Black Sheep

Chapter Fifteen
In Which There Is Flying

IGNORING HARRY, WHO WAS STILL frozen in front of the door, Draco pushed his way around the other man and strode after Hermione. After a moment's hesitation, Harry followed as well. They took the seats that Hermione gestured to, between her and Hagrid, at one end of the long High Table. Once seated, Draco critically examined the china and the silver, while Harry looked out at the sea of young faces, every one of which seemed to be staring directly back at him. When he had been a student, he'd never thought about how awkward it could feel to sit and eat in front of several hundred students. He felt overexposed and he ducked his head toward Malfoy and muttered, "I think I've lost my appetite."

"Stop being dramatic," Draco told him sternly. But then he smirked and ruined the picture of being a proper grown-up. He glanced down the table and saw most of the staff looking in their direction as well. He elbowed Harry and whispered, "Your new girlfriend is looking this way."

Harry shushed him just as McGonagall stood up and called for attention. Other than her hair now being more decidedly white than the salt-and-pepper Harry remembered, she hadn't changed dramatically over the past six years. Her clipped Scots accent and commanding tones certainly hadn't changed, as she addressed her students. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I apologise for the delay to your meal, but I wished to quickly introduce two visitors who you will be seeing around the castle - and may have already." She turned to the two young men and Harry met her eyes for the first time. He was relieved to see the hint of a smile ease her stern expression and he was sure it showed on his face as well, because that hint grew as she introduced him in a warm tone. "It's my pleasure to introduce to you one of my former students, formerly of Gryffindor house, Mr Harry Potter."

There was a momentary whispered frenzy, which seemed to be mostly choruses of, 'I told you so!' Then someone began to applaud and it grew to a thundering wave of noise. Harry stared at the crowd, slightly wide-eyed, but nodded in acknowledgement.

As the room began to quiet, McGonagall continued, "Along with Mr Potter, we have Mr Draco Malfoy, another former student, from Slytherin house." This time there was an even longer pause for whispers, as students spread gossip about just who the good-looking blond was. Draco raised his glass to the students and winked saucily, causing scattered laughter and hesitant applause, though it didn't even begin to compare to the ovation that Harry had received.

"Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy will be staying here at the castle for a time as guests. Please treat them with the same respect that you would any of your professors." With that, she resumed her seat and immediately food appeared on all the tables.

As the attention turned away from them and onto the food, Draco complained to Harry, "Why did she have to make it sound like I was accompanying you? When really you are the one who followed me here."

Harry turned his attention towards the blond, happy to ignore the crowd in front of them. Although they'd only been re-acquainted for a week or so, Malfoy was still a remnant of his 'normal' life and was less intimidating to Harry than the wizards and witches surrounding him. "Get over yourself, Malfoy," Harry said with happy nastiness, as he began to cut into his roast beef.

"I will not," Malfoy retorted hotly. "My family used to inspire fear and hatred everywhere we went. I will not be your sidekick." He shook his head in disgust. "How the hell did a Potter become more well-known than a Malfoy? Other than that saving-the-world thing."

"Well," Harry pointed out, around a mouthful of mashed potato, "winking at the students probably isn't helping 'inspire fear and hatred.'"

Draco frowned at him. "Well, if I can't be famous for scaring the snot out of them, at least I'll be famous for being more charming and better-looking than you, scarface."

Harry automatically shook his head, ensuring that his long fringe still covered his scar. Hermione had overheard much of their conversation and was still completely baffled by the rapport the two of them seemed to share, but she didn't want to ask anything now, not in front of everyone. Hermione knew her questions would have to wait until after dinner, and she stabbed at a Brussels sprout in frustration, impaling it on her fork.




Dinner lasted nearly an hour, but finally Hermione was able to rush her two guests away without any of them getting trapped in conversation with the rest of the staff. They ended up in an unfamiliar - to Harry and Draco anyway - section of the castle, where all the professors had their rooms, and Hermione closeted them away in the unused set of rooms meant for the history professor.

