips, quirking at him as if to remind him that he had never been on top, not ever, since the first day they had met.
And now Harry Potter was looking at him as if he really needed Draco to answer that question; but it was just the light and the slant of the sun. There was nothing he wanted to be that Harry Potter needed.
Are you happy?
The sunlight spiraled into his eyes as Draco looked up into the sky, daring himself to imagine that he saw gold hovering there, just for him.
Author’s notes: the lyrics are from “Luminous Crush” by Space Team Electra.