Chapter Text
“Harry… what did you do?!” Ron asked him frantically, looking even paler than usual.
“I didn’t mean to… I… I just slipped… The grass was too wet… And…” Harry explained, feeling sick to his stomach. He was being honest: he had not meant to tackle Malfoy like that. Sure, he hated the guy, but that did not mean he wanted to hurt him.
He watched, helpless, as the medics took Malfoy away on a stretcher. He did not even protest when the referee showed him the red card: he knew he had deserved it.
He went to the showers and stayed under the hot spray far longer than was necessary, even more so considering he had been sent off forty minutes before the end of the match, as he mulled over what had happened.
He was not stupid, he knew everyone would think he had injured Malfoy on purpose. They had been bitter rivals for years, fighting for the same spot in the English national football team and playing in teams which did not necessary fit together seamlessly. Then again, Chelsea did not fit seamlessly with any other Premiere League team, in Harry’s opinion.
After his shower, he got dressed slowly and waited for the match to end and for his teammates to walk into the dressing-rooms with either smiles or frowns on their faces, depending on the result. It turned out to be the latter, as it often was when Arsenal played against Chelsea.
“They pay the referees off, mate, I’m telling ya” Seamus was telling Dean as they came in. “I mean, the red card was fair, but that penalty certainly wasn’t”, he added.
Harry didn’t even look up, ashamed about his red card and, above everything else, ashamed about injuring Malfoy.
The coach came in right behind the last player and proceeded with the usual post-match briefing before letting the players leave for the showers.
“Potter, I’ll see you in my office before training tomorrow” he told Harry sternly before exiting the locker-rooms.
Harry felt his stomach a thousand little knots forming in his stomach. This, right there, was bad news: Remus had never, ever called him ‘Potter’ before. He was a really friendly coach and called his players by their first names, except if he was really disappointed with them. Having Remus disappointed with him made Harry even more disappointed with himself, even though he had not meant to injure Malfoy. He knew it was not his fault, but he felt guilty anyway, and it became even worse when he remembered the sickening noise Malfoy’s tibia had made when it came into contact with his foot, or the unnatural angle of his Chelsea blue-clad leg on the Arsenal red stretcher.
Harry wanted to go away, far away from the locker-room, but he had to wait for Ron, because he was the one who had driven Harry to the stadium. They were neighbours, so they always went to training and home-matches together. It was nice, most of the time, but not so much when you wanted to be alone.
When Ron had finished dressing and packing his things, Harry got up and followed him out of the Stadium silently. Ron did not ask him anything, waiting for Harry to start the conversation if he wanted to. Harry was thankful that he knew him by heart by now.
“I didn’t do it on purpose, Ron, I promise.” Harry said after a while, as the radio started blasting ‘Surfin USA’, how fitting…
It took Ron a while to reply, and he sighed loudly before doing so.
“I know, mate… I’ve known you for more than half my life… I know you don’t have a bad bone in your body… but well, that’s not what other people are going to think…”
“I know”, Harry tried to say through the knot in his throat.
“Don’t worry, it will die down, sooner or later, when people find something else to talk about”.
Ron was right, of course. Another scandal would come in a few weeks, most probably, and people would forget about that accident. Malfoy would not forget, though. He would not forget the months of physiotherapy and struggling he would go through because of his biggest rival.
Draco would be out for at least six months, and that was all Harry’s fault.
“Try to get some rest, mate… Tomorrow’s gonna be harsh on you” Ron told him as he stopped in front of his house.
“Yeah…” Harry replied, not knowing if he was grateful for Ron’s honesty, or if he wished he had sugar-coated the truth.
He went out of the car quickly and came back home to his empty house. Every piece of his extremely expensive furniture was shining, the floor was so clean that you could eat on it, and a smell of flowers invaded Harry’s nostrils as soon as he had closed the door behind him. There was no doubt about it: the house-staff had done a great job, as usual. But at that time of night everyone was gone, as usual, and Harry was left alone while Ron came back to his wife and child. Being a closeted gay footballer could make you feel really lonely.
He threw his sports bag on the floor and immediately went upstairs. All he wanted to do was going to sleep and forgetting about the evening, even if it was only for a few hours.
Sadly, nothing was going his way on that day, and sleep wouldn’t come. He tried everything, from counting sheep to drinking the stupid tisane Hermione had brought him to calm his nerves: nothing worked. He tossed and turned for hours and kept seeing Malfoy’s horrible injury every time he closed his eyes.
When he got up to get ready for training, not feeling rested one bit, he made the mistake to check the football application he had installed on his phone. Broken tibia… he knew it. He nearly threw up when he saw the comments on the post. The problem was not Malfoy’s fans who were insulting him for injuring their favourite player, which was to be expected, even more so since they thought Harry had done it purposefully, but some of Harry’s fans, who were saying that Malfoy had it coming.
Okay, Malfoy might have had a tendency to dive, and he was an obnoxious daddy’s boy, but at least he had never broken anyone’s leg… Harry had no idea how he was going to get through the day. Hell, he had no idea how he was going to get through the front door when crawl into a hole and die was all he felt like doing.
However, he had to take responsibility for his actions and he got ready for training, leaving half-an-hour early so he could talk to the coach, but not before warning Ron he couldn’t give him a ride this time.
When Harry arrived in front of the coach’s office, he took a deep breath before knocking softly. He was told to come in almost immediately: Remus had been waiting for him.
Harry opened the door and walked slowly to the desk, keeping his eyes on his shoes.
“Take a seat, Harry” Remus told him.
At least, he was back to calling him Harry… this was a good sign, right?
Harry did as he was told and started playing with his bag’s straps, as if he were back in school, being scolded by the headmaster.
“So, do you have anything to say, Harry?” Remus asked him while seeping on a cup of tea.
And, really, Harry should have known Remus was going to play it like that.
“I… I didn’t mean to hurt Malfoy, I swear… I was going for the ball, but I slipped and got his tibia instead… And I’m sorry about it… I really am. I hate his guts, but it doesn’t make it okay for him to be out for six months” Harry explained. He started chewing on his bottom lip nervously while waiting for Remus’s reply.
“Okay… well, you know what you have to do, now” Remus answered calmly.
Harry looked up quickly, wondering where this was going. He was suspecting he had a pretty good idea, and he did not approve of it at all.
“You’re going to visit Draco at the hospital and tell him what you just told me.”
Indeed, he did not approve of it. At all.
“But sir, I…”
“No ‘but’, Harry, you know it’s the right thing to do” Remus replied.
It was going to go horribly wrong, obviously. Malfoy already hated him two days ago, but now he had to be the man’s worst enemy, there was no way he would accept him in his hospital room without protesting… But, ultimately, Harry knew Remus was right: apologising to Malfoy was the right thing to do, and the sooner the better. So, in other words, Harry would have to suck it up.