Although the empty rooms had already fallen into disuse during Binns' long years of lecturing about goblin rebellions, they were now empty for a different reason. Binns had disappeared when Dumbledore had and no one knew if the ghost had simply moved on to a new haunting place or moved on to the everafter. As the new Headmistress, McGonagall had found herself in need of a history expert and she'd had the rooms fixed up again for what should have been the new history lecturer, but it had turned out to be a futile move.

The first applicant had been an inexperienced young thing and had barely lasted two months. At first, the students weren't intentionally trying to run their teachers out. It was simply that all the years with Binns had left them quite used to sleeping, eating and chatting during lectures, altogether paying no regard to the professor attempting to run the class. But after they had got rid of one professor, it became a sort of game - to scare off history professors. Currently (and unsurprisingly) Slytherin was in the lead, having had four professors walk out either during or immediately after one of their classes. Gryffindor came second, having run out three professors, and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were only responsible for one each.

The latest hire had only made it a week, as the students were now quite expert at their torture. It was only the second week of school and already history lectures had been put on hiatus, until McGonagall could find another teacher to try for the position. It was her greatest shame as Headmistress, but the students were not intimidated by any punishment she had meted out and they all acted perfectly fine in their other classes. Only History of Magic had been singled out for their antics. At any rate, it left a conveniently empty set of rooms for them to use, for however long it might take McGonagall to find another candidate for the position.

For now, Harry was perched on a rather stiff settee in the small sitting room, Hermione across the room at the old-fashioned writing desk. She had a sheaf of fresh parchment in front of her, and a quill in hand. Draco was squatting on his haunches in front of the fire, a bottle of wine in one hand which he had managed to take away from the High Table without her noticing. He took a swig from it, watching the flames.

"So-o," Hermione said yet again, "here's where we're at. The press has already heard that you're back at Hogwarts and that you are with Draco Malfoy. They are going to want some sort of explanation for where you've been for the past five years since Voldemort's fall. They'll surely be making up rumours about how you might be involved with Malfoy. And they will probably redouble their efforts to find out where you regularly live, so that they can set up a constant Potter-watch and report on every detail of your life, as if anyone cares."

She tapped the end of her quill against her chin thoughtfully. "So let's start with an explanation of what you're doing back here. I don't imagine you'll want to admit to doing research and that's why I asked McGonagall not to say anything about it. If the students realise that's what you are doing, it'll only be a matter of time before the Prophet reporters start bribing them for information. And I don't imagine Malfoy wants the Prophet to reveal just what it is that you're researching."

"Not particularly," Draco agreed, spinning the wine bottle on its base, his fingers wrapped loosely around its neck. "But I would be surprised if we manage to hide it for long. The Ravenclaws or Slytherins will probably begin to notice that we're always in the restricted section and they'll be sure to get curious."

Hermione nodded. "That's true, but you'll only be in the restricted section for another several days, I would guess. After that we'll move to the vault." Draco and Harry were both looking at her in surprise and she asked blandly, "Well, don't you think you'll be done going through the restricted section with a couple more days' work?"

Harry looked toward Draco and the blond slowly nodded. "Yes, easily. There's not much there that I haven't read in my own library. What's this about a vault, though?"

Hermione smiled, clearly enjoying holding the secrets for once. "You surely didn't think that we would put all of our most dangerous and valuable books out where any student could sneak into the restricted section and read them? No, most of Hogwarts' real library is hidden from public eyes."

"Well," Draco said, nonplussed, "that does make it easier to hide what we're doing, I suppose. But then what is our reason for coming out of hiding and showing up in the middle of Hogwarts bloody School of bleeding Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

They both turned their eyes on Harry, who had his mouth clamped shut. He shrugged and finally suggested, "Can't we just be visiting friends?"

Resisting the urge to make a snide comment about the possibility of Malfoy having friends, Hermione pulled a face and switched tactics. "Well, why don't we come up with your explanation for Malfoy?"

Choking on the wine he'd been in the process of pouring down his throat, Draco said sharply, "You know, I'd really appreciate it if people would stop describing me as some sort of luggage that Potter just brought along with him. He followed me here. Him."

