Work Text:
Harry sighed, fully focused on the tiny golden ball fluttering above his open palm. He was at the back of the changing room, balanced on two legs of his chair with his feet propped in the seat of another and crossed at the ankle. They’d just finished their last practice before their upcoming game against the Falmouth Falcons, and Oliver was giving his customary pep talk. Harry knew most of what was said didn’t pertain to him, being an entity all his own, and therefore regularly made a habit of zoning out until the team was dismissed.
The Head Coach wrapped up the meeting a few minutes later, and Harry tilted his chair down and stood with a stretch, easily palming the snitch and slipping into the pocket of his robes. He trailed the rest of his teammates as they headed for the showers, mind already on dinner.
“What do you think about the kiss cams?”
“Hm?” Harry asked, shaken from his musings by the newest member of Puddlemere United.
Tristan was young, just out of Hogwarts, and very obviously idolized Harry. It was his first season with a professional Quidditch team, and he’d shared with everyone who would listen that Harry had been the deciding factor in which team he played for. Harry had been welcoming, as he was for all of the members that had come and gone during his tenure, but it was immediately clear that Tristan had a crush. Harry had no interest in fulfilling some impossible fantasy, let alone becoming entangled with a teammate, so while he was still friendly, he maintained a noticeable distance between them. Tristan never gave Harry a reason to be overly concerned, but his excitable nature and effervescent personality drew focus, and Harry had more than enough of that on his own.
Though the mass hysteria over Harry’s existence had died down in the years after the Battle of Hogwarts, and he was no longer hounded from the moment he stepped foot out of his flat, he certainly still received more attention than he thought he deserved. He’d worked hard to prove himself a beneficial member of the team, determined to show the Wizarding world that he’d gained his place by his own merit, and had rightfully earned the coveted “Best Player” award the previous season. While he still shied away from public attention, at least he now felt like he’d done something worthy of it. He’d had plenty of teammates make a pass at him in the past, mostly new recruits, but, thankfully, Tristan seemed to be the only one currently enamored. He was usually very diligent about making sure they were never alone together, but his concentration had been elsewhere, and he found that they were standing in the corridor while all of their teammates had already headed into the showers.
“The kiss cam,” Tristan repeated excitedly, “Do you think the teams will get to join in as well?”
Harry frowned at the hope in Tristan’s voice, then shook his head as he made sense of the words. “The WHAT?”
Tristan furrowed his brows, “Didn’t you hear? In the meeting, Coach said the League was trying something new. It’s to build engagement, or something.”
“Build engagement?” Harry growled, “People are plenty engaged! We don’t need some cheap gimmick to entice them to come to the games!”
Tristan raised his hands defensively and took a step back, “That’s just what Coach said.”
Harry huffed and turned back down the corridor, stomping toward the Head Coach’s office and leaving Tristan to stand alone. He was fuming. A Kiss Cam? Really? Of all the ideas that could have been implemented to promote more patronage, not that they needed it, mind you, a kiss cam was the best that they could do?
“Hey, Harry, what’s going on?”
Harry spun around, a sneer already on his lips, then heaved a sigh when his gaze landed on Oliver. “I just heard about the new spectacle. Where’s Coach?” he asked, nodding toward the darkened office door.
“New spectacle?” Oliver asked, tilting his head. “Oh! You mean the kiss cam?”
Harry scowled, “Don’t you think it’s ridiculous? Honestly, we don’t need something like that!”
Oliver chuckled, “I dunno, I think it’s a fun idea. It certainly seems to be popular among Muggle sporting events.”
Harry shook his head incredulously, “Of all the people on this team, I thought you’d be just as upset about this as I am.”
“Maybe, in my old age, I’ve gotten a little more accepting of new ideas,” Oliver shrugged.
Harry scoffed, turning to head back to the showers and muttering about ruining the sanctity of the game and making a mockery of the fans. He spent the entire rest of the evening seething about the kiss cam, wondering who’d introduced such a thing and imagining how much more distracted all of his teammates would be.
He grimaced as he lay in bed hours later, Tristan’s last question echoing in his head. Do you think the teams will get to join in as well? He hoped not. The last thing he needed was to be forced to kiss someone he worked with for the sake of entertainment, and he knew, being who he was, he’d be the first one chosen if the Quidditch teams were expected to participate.
Harry was still irritated two days later, but as the team rallied around Oliver for their pre-match hype session, he straightened his shoulders and set his jaw; he had a job to do, and no tasteless Muggle absurdity or magical projecting devices would stop him.
Puddlemere United flew onto the pitch to riotous applause ten minutes later, the stands filled to capacity. Harry rolled his eyes as he thought once more that the League didn’t need to employ tacky tactics to entice fans out to the matches, then shot into the air, circling high above the other players and waiting for the snitch to be released.
