Fly Away

That time when I had a dream seems so far away

I feel like crying more than anyone knows

Too clumsy to convey my feelings

I try to pretend to be strong

But if I'm all alone in this world

And love disappears instead of tears

I won't hang my head, I'll fly away

--"Ashita wa Motto," by Mizutani Yuuko

(Translated from Japanese: 'Tomorrow I'll Be...')

Sora's theme song from 'Digimon'

(Past obsession, okay? Past. Keep all snide remarks to yourself. I had Alien Ant Farm at first, just because they rock, and I wanted to steer clear of those typical 'flying' songs (i.e., "Fly" by Sugar Ray [love it and love them and Mark McGrath, but come on] or "Fly With Me" by 98 Degrees [boy bands! Oh no!]), but then the lyrics didn't fit and it just didn't feel right. So here you go. This one completely corresponded to the fic, and the last two words, especially! I swear I had made up the title beforehand.)

* * *

"So, what's the plan for tonight? Up for a game of chess, Harry?" Ron suggested, as they shoved their books and O.W.L. preparatory papers aside. Directly after dinner, Hermione had insisted on a few hours of lessons. Their eyes hurt from so much skimming over and reading, they were cramped and their limbs ached from sitting in the same chairs for so long, and the two boys thought that if they tried to learn anymore, they'd pass out from the effort.

"I'm going to the library," Hermione announced, standing up and scooping her pile of parchment into her arms.

"But we just—" Ron began incredulously, but he shook his head and gave up, so she went off. There was no convincing an overachiever like Hermione Granger to just relax and forget about schoolwork. He turned back to Harry, who looked about a million miles away. "What do you say?"

"Huh?" In a snap, his eyes lost their hazy quality.

"We...play...chess?" he said slowly and emphasizing his words, as if Harry was an infant who didn't understand English.

He shook his head, not even apprehending that Ron was mocking him. "I -- uh... I was thinking of taking my Firebolt for a ride..." He glanced at his friend, looking for permission. "Is it okay?"

Of course it was okay. Ron understood that Harry's desire to fly was so strong because it provided a much-needed escape from the world and its problems -- or his own, rather. Not that he had experienced it before -- flying was fun, but it was just flying, to Ron -- but Harry had told him once what flying really was to him. Soaring through the air left all his worries behind on the ground. No Voldemort restored to full power, no group of malicious Death Eaters, no corrupt Ministry of Magic, no Order of the Phoenix... Just him, and the wind whipping at his face... depending on the time of day, either the sun's warm rays shining down on him, or the majestic view of that black canvas that was the night sky, sprinkled with blurred starbursts ... his trusty broomstick... that rush of adrenaline, the carefree sensation... Who was Ron Weasley to deny his best friend that pleasure?

So he worked a grin onto his face. "Go ahead. I'll find Hermione...knock some sense into her. Studying five hours straight for exams that are months away? Not even a know-it-all should endure that self-torture. One of these days, all that knowledge will build up until her head explodes."

Harry laughed halfheartedly. It was obvious whatever was on his mind was weighting him down very heavily. Normally, he hid his anxieties and troubles so well and so much that Hermione often tried to convince him to just let it out and cry for god's sake (to no avail; he'd refuse her coaxing every time). But now, he felt he just might if he didn't get away. "Okay. See you." He turned to go.

"Later." Ron dropped his false smile once his troubled friend was out of the portrait hole. What on earth was bugging Harry so badly? Had a new problem arisen? Or had old memories resurfaced, and old wounds opened once again?

~

Several minutes later, Harry had just emerged from the broomshed with his Firebolt in hand, when he noticed the Quidditch pitch was not as deserted as he had expected it to be this late at night. When he had first passed by, he was too preoccupied to even see that one person sweeping through the skies. From high above and at top speeds, he could just make out the short bob of raven-black hair and the blue-and-bronze badge and tie. But beforehand, he had instantly recognized the short height and slim figure, and moreover, the graceful turns and loops on a Comet. Precisely the person he didn't want to run into at this moment. Especially when he had just been remembering the end-of-fourth-year catastrophe. Fleeting thoughts of putting his broom back and running to Gryffindor Tower or the library ran through his mind, but then—

She spotted him, of course. Not even the sharp, keen eyes of a Seeker were needed to notice that famous midget in glasses. To his dismay, Cho was making a descent for a landing. He couldn't turn away now, much as he wanted to. Instead of dismounting, however, she hovered a few feet from the ground and leaped off elegantly, Comet Two Sixty in hand. She wasn't being purposefully showy; not that Harry would've been impressed, due to the stunts he had pulled.