"Well, then, would you like to make a statement about why you're here at Hogwarts, Malfoy?" Hermione asked in a similarly sharp voice.

"I don't care." He waffled for a moment, then suggested, "I could be visiting family. I'm guaranteed to be related to at least one of the little rotters, with all the ties my family has. For god's sake, I'm even related to the Weasleys if you go back a couple of generations."

Harry laughed at him. Draco frowned. "Shut up, Potter. They're your friends."

Hermione shook her head in frustration. "Why don't you both just shut up, if you're not going to be helpful? We still don't have an explanation for what you're doing together. And I honestly can't think of one either."

Harry and Draco shared a quick smirk and Hermione wailed, "I swear you two are doing this on purpose!"

Draco grinned and took another drink. "How about this? 'Draco Malfoy has come to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry after an invitation from tasty Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, to be her personal paramour. Malfoy is accompanied by his admirer, Harry Potter, who first became enamoured with Malfoy when he (Potter) saw the former Death Eater shirtless in the 2003 'Dashing Dark Wizards' pin-up calendar. The two will stay at the castle and ask that their privacy be respected, though they are open to invitations for naughty photo-shoots.'"

Harry was shaking with silent laughter and Draco snorted into his wine bottle, causing himself to choke. Hermione asked incredulously, "Are you drunk, Malfoy?"

"When is he not?" Harry quipped.

"Wait - are you drunk, Harry?"

Harry looked suspiciously at Malfoy, who shrugged and said, "I couldn't do anything to you here. If you drank too much, it's your own fault."

Harry retorted, "Well, I seem to recall someone making sure my wineglass was always full."

"And yet you kept drinking from it, necessitating me to keep filling it."

Hermione had begun to ignore them and started scribbling on her parchment. She interrupted their half-hearted squabbling a minute later to ask, "All right, then how about this? 'Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are visiting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to see friends and family. They ask that their privacy be respected.'"

Silence stretched for a long moment and the fire crackled. Draco asked disbelievingly, "And we had to have a meeting for this?"

Harry had to nod vigourously in shared sentiment and Hermione snapped, "Well, you two haven't given me anything more to work with! I don't know what you're doing here together, where you've been for the last five years or how to explain your suddenly appearing back in public!"

Draco sighed dramatically. "Fine then. 'Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter have come to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry after one of Malfoy's cunning plans went awry. Malfoy and Potter have been in constant contact since they were involved in a traffic accident together earlier this year. Malfoy came to Hogwarts pursuing personal research interests and was selfishly followed by Potter, who blew his own cover and created a tabloid frenzy. Currently Malfoy is considering drowning himself in the lake to get away from the endless annoyance of Gryffindors. Meanwhile, Potter is trying to get a date with the Divination professor.'" Hermione was staring at him and he shrugged. "At least it would be true."

"No, no, no, it wouldn't," Harry protested. "You are trying to make me date the Divination professor. I am not trying to do anything!"

Hermione ignored this for the moment and focused on the details. "You said this morning something about Malfoy helping to get the final horcrux, right? Then how about, 'Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy have returned to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for a visit, after six years away. Malfoy came to Hogwarts to pursue personal interests and was accompanied by former classmate Potter. Potter and Malfoy worked together during the war and have remained on amicable terms since that time. They ask that their privacy be respected by both the press and public. At this time they are not interested in any interviews and would like to state for the record that any details not included in this official statement are to be considered no more than hearsay and fiction.'"

Draco pouted. "Not entirely accurate and I liked my first version better. But I suppose it'll do. Terribly dry, though."

Hermione looked towards Harry questioningly. His eyes fell to the ground. "S'all right, I suppose," he mumbled, still clearly wishing that he didn't have to say anything at all.

Hermione eased up a bit, though she also wanted to shake her old friend for acting like such a child. "Harry," she reminded him yet again, "you know that this is for the best. We can't memory charm the entire population. They know that you're here now and so the best that we can do is try to prevent any more gossip."