Game play progressed as it always did, with Harry slicing through the air after the tiny fluttering ball or as a diversion tactic while the Falcons Seeker trailed behind him, and he barely noticed the cameras zipping around the stands. They’d taken to capturing action shots of the team as well, projecting them onto several floating screens so the fans could be even more immersed in the game, and while Harry didn’t particularly mind, he wished that had been mentioned along with the kiss cam. Though, to be fair, he hadn’t really been paying attention during the announcement, so perhaps it was.
After two hours of play, wherein he’d almost caught the snitch twice, the Powers That Be must have decided that the fans needed a bit more excitement. Harry had been searching in vain for the last half-hour, and while the rest of the players never stopped, and therefore the action never lagged, he could admit it was slightly less enjoyable without the Seekers racing to beat each other to the minuscule ball and end the match. He huffed as the announcer introduced the kiss cam, the noise level in the stands rising dramatically, and he turned away from the first projected couple to continue searching the skies.
He couldn’t help but glance back at the nearest screen every time a new couple was chosen, the rest of the crowd cheering and chanting until their obligation was fulfilled, and thus found himself staring at a gobsmacked Draco Malfoy as the last victim of the afternoon. Harry gasped; he hadn’t known Draco to frequent Quidditch matches at all nowadays, let alone one of Puddlemere’s. He didn’t even especially like either team, from what Harry could remember.
Draco flicked his eyes around the chanting crowd, then glanced at the bloke seated next to him. The stranger smiled lasciviously, and Draco moved away from him minutely, turning to keep him in his sights while placing his shoulder between them.
Harry and Draco’s relationship had always been complicated; it began with disdain and continued with personal attacks and vitriol, but one day, something changed. During Sixth Year, Harry felt a shift in their interactions; a quiet desperation from Draco that he hadn’t been able to name until years later. He found himself chasing Draco around the castle, his thoughts consumed by the blonde and what he might be doing. Touted as a vigilant eye, he wouldn’t realize the truth until after the war. He watched as Draco slowly lost himself under the pressure of his family, his heart aching with unnamed emotions as Draco crumbled under the offer of a choice before Snape swooped in to finish the task he’d been set. He found himself silently cheering him on when Draco stood up for what he believed in toward the end, rather than what he’d been taught all his life.
Harry didn’t recognize how his feelings for Draco had morphed until after the trials, and he couldn’t accept them until after they’d graduated and parted ways. Even after facing who most considered to be the most powerful wizard of all time, even after dying, Harry still ran from something as simple as accepting himself for who he was. He’d tried to move past the complicated emotions, tried to shove them down and find happiness with someone, anyone, else, but he always found his thoughts returning to Draco. After every failed relationship or date that went poorly, he wondered if he’d face the same disappointments if it had been Draco by his side.
He read every bit of news that might even hint at the actions of the Malfoy heir and was pleased to see that he’d been slowly working his way back into society over the last few years. They’d run into each other every so often, and while cordial, Harry couldn’t call their interactions flirtatious or even particularly friendly. Thus, it was confusing and unexpected to see the blonde now, seated somewhere in the stands as if he regularly attended Harry’s matches. A bubble of hope formed in his chest as he wished that were true, and he shook his head at his delusion. Surely, if Draco felt any sort of romantic inclination toward him, he’d have figured it out by now. Right?
Harry took a sharp breath as sudden, irrational jealousy flooded his mind. His skin was hot, and his heart thudded in his ears as he stared at the screen. All other thoughts had ceased; he was fully focused on the unfolding scene, drifting slowly closer to the projection as he studied Draco’s every move. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as the stranger, at least, he assumed it was a stranger, inched slowly closer toward Draco. His lips parted as Draco swallowed nervously, leaning backward at the same pace that the bloke was moving toward him. It was clear, at least to him, that Draco had no interest in participating with this individual, no matter how enthusiastic the crowd around him was. Draco’s gaze flicked toward the pitch, and Harry gripped his broom tightly and turned away from the projection.
Hovering in one place, Quidditch match completely forgotten, Harry scanned the stands. The chanting died down as it seemed that a kiss was not in the cards, though the camera remained trained on the unwilling couple, and the bloke continued to silently invade Draco’s personal space. Murmurs grew as attention returned to the skies, but Harry paid no mind to any of it, his gaze still focused below him. The crowd erupted into unintelligible shouts as a flash of gold raced by Harry’s face, but his eyes were in search of something far more silver in color.
His breath caught when he spotted a glint of platinum, and he edged closer to one section of the stands. Harry clenched his teeth when he finally located Draco, his lower back pressed against his armrest, and his hand raised between himself and the stranger. The bloke gave a smarmy smile, and Harry growled, immediately sinking against his broom and launching himself downward. The nearby crowd gasped, panicked as Harry barreled toward them, and he pulled up to perfectly hover in front of Draco.
“Is this bloke bothering you, Malfoy?”
Draco turned wide eyes to Harry, “Potter? What are you doing?” he hissed, waving his hand toward the pitch, “You’re in the middle of a match!”
“Is he?”