"Hello, Harry." She greeted him with a smile.

He grinned weakly back, gripping the handle of his broomstick rather tightly. For once, his palms weren't clammy and sweaty. "Hullo, Cho. What -- what are you doing out here so late?" he asked unsteadily. Funnily enough, it was not the same nerves or knot in his stomach that he was used to having around her. It was more unsettled and uneasy... and he felt he'd rather tell Snape he loved him than face Cho right at the moment.

"Same reason you're here," she replied simply. "To fly... to forget about life's difficulties. Isn't that what Quidditch is all about?"

"Or winning, if you're Oliver Wood," Harry said, hoping to keep this conversation light and along the lines of 'how's the weather?' than that dreaded topic...

She giggled, showing off her dazzling smile again. "That was Roger Davies' philosophy too. 'Get the Snitch—'"

"'—or die trying!" Harry finished simultaneously. They both dissolved into laughter, for no apparent reason... But it felt good to laugh, Harry thought. Pure, genuine mirth... Around Cho, he always felt dizzy: a bit of giddiness mixed in with nausea. And now, for one second, it had disappeared.

Then, the second passed, and their laughter died away. The awkward silence came over them, which they had both expected and feared. Harry cleared his throat and glanced around the stadium, while Cho opened and closed her mouth a few times, saying nothing and staring down at her broom. They stood there, in the middle of the field, with no words between them and no idea what to say to rekindle the conversation.

"So..." Cho said uncomfortably, looking up at him. "You know what I realized?" she said softly.

He caught her eye. "Yeah?"

"We've never really talked before. Only once, I think, when you dropped your quill in the corridors."

He reddened at the memory, remembering how he had whipped around and shouted at her about crying over his dead mum. "Well...twice, really."

Now she reddened too, knowing full well which occasion he was referring to. "Oh... that's right."

And the wave of awkward silence washed over them again. Not only had the embarrassing invitation to the Yule Ball been brought up, but also the memory of Cedric... the one Harry wanted to desperately to avoid. It seemed like their brief talk had already ended.

"Um, Quidditch!" Cho brought up, in a last-ditch attempt to bring the conversation back to life. Since they didn't know each other too well, they were only aware of two things they had in common. One they secretly vowed not to speak of, and the other one, so obviously, was this sport.

"Yeah," Harry said, grateful that Cho was social enough to get out of those long, drawn-out pauses. "Er -- so you're the captain of Ravenclaw now?"

"Co-captain," she confirmed, looking pleased. "And Fawcett's the other."

Harry remembered the name Fawcett; she was the girl who had the unfortunate luck of her rosebush being blasted apart by Snape at the Yule Ball. She hadn't been on the team when he last played Ravenclaw; Cho had been the only girl. "Congratulations. Shame you're not the sole captain."

"I've got the superiority over her, but I'm glad it's not just me," she admitted. "I wouldn't trust judgment and strategic skills. And I don't think I could shout and order people around," she said truthfully.

"Me neither." He looked at for a second. The gentle night breeze ruffled her hair a bit, which framed her rosy face. Her eyes were bright and sparkling, her lips always curled upwards into a slight smile. With that outward appearance, she didn't seem very threatening or bossy. "You seem too nice."

She looked back at him quizzically. "You think so?"

He shrugged. "I guess."

"But you hardly know me," Cho pointed out.

"That's true." Harry felt stupider by the second. Why couldn't he have just kept his assumptions to himself? It was a compliment, really. But he felt everything spiraling into discomfiture.

"And I don't know you either," she said, saving them once again. "I mean, everyone knows the rumors, the Rita Skeeter articles—" Harry's face burned with shame— "but I'm guessing only a few people actually know your true persona."

"That's about right."

At least her assumptions were definitely correct.