Harry nodded again, but less sulkily this time. His drunken humour seemed to be fading and now he just looked tired. With his face pale and serious, underneath his messy dark hair, Hermione could see the boy that she'd been best friends with for all her school years. She'd begun to worry that that boy was gone.

Smiling privately, she turned back to the parchment and quickly wrote out the statement. She tapped it with her wand and, like ink soaking through paper, the Hogwarts seal appeared across the top of it in embossed, purple ink. She waved the two men over and, handing the quill to Harry first, told them each to sign their names at the bottom. Harry held the quill awkwardly and carefully scratched out his name. He handed the quill to Draco, who didn't hesitate to scrawl his signature across the page, large, elegant and full of superfluous flourishes.

"Right then," Hermione said, in a matter-of-fact tone. She tapped the parchment again and it glowed briefly, the two signatures taking on a silvery sheen. "Now no one will be able to alter what it says or deny that you two have approved it." She rolled the parchment into a scroll and clutched it tightly. "I'll have it owled to the Prophet tonight. That way they shouldn't be able to run any garbage in the morning paper. Hopefully."

Harry nodded, chewing on the inside of his lip again. He sighed tiredly and Hermione noticed immediately. She said gently, "Do you want to call it a night, Harry? It has been quite the eventful day. And we can talk more tomorrow - I'll only have my two NEWT classes so I should be around more."

The truth was that Harry didn't think that he wanted to talk more - tomorrow or any time. He rather wanted to apparate right back to his own little house and his own bed and forget about this entire day. But being left alone to sleep might be the closest he could come to that. He smiled gratefully, though it looked a bit forced, and said, "Thanks, Hermione. It's been..." He broke off, realising it would be hurtful to say 'a nightmare of a day.' He sighed again. "You're right, I'm tired."

Hermione picked up the remaining parchment and stood up to go. "Is Malfoy staying here as well, then?"

The blond shrugged and Harry rolled his eyes. "That means 'yes,'" he interpreted for Hermione. "Or I think it does." He looked at Draco suspiciously and Draco gave him back a wicked and completely untrustworthy grin.

"And I don't have to worry about the two of you trying to kill each other, sharing a set of rooms?"

Harry solemnly shook his head. Silently laughing again, Draco drunkenly imitated him. Hermione paused at the door, one hand on the handle but still turned towards the two men. Looking at Harry, she saw past the image she still held of him as a seventeen-year-old and stared at the twenty-three-year-old man sitting in front of her. He wore no glasses and his brilliant green eyes had grown narrower, shadowed by his sooty black eyelashes, as if he was looking at everything suspiciously. His face was squarer than she remembered, and already shaded with stubble, making him look a bit wild. Especially together which his hair, which had grown quite long and hung past his thick eyebrows, completely covering his old scar and waving about his tanned face, long enough to curl slightly at the nape of his neck. She shook her head and said quietly, "I don't know you at all, do I? I might have walked by you on the street."

Harry didn't smile this time. He continued to look back seriously into her eyes but he couldn't offer her any pretty words to console her. Instead it was Draco who piped up, still nursing his wine bottle. "Don't worry, Granger. I can assure you that he's still the same prudish Gryffindor underneath it all. You should have seen how embarrassed he was the first time he saw me naked."

The serious moment was broken and Harry lurched toward Draco to beat some sense into him. Hermione watched the two of them for a moment longer, then said, "We'll figure more out tomorrow. Good night... you two."

The two men desisted in their rough-housing long enough to gravely watch her go. After the door shut, Draco whispered, "Did you hear that?" He looked towards Harry. "Ooh, you've really gone and cocked things up."

"Me?" Harry spluttered, "What did I do?"

"Didn't you hear what she said?" Draco looked at him with wide grey eyes. He imitated Hermione's sad tones, "'Good night... you two.'"

Harry continued to look at him expectantly and Draco pointed out in obvious sort of tone, "She lumped you together with me. Like you're a stranger to her, too."