“What’s it to you?” Draco and Harry both glanced at the stranger, who crossed his arms. “He’s not yours; we’d all already know if he was,” he mumbled.
Harry sneered, “Malfoy isn’t a piece of property to be owned; he’s a person. With free will.”
“I can speak for myself, Potter! Go back to your match.”
Harry cut his eyes to Draco, “Do you want to kiss him?”
“Why would that matter to you?” Draco spluttered.
Harry growled, “Answer the question.”
The crowd erupted again, this time into cheers, and Draco looked around Harry to find that the Falmouth Seeker was in hot pursuit of the snitch on the other side of the pitch. “Potter, your team is about to lose!”
Harry shook his head, “This is more important.”
Draco jerked around to stare at him, “What?”
“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” the stranger frowned, “It’s not like we’re planning to snog in the middle of the stands.” He waggled his eyebrows, “Unless you want to.”
Harry narrowed his eyes, and Draco stood with a disgusted sneer, “Enough, this is ridiculous! I’m not going to snog you,” Draco pointed at the bloke, “And you,” he poked Harry in the chest, “Need to get back to the match!”
“You have to kiss someone!” the stranger protested, “It’s an unspoken contract!”
“Take me to the Wizengamot, then,” Draco muttered, lifting a brow.
“I’m not going to give up,” the bloke assured, “The Great Harry Potter can’t hover here forever.”
Harry turned his head slowly, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The stranger smiled smugly, “As soon as you fly away, I’ll have my kiss.”
Harry sank calmly down until his feet touched the floor of the stands, then stood from his broom, “Is that so?”
The crowd had gone silent as they watched the situation unfold, all of the kiss cams now focused on the trio. The audio, while slightly garbled, was made perfectly clear by the look on Harry’s face, and those around him held their breath as they waited to see what would happen next.
The bloke swallowed as Harry stared him down, sliding his suddenly sweaty palms against his robes. “Yes,” he said shakily.
“Excuse me!” Draco interrupted, “Do I not have a say in what happens to my own lips?”
“No,” Harry and the stranger both responded.
Draco huffed and crossed his arms, “If a kiss is all it will take to end this, frankly childish, argument, then let’s just get it over with.”
The stranger gasped and stood, his face giddy as he took a step toward Draco.
Harry snarled and stepped between them, turning his back on the bloke, “The only person who’s kissing you is me.”
“Wh-” Draco began, but Harry wrapped his hand around Draco’s neck and yanked him forward.
The crowd gasped as Harry crashed their lips together, and Draco’s eyes went wide. He stood rigidly for a moment, convinced he was simply having an extremely vivid daydream. Harry slid his fingers into the hairs at the nape of Draco’s neck, and Draco lifted his hands to run lightly over Harry’s Quidditch kit. Harry sighed, raising his other hand to dance along Draco’s side. Draco’s eyes slid closed as he realized he wasn’t imagining things, and he twisted his fingers into Harry’s robes and tugged him closer.
Harry gasped, his lips quirking into a grin as he snaked his arm around Draco’s lower back, pressing their bodies together from thigh to shoulder. Draco groaned softly, releasing Harry’s robes to glide his palms over Harry’s shoulders and into his hair. Harry nibbled at Draco’s lower lip, then swiped his tongue across it, begging for entry, and Draco quickly granted it.
The shock of the crowd began to wear off, soft mumbling growing into excited shouts as what they’d expected to be a brief, albeit surprising, kiss to end an argument tipped into a public snogging session. The Falcon’s seeker caught the snitch to the fanfare of none, as all eyes were glued to the projector screens or the two men themselves. The stranger huffed and crossed his arms, sinking back down into his seat to sulk as the exhibition continued. When he saw Harry’s tongue slip into Draco’s mouth, he couldn’t remain silent any longer.
“Merlin, get a room or something!”
Laughter echoed around them, breaking the surreal atmosphere, and Harry pulled back with a dazed stare. He blushed, his hands sliding down to dangle at his sides, and Draco smirked.
“That’s not a bad idea.” Draco lifted a challenging brow, gliding his hands from Harry’s hair to rest on his shoulders, “What do you say, Potter?”
Harry searched Draco’s face with wide eyes, “What?”
Draco glanced over Harry’s shoulder, where both teams were slowly landing on the pitch, signaling the end of the match, “You’ve lost, anyway. Why don’t we go somewhere a bit more,” he glanced around, his gaze landing on several of the kiss cams still pointed in their direction, “Private, and have a chat?”
Harry snorted, “Sure, a chat, that sounds nice.” He retrieved his broom and swung one leg over, then reached out and pulled Draco by the hand, “Come on.”
Draco gasped a laugh, straddling the broom and wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist just before they kicked off. “Is it always going to be so dramatic with you?”
Harry leaned forward, his response lost in the whipping wind as he shot toward the changing room. Draco snickered and rolled his eyes, settling his cheek on Harry's shoulder with a smile and a sigh.