Cho looked at him, a little shyly. "I think... I think I'd like to be one of those people."

"You do?" he, not making any effort to mask his surprise.

She nodded. "You know, outside of Quidditch matches, our interaction has been... well... scarce."

'Scarce' was not the direction she had been heading for, it seemed. She was simply too kind to flat-out say that any time she was around him, he'd make a big fool of himself. Splashing water down his front at the World Cup... shouting at her, an innocent bystander, in the halls... stammering a pathetic invitation to the Yule Ball... He wondered why Cho even bothered to talk to him. Maybe she got a kick out of seeing the infamous Harry Potter making a royal fool of himself.

"A bit weird?" Harry corrected.

"Yes."

"Like now?" he ventured.

"A bit," she declared. "I just wanted -- well, I hoped that could be changed."

"Yeah, me too." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm not sure why, but it's always been a little odd between us... But lately... it's been even more, like this huge wall that blocks us. Ever since -- since..." She faltered.

He nodded numbly, but didn't say anything. He happened to know why things had been uncomfortable between them. Unrequited crushes tended to do that. But now, she had spoken of that unspeakable subject, changing the mood dramatically.

Cho looked down, tracing the faded silver lettering on her Comet. "I shouldn't have brought it up..." she said very quietly, with visible traces of sadness.

"N-no," he said hollowly. "It's fine..."

"But it isn't really. Ardently not something to talk about..."

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, broomstick resting across his feet. "But there's no point ignoring it, either," he said, shocking even himself. Why had he said that, even if it was the truth? That was the last thing on earth he had wanted to talk about... Well, that and the Quidditch practice where Cho walked by and he smashed headlong into a goalpost from staring at her.

She sighed, warm breath creating a cloud of mist in the icy, frigid air. "It's cold," she said unexpectedly. "And late. You came here to fly, and I've only held you back... I should probably get back to the Ravenclaw common room before Flitwick realizes I'm out..." (I can't remember who's the Head of House for Ravenclaw, but let's just say it's him.)

"Right." He bent down to pick up his broom.

"It's true, though," Cho said abruptly, and Harry stood back up, dropping his broom again. "What you said about how there's no skirting around the issue. We can't. I knew this was inevitable. We should just get it out of the way now."

"If you want," he responded.

She glanced into his emerald eyes, deep with emotions of anxiety, misery, and more generally unhappy ones. Then there was that dark, haunted attribute that his eyes always seem to have, possibly as another scar from his tormented childhood. It only seemed to worsen as years went on and he experienced more incredible pain. "I never thought it was your fault," she whispered.

His breath caught in his throat, although his eyes refused to sting from it anymore. Shedding tears wasn't always a sign of weakness, he knew, but it just wasn't productive. Plain pointless, as he'd learned from growing up with the insensitive Dursleys. "But it is," he said wearily, his voice croaky.

"No."

"Look, you don't know what happened. No one does." His gaze was cast downwards once again.

Cho seemed adamant on not just letting this slide without an explanation. "So tell me," she urged, her expression firm.

His eyes widened, but for her sake, he relented. As Cedric's girlfriend, she had a right to know. "Okay," he began, all too familiar with sharing tales he'd rather keep to himself. "He and I helped each other quite a few times during the Tournament and Third Task. We reached the Cup at the same time, I guess you could say. He said I should take it, but I knew he deserved it. We were both stubborn... until we agreed we should both get it, as a dual victory for Hogwarts. Then things went wrong the instant we touched it. The Cup was a Portkey, and it transported us to a graveyard. Vol— You-Know-Who's servant came out, holding a wand, and he... he..."

A few drops had trickled from Cho's shining eyes. "In no way did you show fault. You were being fair. Neither of you had any idea what faced you."

"So I've heard," he said listlessly. "But that doesn't erase the guilt..."

"Don't feel guilty." She looked up at him, more tears sliding down her cheeks and dropping onto her robes. "No one holds you accountable."

"No one else was there!" he burst out uncontrollably, his voice full of anguish. Damn himself for being so emotive. This was just another action to add to the list of things he wanted to steer clear of... but did anyway: being a big, fat crybaby. "So they have no idea..."

"If I know Cedric -- and I do -- he wouldn't blame you."

