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Harry shoved open the door to their wooden Quidditch shed, hair dripping and clothes soaked. Drip, drip, drip. The sound of water droplets falling from his drenched jumper into a puddle on the floor filled the cramped space as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. When he squinted, he saw the Quidditch gear strewn every which way. A restless snitch, fluttering erratically up near the ceiling, bags of quaffles lined up against the walls, enough helmets for two Quidditch teams, neatly sorted onto shelves and probably a hundred other pieces of gear were set up in a sort of organized chaos that eluded Harry. He rolled his eyes and kicked and threw things aside, trying to find a place to lean the two brooms he held in his hands against the walls.
Draco trudged in behind him.
“Scoot!” he demanded as he shoved his way past Harry, who was blocking the doorway. He looked at the mess Harry had created and scowled.
“‘It’s fiiiiine Draco. I’ve got it Draco. You have no faith in me Draco.’ He said! ‘I can handle putting the brooms in a shed. Just wait out in the freezing cold while I put the brooms away, then we can go inside and dry off’ he said! And you ask why I never put you in charge of things. You're such an arse…” he muttered with an exasperated expression as he glared at the junk now scattered over the floor. Harry smiled sheepishly.
“You know I don’t quite get your ‘system’,” Harry grumbled good-naturedly “But you knew what you were getting into when you married me - a lifetime of chaos and mess. Unfortunately, we do have a no-returns policy at Potter Husbands Inc.. Apologies for any inconvenience!” he teased. Draco rolled his eyes but responded to the banter as he snatched the brooms from Harry to put them away where they belonged.
“And you can’t bend that one little rule for the most handsome customer you’ve ever laid eyes on? Someone with gleaming blonde locks and gray eyes like the sky on a stormy night?” Draco batted his eyelashes faux charmingly.
“Oh, Terance Higgs? He is dreamy, but I don’t think he’s a customer at this establishment.”
“I’ll take that as a no. Damn. Guess I’ll keep the husband I’ve got then.” Draco put the broom away and then looked around at the shed and the mess Harry had made. “I don’t think it’s worth even trying to clean up this mess right now. I’ll come out here and fix it up in here tomorrow, or we’ll never be able to find anything in here again,” Draco whined, already planning out how to fit that into the next day's schedule.
Harry shook his head. “Cleaning this up will take you two goddamn seconds, you brat. You're just sore that I beat your arse out on the pitch.”
“You did nothing of the sort!” Draco countered indignantly, shoving Harry into the wall.
“I caught the snitch seven times, and you caught it twice if you're being generous and counting that first time. But it’s okay babe. I know that desk job at the Ministry has you a little out of shape. That’s just what happens to middle-aged men like you, I guess. ” Harry sighed, winking at Draco.
“You arsehole,” Draco scoffed, “I’m barely five months older than you, and a hundred times fitter!” Draco's arms were now crossed tightly against his chest in utter disdain.
“You wanna prove it? Race you back home!” And with that and a chuckle, Harry set off as fast as his legs could carry him. Draco groaned, but only after he had already set off, chasing Harry at top speed.
A minute later, they were nearing the house. Despite their fervent claims to the contrary, Harry and Draco were, in fact, equally fit, so because Harry had a head start, he was still just a smidge ahead.
Draco's feet pounded on the ground and his heart raced as he sprinted to try to catch up with Harry. His feet fell rhythmically on the soaked, muddy soil beneath him. Draco’s head bobbed up and down rapidly as he gazed at the path ahead. The path he and Harry were dashing down trailed across their sprawling property, all the way from their Quidditch Pitch to their quaint garden that lay outside their cottage, almost a whole kilometer. Where the path came to an end, there was a small wooden gate, with flower planters on either side that was serving as the race's finish line.
When Draco looked up at it, both he and Harry were about seventy-five meters away. Draco pushed himself forward as hard as he could. Then he saw something, and it gave him a thought. The kind of mischievous thought that probably would have had his mother shaking her head, and George Weasley egging him on. Draco winced at the idea of doing something that Griffyndor imblicle would approve of, but it was just too good an opportunity to pass up.
Draco smirked decisively and fell back a bit, trying to look as though he were still going at full pace. Harry and Draco were only about 10 meters away from the gate now. At the sound of Draco’s footsteps falling away, Harry swiveled his head around to look at him, not slowing his pace one bit.
“Heh! Sloooooowpoke!” Harry jeered teasingly. He started to whirl his head back around, but suddenly - THUD! SPLASH!
Harry lay on the ground, covered in mud.
Draco jogged over to the fence, tapped it, and said, calmly, “I won,” before doubling over, cackling like the good husband he was.
Draco saw, from where he was standing, the humongous, murky puddle that his plan had centered around. Sitting upright in said puddle was a very put-out Harry Potter, covered from head to toe in sopping wet mud. It took him a second, but eventually, Draco shut up, just standing there, in front of Harry, with a self-satisfied expression reminiscent of a cat.
Slowly, very slowly, Harry connected the dots, and then, slowly, he raised a fist in Draco’s direction, and slowly, he extended his middle finger. Then he unclenched his and launched a fist full of mud towards Draco.
“You fucking planned this, you bastard!” Harry exclaimed as SPLAT! The mud hit Draco in the face.
“Yep,” Draco said, raising one mud-covered eyebrow. He kept his cool composure and smug smirk as he bent down, scooped up a dollop of mud, and flung it straight at Harry’s forehead.
Harry, already covered in mud, saw the goo flying at him, and instead of wasting precious time dodging it, he scooped up a huge handful of mud and tossed it right back at Draco as the mud smacked into his glasses.
Draco ducked behind a tree, the mud whizzing past his ribcage as he twirled. ‘Retreat, retreat!’ Draco thought, panicked.
“No mud in the house!” He shouted, leaping over the fence and taking off towards the door, in the direction of safety. Harry slapped another pound of mud onto his arms and launched himself up off his behind. He set off after Draco.
“Who wants a hug???” Harry called to his laughing husband. Draco's chuckles turned into a kind of wheeze, all the running catching up to the two as they sprinted in the final stretch.
Draco shoved the door open and tumbled onto the mat inside. Harry, who had been on his tail, stumbled over him. With a thud, he landed right onto his husband, and the two lay in a muddy Potter pile with their hearts beating irregularly. Harry rolled onto his side, feet still sticking out into the cold outside the door they hadn’t bothered to close. “How ‘bout a shower?” he said.