Looking down at the floor, Harry chewed on the inside of his lip. He wasn't sure if he felt sad or relieved to hear Draco's theory. Draco himself was apparently already bored with ex-Gryffindor inter-relationships and he started exploring the rooms, still clutching his wine bottle, now nearly empty.

He opened the door at the far end of the room and found the bedroom, which featured most prominently a large (though not as large as Draco's) bed, which looked like heaven after the bizarre day it had been. He called back to Harry, "I've found my room. Have a nice night on the couch."

This was enough to at least to get Harry out of his funk and up on his feet. He followed Draco to the bedroom door and peeked inside, seeing the bed and immediately protesting, "Oh, fuck no. I will hex you from here to Sunday. You can't take me, Malfoy."

Draco wasn't very worried and he opened another door in the bedroom to step into the bathroom. "Ooh, or I may just live in here." This sent Harry scurrying to the bathroom next and even he managed an impressed whistle. It wasn't as extravagant as the Prefects' bathroom in the third floor corridor, but for just one professor, the five-foot square jacuzzi-style bath seemed more than enough. Draco immediately knelt next to the bathtub and turned one of the taps. It started a torrent of clear water that seemed to sparkle - and not in any usual way, but as if it actually contained little glowing particles of something - and splashed and tinkled in a way that was more musical than regular water had the right to be.

As the water slowly filled the huge bath, Draco stood up and pulled his shirt over his head. He looked at it in his hands for a moment and then reminded Harry, "We're going to need some more clothing, aren't we?"

Harry looked up from the sparkling water and realised belatedly that Malfoy had begun to lose his clothes. He nodded mutely. Draco said, "Remind me and I'll have Merry bring some from the Manor in the morning. I don't want to see his ugly face tonight though. That's all I need after a day like this."

"Right," Harry said distractedly. He backed out of the room and went back out to look around the bedroom again. It was relatively empty, but for the large bed and an elaborately carved wardrobe. There were two small spindly tables, one on either side of the bed and each holding a small magical lamp. Harry threw himself on the bed.

He listened to Draco splashing around in the bath and thought about the day. He really wanted to go home. Suddenly boring days spent cleaning his house and watching television were sounding mighty fine and the strange thrill of following Malfoy in his adventures had turned around to sting him in the arse.

Harry stared unseeingly at the ceiling until Draco came back into the bedroom and said, "Oi, budge over, you wanker."

Harry obligingly scooted towards one side of the bed then glanced in Draco's direction to find him standing in the doorway, towelling his hair dry, and wearing not a stitch of clothing.

"Oh, no," Harry said quickly, "you'd better not be thinking that you'll be sleeping in this bed like that."

"I don't like to sleep in clothing," Draco protested.

"And I don't like to sleep with naked men in my bed!" Harry threw back immediately.

Draco wanted to ask if the Gryffindor was speaking from first-hand experience but he decided sleep was worth more than the fun of needling Harry Potter. He threw back the duvet and sat on the edge of the bed, presenting Harry with an extremely white backside, then said, "Well, then, you'd better be sure to stay on your side of the bed."

He made to lay down and Harry nearly pleaded, "Can't you at least put some pants on?"

"But my clothes are in the bathroom," Draco whined with utmost self-centred laziness.

"Pants, Malfoy!" Harry screeched, a bit hysterically. Slightly worried that he might draw a wand soon, Draco reluctantly got up and shuffled back to the bathroom, pulling his black briefs from the pile of neatly folded clothes he'd left for the house elves to clean. He carried them with him back into the bedroom, twirling the small piece of fabric from his finger, then made a point of putting them on exaggeratedly, before collapsing back onto the bed.

Harry had made a point of ignoring him, but he kicked off his own shoes and then peeled off his socks, on the far side of the bed. Leaving his t-shirt on, he at last took off his jeans and threw them in a pile on the floor. Stripped down to his faded t-shirt and worn, soft boxers, he crawled under the duvet himself.

