Superlatives

Harry was absolutely thrilled that he had a free period after lunch. There was only one way to vent his rage without a body count. For once, no one questioned him as he stalked through the corridors and out of the castle. They backed away, and the deep, dark heart of him liked it. As soon as he reached the, thankfully empty, Quidditch pitch, he was airborne, leaving his robes and his worries in a heap on the ground.

Draco couldn't help but watch Potter fly. He'd known exactly where his nemesis would go, having spent a good six years learning his quirks and habits. Potter flew like he'd been born on a broom during practices and matches, but when no one was around; he flew like he was free. Today, he was nothing short of breathtaking. His anger and defiance were visible in every death-defying stunt.

As Draco watched from the stands, Potter shot vertically up into the cloudless sky, bending his lithe body backward to face the ground below. Loud hissing sounds reached Draco's ears, and he realized that the raven-haired wizard was shouting in Parseltongue. Then, Potter pulled his Firebolt parallel to the pitch, letting his entire body drop down to hang beneath the broom, knees hooked casually around the handle.

He wrapped a hand around the broom and pulled his knees into his chest, letting them swing out below him so that he was hanging from the broom by one hand and grinning like a maniac. Then he placed a second hand on the handle, did a pull up, and twisted into a series of spiraling rolls during which he wrapped his body back around the broom.

As soon as he was back in racing position, he plunged into a vertical dive. The look on his face was darkly triumphant, and Draco knew, in that instant, that his nemesis was purposely courting death. He pulled up a mere foot from the ground, and, hopping up to a standing position, he zipped down the length of the pitch.

Harry sensed Malfoy's eyes on him, but he didn't care. It wasn't that unusual for either one of them to be found watching their opposition fly. He didn't get a chance to appreciate Malfoy's grace in the air when they were competing. It seemed natural, being that Quidditch, or more accurately flying, was their shared passion. If it had been anyone else he would've held back, so as not to offend them with his slippery, Slytherin side.

While they might've watched each other from a safe distance, they'd never joined each other, or interacted in any way. Which was probably why Draco felt the need to slap himself several times when Potter suddenly flew straight toward him and hovered three feet above his head. He had an intense, incomprehensible look on his face, emerald eyes burning into gray, taking his measure.

"Want to join me?" Potter asked finally, breaking the tense silence, and tilting his head at his nemesis.

Draco watched him carefully, as though attempting to weigh his motives. "We are enemies, Potter," he pointed out. "We're meant to be - what was it Weasel said? Tearing each other's throats out."

"Fuck that," Potter said flatly. "We can be enemies later."

The Slytherin Prince arched a brow. "That's not how it works."

Fiddling with the iPod he had strapped to his upper arm (a Christmas present to himself; Hermione's present had been a spell to make it useable at Hogwarts), Harry hesitated before responding. Part of his conscience was frantically waving its arms and shouting some adage about borrowing trouble, while another increasingly large part urged him to break free Freddie Mercury style.

Meeting his rival's stormy eyes, he said defiantly, "I can do whatever the fuck I want, Malfoy. And so can you." He paused. "Unless you're afraid." The gauntlet had been thrown.

Draco lifted his chin proudly. "Never," he vowed. Folding his robes, he carefully placed them on the bench and grabbed his broom, rising up to hover in the air near his nemesis. Eyeing the ear buds dangling from Potter's neck, he asked, "What's that?"

"An iPod," Harry explained. "It's a Muggle device. It has a memory chip; you transfer songs onto it, and you can listen to them whenever you like. Hermione found an adaptor spell so it can transfer magical energy into electricity."

The platinum-haired wizard eyed his rival cautiously. "I like Muggle music," he admitted grudgingly. "Grunge, among other things."

Harry's green eyes lit up. "How interesting, Malfoy," he sneered, but there was no real malice in his tone. After a thoughtful pause, he murmured, "Let's do this right then." Pulling out his wand, he cast a Sonorus Spell on the iPod. Glancing sideways at his flying partner, he taunted, "Ready?"

"Always," Draco shot back.

Pressing the 'Play' button, Harry shot straight up into the sky as the first bars of a song resounded throughout the pitch, bouncing and rolling along with the guitar riff. Draco immediately joined him, a wide smirk on his face.

"Fuck all if you don't have good taste, Potter," he conceded.

The raven-haired wizard grinned unrepentantly. "This is one of my favorite Soundgarden songs."

Draco scowled. "Less chatting, more flying," he ordered. He zipped away from Potter, and, deciding to give in to the hypnotic power of music, he sang along as he flew.

They flew uninterrupted until the Slytherin Quidditch team approached the pitch. The emerald-clad students stared wide-eyed at the two wizards, who were high above the ground, singing along to Alice In Chains and playing a Seeker's version of HORSE. McGonagall and Snape spouting poetry to each other in the Great Hall would've been less disturbing.

The duo finally noticed their audience and swooped down to land. Harry ended the Sonorus Spell, the wide smile on his face a stark contrast to the black rage they'd witnessed at lunch.

"Later," he muttered quietly to Malfoy as he prepared to leave the pitch.

Draco nodded once in return, and then sent his patented glare full force in the direction of his gawking teammates. "Shut your traps," he snapped. "Honestly, Slytherins are supposed to have class."

With that, he orchestrated a hellish practice.