[Fic] Through the Hoop - Harry Potter Universe
I did it. I wrote a Harry Potter fic. And finished it. Whoa! And it's short and sweet. Double whoa! It's H/D, is HBP-compliant, but not DH-compliant. It is post-Hogwarts, meaning after they have left Hogwarts, and it's also after the war. Rated PG (it could even be G. Whoa!).
Enjoy
It was springtime. Little white flowers bloomed on tree limbs and nestled themselves in bushes as they floated in the slightly nippy wind. The afternoon sun was balancing on the large skyscrapers in the distance. Draco pulled his coat around him as he stood on something Harry called a ‘court’. It was made of pavement with white lines on it. Draco had never really paid any attention to it before, and had been surprised when Harry had led him here. It was behind their apartment, a building made of white wood and rusty shutters.
Bong. Bong. Harry bounced a large orange ball against the court. He brushed his wayward hair out of his face (still unruly after all these years), and gave Draco a small smile.
“Right. I thought I’d bring you out here to teach you-“
“Soccer?” Draco asked, as if he would be given points if he answered correctly.
“No.”
“Tennis then?” Draco had learned about that one yesterday.
“No!”
“Baseball?” Draco guessed, as if staying one step ahead of Harry mattered. It didn’t, really, but it was a nice pastime to indulge in.
“No! Basketball. See the basket, see the ball?” Harry pointed to each in an exaggerated gesture.
Draco indeed saw the basket (a net with both ends cut off - not a real looking basket). He also saw the ball, hearing it bong as Harry played with it. He hadn’t known muggles made bouncing balls. The alliteration made him grin, and he tried to steer his thoughts from anything remotely lewd.
“This is sort of like baseball, with the bases and the ball,” Draco said to show he understood. Muggle sports were often named after what equipment was used in the game. Draco didn’t like to admit that it was a rather efficient way to go about things. He tried to find something that wasn’t.
“Yeah,” Harry pushed up his glasses (still wearing them after all these years). He looked pleased that Draco had cottoned on.
“What about tennis?” Draco asked suddenly, “that involves a racquet and a ball. Shouldn’t it be called racquet ball?”
“There’s already another sport called that.”
“Well that’s a bit confusing. I suppose they couldn’t just combine the sports or something?”
“Just take the ball and throw it at the basket,” Harry threw the ball to Draco roughly. He wasn’t really annoyed, Draco knew that by now. Harry just indulged in some old pastimes too, namely ‘provoke Draco’. It usually worked quite well.
Draco caught the ball with ease, was slightly surprised by its buoyancy, and then he chucked it at the basket. It brushed the net, rebounded off the pole, and nearly hit Harry in the face. He caught it of course (bloody Seeker), readjusted his glasses and leveled a little glare at Draco.
“You’re supposed to throw it through the hoop. Through the open end at the top.”
“You didn’t tell me that - you said throw it at the hoop!” Draco folded his arms and refused to take the ball to try again. Harry rolled his eyes.
“Fine. Here, watch me do it.”
“Oh brilliant, a practical demonstration after having me practice. Thank Merlin you weren’t offered a position as a Hogwarts professor.”
Harry bounced the ball slowly, staring at the ground for a bit, lost in some thought; but he shook himself quickly and threw the ball at the hoop. He missed. Draco felt incredibly smug that he hadn’t gotten right. He often felt smug, even after all these years, even in the back of their muggle apartment on a cracked basketball court.
“You missed!” he goaded, even though it was perfectly obvious that he had.
“Well I was a Seeker, not a Chaser!”
“Apparently fame isn’t everything,” Draco said in low, ominous voice reminiscent of Professor Snape.
“Oh would you stop using that line? We lft Hogwarts eight years ago. I thought we were past all that,” Harry bristled.
Even after all these years, Harry was still tetchy about his fame. Draco wanted him to laugh about it, but Harry only became sullen.
“Give me the ball,” he held his hands out.
Harry passed it to him and Draco aimed for the hoop. Woosh.
“I don’t believe it,” Harry, defeater of the Dark Lord and All Evil, was watching the swinging net, absolutely stupefied. Really, Harry shouldn’t be so surprised that Draco had gotten it through the hoop.
“I was born to be a Chaser,” Draco said, catching the bouncing ball, ready to score again. After all these years, he finally found something he could beat Potter at, a muggle game played in the back of their muggle apartment on a cracked court. Draco sometimes pondered the little ironies in life. Harry tried to get him to laugh about them, but Draco couldn’t.
“Discovered your skills a little too late, eh?” Harry said, as if the fact that they no longer played for their House teams would somehow dampen Draco’s victory.
“It’s never too late,” Draco quipped and met Harry’s eyes in the dying light. They were watery and smoky and yearning.
“Who told you that, Voldemort?” Harry asked with a ghost of a smile. It was their little joke. Voldemort’s last words had been ‘it’s never too late!’ Though for what, they weren’t quite sure. Perhaps he had been thinking he could regain his footing in the war. Draco and Harry often laughed about Voldemort. They had learned to during therapy.
“No, Dumbledore did,” Draco said. They weren’t smiling or laughing now. Instead, they just looked at each other, amazed that they were still alive and still here, even if they were on a cracked court outside of their muggle apartment. That was enough, Draco supposed.
“I was asked to teach at Hogwarts,” Harry said in a rush.
Draco went still, his hands going rigid around the ball. He suddenly felt the urge to cling, to cling to their muggle apartment and their cracked court and their basketball. It was theirs. It couldn’t slip away, not after all these years.
“I told them no,” Harry answered in a breath.
Draco gulped, and felt the absurd need for confirmation, “But you love Hogwarts. It’s your home. You love Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
They were suddenly only inches apart and Harry reached out to grasp the ball, so that their hands were overlapped, “I have a home right now with you.”
Draco outwardly sighed, and felt that goo inside him that Harry still managed to bring out after all these years. The mushygoodness and the sosweetithurts part of him, the part where it seemed that something warm had melted in his stomach.
He swallowed reflexively and said quietly, “Next time you shoot, aim for the hoop.”
Harry grinned, “It’s not like I was planning to miss.”
And Harry scored. Draco had learned to put up with Harry excelling at nearly everything he did years ago. Now he just muttered and glared at him because he liked to indulge old habits. It gave their relationship a nice edge. But it was the new habits that he encouraged and loved and believed in. Those looks that were loveydovey and awakened their sweetandsensitive sides. Those little actions, like teaching one another games after work.
Being alive and here (in a muggle apartment with a cracked court) was good enough for the both of them. Draco supposed that, metaphorically speaking, they both had gotten the ball through the hoop.
Draco pouted as Harry scored again.
But who’s counting?