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Harry loves playing Quidditch matches against Slytherin. He complains about it all the time, but he really, really loves it. There’s an added thrill when Draco’s glaring at him from across the field.
This particular game is a close one, their regular points practically matched. Harry and Draco spot the snitch at the same time, and there’s a buzz under Harry’s skin when they dive practically at each other.
Harry’s reaching for it, he’s almost got it, when suddenly…
There’s a sickening crack as the bludger hits Draco’s ribs and knocks him off his broom. Harry doesn’t think, just abandoning the snitch completely and diving after Draco instead. He manages to catch him enough to break his fall last second.
“Malfoy,” Harry stumbles off his broom and onto the ground beside Draco, who is coughing and choking. He looks rough. Misty eyed. “Did your ribs–?”
“Pomfrey can heal broken bones in– in a second–” Draco chokes out, but even as he says it he cries out, looking more and more delirious from the pain.
“Hey, Malfoy, stick with me,” Harry touches his cheek hesitantly, “Look at me.”
“Merlin, Potter, you– you could almost convince someone you care…” Malfoy attempts to joke, but he whimpers. There are people crowding them, and Harry knows it’s only a matter of time before Pomfrey gets there and sedates Draco properly and takes him to the hospital wing.
Shaking his head, Harry sighs, “Shut up, Malfoy. Just hold on, okay? It’s gonna be okay.” Harry’s hand on Draco’s face gently strokes his cheek.
“You’re such a– a worrywart.”
“You just plummeted fifty feet with broken ribs, Malfoy, don’t tell me I’m worrying too much.”
“You caught me, didn’t you?” Draco says it as if that means it’s okay, the closest thing to a ‘thank you’ Harry could possibly receive.
Harry’s not sure how to respond to that.
“Yeah,” he says quietly after a moment, just before Draco is swept away by Pomfrey, “I– I caught you... I’ve got you.”