His reaction was similar to his past ones when someone told him what his parents would or wouldn't have done, as if they were still alive. "But we don't know that for sure, as he's dead, thanks to me." He finally said the words. Before he'd just make some gesture or trail away until his point was made across, without having to let the words leave his lips. Cedric... dead. It hurt, burned a part in his chest.

"Stop it, Harry!" Cho screamed, out of the blue. It echoed throughout the empty stadium. If owls or other birds had been perched anywhere close by, they would have taken off in flight. She lowered her volume drastically. "Stop this blame. It's only self-pity... and I was under the impression that Harry Potter, the real Harry Potter never felt pity for himself."

"Yes, so would that make me the fake Harry Potter?" he said mordantly. "You said it yourself, Cho. You don't know me."

"Everyone in the wizarding world knows your history, and that's certainly enough to gather that you're not a coward. You shouldn't act like one." Now her voice contained traces of malice.

"I'll act like Moaning Myrtle and spend my life and death crying on a toilet if I please." It was meant to be a retort, but it sounded much more authoritive in his head. (Not sure if 'authoritive' is a real word... but you get the point.)

"Well, I'm glad I didn't say you were too nice. I would've been wrong." She glared, and he perceived that all the sweetness had vanished from her dark eyes. Months after the incident, right then was the moment it really struck Harry how irrational he was being. Cho was right... through all his despair, he'd never pity himself.

As his anger melted away, his spirits sank along with it. "Everyone says I shouldn't blame myself," he muttered. "But can you imagine how hard it is? I saw the look on his face a second before the curse hit. I carried his body -- his corpse -- back to the Portkey. When I got back to Hogwarts, everyone thought I did it... and so eventually, I did too. Until that was reality. I, and I alone, was responsible for his death."

"But you weren't at all." She wiped her tear-soaked eyes with the back of her hand. "I told you I never believed you did it. Harry, I may not know you well, but I know some things that you aren't. You're not a murderer. You're a good person, you really are, and you don't deserve any of the tragedies that have befallen you. Hardly anything that happens to you is some consequence to your actions -- hardly. But with the Goblet of Fire, I was positive you had no idea. I didn't wear that silly badge. As far as I was concerned, this was no reward to you, and the Tasks were enough for you to worry about. But you completed them so well. It's true, you really are a great wizard, Harry."

He grinned slightly, thoughts racing back to that day when he, Ron, and Hermione had gone after the Sorcerer's Stone in first year. In the final chamber before the one with Quirrell and Voldemort, another grief-stricken witch had uttered those very words. "Hermione told me that before."

"Hermione?" she said thoughtfully. "Hermione Granger? Was she the girl who—?"

"Thinking of Rita Skeeter?" Harry guessed.

She nodded timidly. "I'm supposing those articles weren't true either?"

"Hermione's not my girlfriend," he told her. Which would make it the one-billionth time he had said that statement. "People just thought so because she's the only girl I'm friends with. But she had Krum... though I'm sure she and Ron..." Though this brought a grin to his face, he let his words trail off, knowing that Cho could care less about his best friends' love lives. "Anyway, I never had feelings for her that way. I -- well..." His face went crimson. Dreaded topic number two: his real crush.

Cho fidgeted, and her cheeks were pink also. How would she get them out of this fix? She didn't, however. To Harry's dismay, she continued on the topic. "I know this was practically ages ago... a full year, almost... but about the Yule Ball. I'm really sorry."

"You don't have to be," he said, trying to seem indifferent.

"Oh, I know, but I just..."

"It's over," he cut her off. "Don't worry about it." He shuffled his feet, kept his hands buried in his pockets, and wished she would just drop it and change the subject already.

"Well... just so you know, I would've said yes if I hadn't already agreed to go with..." Her voice got progressively fainter as she informed him of this news.

"Er -- thanks... I guess." He knew it had meant to reassure him, but it only made him feel dumber. Why did he wait so long? If only he had beat Cedric to it... But how could he feel bitter towards Cedric now?

The blush still hadn't left her cheeks. "There's a Hogsmeade trip this weekend, you know..."

"Yeah?" he said, a trifle perplexed.