He said softly, "Nox," guessing correctly that it would douse the lights in the room. Lying in the dark and listening to Malfoy's slow, steady breathing, Harry realised that he hadn't for a moment questioned sharing a bed with the blond. In the best of his school days, he wouldn't have hesitated to share a bed with Ron or their Gryffindor mates, if the need arose. But he probably still would have been a bit embarrassed about it - even without any of his Gryffindor friends prancing about naked.

He stared up into the darkness, counting his breaths unconsciously. He rolled over on his side, careful to leave the couple of feet of distance between himself and Malfoy. After less than a minute he rolled back onto his back. He started counting Malfoy's breaths instead.

Harry's happy buzz from the wine at dinner was now completely gone. He wondered about what the papers might say tomorrow. About what the professors at Hogwarts might ask him. About what the students would do if they ever worked up the courage to approach him. About the owls that might start arriving the next day.

Hadn't he left his oven on? Or forgot to lock the door when he left? Wasn't there any excuse for him to go home, even though he'd said that he would do something with his life and said that he'd help Malfoy with what had happened to him?

The familiar soft voice cut through the darkness. "Can't sleep?"

He rolled over and his eyes had adjusted enough to make out the rough shape of Malfoy lying on his side, facing him. "Looks unlikely," he said flatly.

"Want to do something about it?"

Harry couldn't see the blond's face in the dark but he heard a hint of a smirk in that voice which made him say suspiciously, "If you're going to suggest drinking ourselves into a stupor-"

There was a short burst of breathy laughter that shook the mattress beneath Harry. Draco chided him, "I was only going to suggest a walk. Work out some of that excess energy."

Lying on his back, Harry made a decision. Within five minutes, they had both stumbled back into their Muggle clothing and left the dark history rooms for the empty corridors of the castle. Without a word, they headed to the entrance hall and then outside, as if they both felt the need to get the hell out of the magical castle.

Walking alongside the lake in the dark, they didn't say much. Draco only tried to shove Harry into the black water once. But for the most part, they strolled on in silence, listening to the waves lapping the shore and the rustling of grass around their feet. When they had made it half-way around the huge lake, Harry paused and looked across to the quidditch pitch to their right. He looked at Draco questioningly and the other man shrugged. Harry took that as tacit agreement and started off towards the pitch, Malfoy trailing behind him.

They slipped past the stands where the crowds of students usually sat and onto the wide field itself. Though the season hadn't even started yet, the grass on the pitch was kept shortly clipped and well groomed. Their footsteps were soft thuds that echoed across the dark, empty space. Finally they stood at the very middle of the pitch-black field, where so many rival captains had stood to shake hands, briefly touching for that necessary moment.

Harry slowly exhaled, remembering standing here as a boy, glaring across at a scrawny blond with his flash new broomstick. After all this time, it was the matches with Malfoy that remained in his memories. Never had Harry felt more determined or passionate about the game than when he had faced Draco smirking at him from atop a broomstick.

"Wanna fly?" he asked suddenly in the hushed night air.

Draco replied naturally, as if they'd been in the middle of a conversation, "Love to, but I don't think I can."

"Why not-" Harry started, then broke off. "Oh, you mean, because..."

Draco nodded and pointed out softly, "Broomsticks won't respond to Muggles."

Harry asked, "Have you never tried? Since then?"

Draco shook his head. "I never wanted to know for sure."

They lapsed back into silence and Harry felt a little spurt of guilt about bringing the subject up. But then Draco spoke up again, saying, "Let's try, shall we."

Harry glanced at him and then began to grin. He jogged across the field and under the stands to the broom shed. A quick spell unlocked the door and he stepped inside, surrounded by the familiar smell of broom-polish. Quickly selecting two of the newest-looking brooms, he tucked them under his arm and headed back out onto the field.

Another quick wave of his wand brought the field lights to sudden life and immediately it was brighter than day on the field. As Harry approached him, Draco asked mildly, "Don't you think someone will notice?"

"At this time of night?" Harry scoffed. "Besides, what will they do? Kick us out of Hogwarts? Like that's any threat."

Draco made a funny doubtful face and then Harry shoved a broom into his hands. Looking down at the carefully shaped and polished wood in his hands, Draco felt a buzz of adrenaline. But he felt no buzz of magic. Smiling grimly, he let the broomstick fall to the ground and then, with one hand held above it, he commanded, "Up."

The stick didn't even roll over or give a shudder. Neville Longbottom could have got a better reaction from it. Draco shrugged and squashed down a small prickling pain. "Guess that's it, then." He looked at Harry calmly. "Go on. I'll stay down here and watch."

Harry frowned and looked down at the broomstick in his own hands. He threw one leg over it and then did something strange. He slid forward on the broom, sitting higher than anyone usually would, and said, "Get on."

Draco blinked. "Are you suggesting-" he said, laughing, "-that I ride on a broomstick with you?"

"That's what I'm telling you to do, yes."

Draco goggled a bit. No one rode two to a broomstick, except perhaps small children. He looked very doubtfully at Harry hovering there, his toes barely skimming the ground, and the dark-haired man taunted him, "Come on, Malfoy. I'll finally show you how you're supposed to fly."

Draco stepped closer, putting one hand on the gently vibrating broom. "I'm quite sure that this is not how you're supposed to fly," he said dryly. But the broomstick didn't immediately drop to the ground when he touched it and so, taking a deep breath, he straddled the broom behind Harry, his hands on the other man's shoulders.

They hovered for a tense moment, and then Harry softly kicked off against the ground with the toes of his trainers and they shot into the air. Draco quickly had to grab onto the other man more securely, or risk falling off the broomstick. Then, with his arms wrapped around Harry's waist and his fingers digging into his bony ribs, Draco rode with Harry into the night sky.

They spiralled upwards, quickly picking up speed high above the pitch, hurtling toward the field of cold stars above them. Draco's feet were wrapped around the broom's tail, but the whole front of his body was pressed against Harry's warm, hard body, his knees clamped around the other man's hips. Harry was in complete control of the broom and Draco had no control over where or how they were going, simply having to trust in Harry's instincts.

He'd seen Harry fly hundreds of times - at quidditch matches, at practices, when they'd first learnt together in first year. He'd always been able to tell that there was something different about the way Harry flew, but now that he was actually experiencing it, he felt like he understood something. Harry flew like something wild and free: flitting through the air, changing direction on a whim, throwing himself into dives and loops just for the feel of it. It was reckless and stupid and not at all suited for a choreographed team-sport like quidditch. But for a solitary position, like a Seeker, it made Harry brilliant.

Draco had always flown with perfect control and grace. He'd been taught to fly, like everything else, by the best tutors when he'd been young. It had never been about enjoyment, but about technique. It was only after he'd come to Hogwarts, after he'd flown against Harry Potter, that he'd begun to realise that there was more to flying than just showing off perfect technique and being admired: there was also flying for the sake of flying.

Now, as he grew accustomed to his position behind Harry, he almost unconsciously manipulated their path with the pressure of his feet against the broom's tail. He felt Harry start and he began to grin. He could still do it. He spoke directly in Harry's ear, into the whistling wind, "You wanted to show me how you're supposed to fly?"

His hands loosened their hold on Harry's waist and snaked forward to grasp the broomstick's handle just below Harry's own hands. His arms locked around the other man, he took control of the broom. He felt Harry relax his grip and they drifted without aim for a moment, sinking downwards. Then Draco leaned sharply to the right, taking Harry with him, and they hurtled into a perfectly controlled dive, aiming straight down to the pitch. As the ground loomed up in front of them, growing ever closer and larger, Harry called out, "Uh, Malfoy, are you sure you can-" He didn't even get to finish his statement before Draco forced them to go even faster, torpedoing towards the ground like a falling star. "MALFOY!" Harry shrieked, quite sure that they were about to be broken into so many pieces that even the mediwitches at St Mungo's wouldn't be able to put them back together. The ground was so close that he could see the individual blades of grass. The tip of the broom was about to plunge into the dirt. It was the end. "MALFOY!"