"I was just thinking that if you didn't have any plans... you'd like to come with me?" she asked hesitantly.

"With you?" Alone?

"Sure... just to learn more about each other, as it would probably be best... unless you'd prefer not to... or you're going with someone else?"

It was astonishing to see Cho actually disconcerted like this. Perhaps this was why he just looked at her in disbelief for so long, which she took as a sign that he was refusing. But he wasn't. "No, I'm not going with anyone. Just Ron and Hermione, like I usually do... but I'm sure they'd appreciate the privacy. So... I'd like that. Going with you, I mean." Mentally, he slapped himself. Real smooth, Harry. Why was he so inept when it came to speaking with girls?

She smiled. "Okay. Um, it's getting late. Maybe I should go back to the castle now..."

He nodded. "You should; it's past curfew."

She put her Comet into the shed and came back to him. "Well... goodnight."

"Goodnight, Cho." Just when she had already turned to leave, he called out, "I'll see you on Saturday?" It was more to confirm that he wasn't dreaming.

"Maybe even before then," she answered. "I come out here to fly just about every night. We might run into each other again."

"Yeah..."

"So... bye." And she walked away, long robes swishing behind her.

Harry watched her retreating figure for a while, all thoughts of flying gone from his mind. He had come out here to forget about Voldemort and Cedric and all thoughts concerning the Third Task... but instead, he was forced to remember. And it hurt, as it should, but things had gotten a little better. For the first time, he had spoken to Cho -- really talked, about everything they'd wanted to steer clear of. On Saturday, with all the seriousness out of the way, they could talk casually and get to know one another's personalities more. It wasn't exactly a date... and when he thought about it, that was actually a good thing. No need to complicate things further. Only patch it all up.

As he checked the luminescent face of his watch, he figured he should probably get back to Gryffindor Tower before Filch caught him out here or roaming the castle so late. Best not to get a detention, or he'd risk losing his Hogsmeade privilege. He surely didn't want that. His eyes fell onto his Firebolt, a few inches from his feet. Maybe some other time. He picked it up and stored it in the shed, not feeling like he had missed out on anything at all. And he'd definitely be back tomorrow.

During his walk back to the castle, he reflected on the night's events one more time. It had been awkward since their greetings and lasted all through the time until they said their farewells. It would probably be a while before they were more comfortable in one another's presence. But they would try.

Since the library was closed at these hours, he headed straight to the common room. He spotted Ron and Hermione instantly, sitting side by side at a table in the back. All textbooks had been cleared to the side, Harry noted with amusement, and they were building impressive edifices and turrets with Exploding Snap cards. It might have held more educational value than Ron had expected, since he looked a bit exasperated, but grinning nonetheless. Hermione must have been pointing out all the architectural structures and their rich histories that dated back to archaic eras.

"And if I put this one on top... it'll be a perfect imitation of an Ionic pillar, invented by the ancient Greeks—" Just as she added a card to a tall, straight column, the whole structure and all the ones surrounding it suddenly blew up. She shrieked and fell back into Ron, who sputtered and looked stunned... before they calmed down and took a look at each other's blackened faces. They burst into hysterical laughter. Harry chuckled and snuck towards the boys' staircase, deciding to leave them to it... but Ron looked up and saw him.

"Oh, Harry! You alright, mate?"

This time, as he nodded, the grin on his face was sincere.

"Have a good time flying?" Hermione asked, her bushy hair standing on end like she had been electrocuted.

"I didn't," he answered honestly. "Didn't have time... and by then, I didn't need to anyway."

They eyed him interestedly.

"I ran into someone..." he stated vaguely. "We just talked."

"Who—?" Ron started to ask, but Harry was still going.

"And I can't go to Hogsmeade with you this weekend... but I'm sure you won't mind." He winked.

Luckily, they couldn't even tell they were blushing underneath all the ashes. Then Hermione looked back at Harry slyly.

"Was it Cho?"

He just smiled impassively, not saying a word.

She and Ron looked at each other knowingly.

And Harry went up to bed, looking forward to Saturday... and he found himself anticipating tomorrow night just as much. What did it hold? A possible chance to see Cho... and the opportunity, for the first time in a long while, to fly on his Firebolt, without any worries to leave behind.