Draco pulled them up and they were suddenly rocketing across the pitch, parallel to the earth and only inches above the grass. They were travelling so fast that just the grass left a stinging pain through their jeans, where their legs skimmed over it. Draco sent the broom into a lazy roll, still so close to the ground that their hair brushed against the grass. It wasn't instinct like it was for Harry. He had complete and utter control and knowledge of what he was doing.

Draco began a gentle ascent, shooting them upwards in a perfectly controlled but lazy spiral, which grew tighter the higher that they climbed. By now Harry had relaxed against Draco, trusting that the blond knew what he was doing, and he didn't scream this time when Draco suddenly let them drop into freefall. They felt weightless as the air rushed past them, blowing their hair up and grasping at their clothes. Then, without a moment's difficulty, Draco swung them back into flight, coasting around the height of the quidditch hoops in smooth figure-eights.

He loosened his grip, his wrists still lying across the tops of Harry's thighs. They drifted aimlessly forward again, leaning against one other. Draco could still feel and hear Harry's heartbeat, reverberating through the thin man's back and against his own chest.

He spoke confidently into Harry's ear, curls of black hair against his cheek, "And that's how you're supposed to do it."

They continued to drift, held aloft by Harry's magic. Harry admitted in a regretful murmur, "You may have a point."

Draco grinned and pulled his arms back, suddenly clapping Harry on the back. He exclaimed, "I've thought of something fun. Catch me." And then the broom lurched as half the weight was removed from it. There was the sound of a woman screaming. Harry knew even as he lurched around that Draco had jumped. Someone was standing down on the pitch, a witch in long robes, but Harry couldn't take his eyes from Draco. The blond was tumbling through the air, his arms and legs spread wide like one of those people who jumped from aeroplanes. But they had parachutes and Draco had nothing but Harry.

Harry shot down on his broom, drawing alongside Draco in seconds as they both fell towards the ground once again. Draco's grey eyes caught his and Harry saw that there was no fear in that sharp, white face. Rather the man was grinning wildly. He reached out a hand, his long graceful fingers splayed wide and struggling against the air pressure. Harry caught that hand and pulled Draco towards him, as they passed the first level of stands on their way to the ground. Draco wrapped himself around Harry again, his legs locking around the broom tail, and then Harry pulled them up out of the dive, still at least thirty feet above the ground.

"You really are suicidal, aren't you?!" he yelled at the man once again seated safely behind him.

He felt Draco shrug against his back. "I knew you could catch me."

Harry shook his head and exclaimed, "You're not a damned snitch!"

A new voice called out to them tremulously, "Are you two all right?"

They looked to the pitch and Harry remembered hearing a woman scream when Draco jumped. Standing on the grass and staring up at them with wide, shocked eyes was the Divination professor, Marianthi Fotiadis. Harry quickly flew down to her and they landed on the ground a bit awkwardly, not used to landing with two pairs of legs. Draco slid off the broom and looked between the witch and Harry in amusement. Harry stood up, standing the broom up next to him on its point.

"I was in the astronomy tower," Marianthi explained weakly, "recording the stars, when I saw the pitch light up. I had to come make sure it wasn't students out of bed at night."

She looked at the two men with a slightly dazed expression and asked again, "Are you sure you're all right? The way I saw you two flying... and then when you fell..."

Draco slyly snatched the broom from Harry's hand. "Potter, why don't you escort Ms Fotiadis back to the castle. She's clearly a bit shaken up." He smiled at the dark-eyed witch compassionately and Harry knew it was utterly contrived. Draco picked up the other, abandoned broom from the grass and said, "I'll just put these away and be right behind you two."

Marianthi nodded and looked expectantly at Harry. He shot a quick but telling look of annoyance at Draco. He'd much rather stay with the blond and fly as hard and fast as they could away from the castle. But he stepped up alongside the witch obligingly. They started in the direction of the school as Harry explained that he and Malfoy had simply been trying to blow off some steam, then struggled to explain what the Muggle idiom meant to the Greek witch.

Draco snickered to himself as he watched them go, then headed to the broom closet alone.