Like Flying

The sun was shining, golden and bright, warming Harry's face as he sped through the air. It whipped through his hair and watered his eyes, whistled in his ears and snapped his robes about his ankles, but he loved it. Flying was his way of releasing all the tension, all the hate, anger, and feelings of revenge he harboured day and night, ever since June of his fifth year. And then his feet touched the hard ground once more.

On the ground, it seemed invisible walls were closing in, slowly and silently suffocating him. The memories, every single bad memory in his life, weighed heavily down on him. Everything, his ridiculously unlucky life, the obvious whispers, the sympathetic stares or plastered on smiles, the barely concealed fear; it was all too real.

Flying, Harry Potter's beneficial addiction.

He sped from one end of the pitch to the other, letting the feeling of disconnection from the world below calm his mind. It really was too bad he couldn't stay up here forever. He stopped and glanced out at the horizon, which was nearly obscured by green-leaved trees waving at him, giggling with the gentle tickle of the wind. It was so quiet up here.

"You always ruin my good days, Potter."

Harry instantly sat up straight and jerked his broom around, an expression of disgust already settling on his perspiring face. "I'm only too happy to return the favour." He roughly shoved his sweaty fringe out of his eyes, glaring hard at the other boy. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"I wasn't aware you owned this pitch," said Draco in an affable tone, tilting his head slightly and raising one finely arched eyebrow. "I was under the impression that my Father did."

Harry made an unmistakably disgusted noise in his throat, turned his broom around, and sped to the opposite end of the pitch. He came to a halt beside the left goalpost. Malfoy would not ruin this. He wouldn't let him.

"It's a bit windy today, isn't it?"

Eyes growing wide with disbelief Harry whirled around again. Malfoy had followed him, hovering about ten feet away. And he was smirking that damned, annoying smirk that always seemed to ignite Harry's anger. If he didn't do something quick he would explode, and that would defeat his whole purpose of being up in the air in the first place. He will not ruin this. I won't let him.

Harry offered Malfoy no reply.

Malfoy tilted his head to the side again, observing Harry through long, sooty black eyelashes. Harry thought they wouldn't have been out of place on a girl. "I asked you a question, and I'd like an answer," said Malfoy, still wearing his infuriating smirk. "That's usually how it works."

Harry stubbornly kept silent.

"Want to play a game?"

Harry looked at Malfoy and gave a short laugh. "What sort of game? Oh, let me guess! See who can knock the other off their broom first?"

Draco's demeanor remained cool, which only served to infuriate Harry even further. "I don't want to risk damaging my broom, so no." He shook wayward stands of silvery hair out of his eyes and stared up at the azure blue sky, dotted here and there with fluffy white clouds. "I was thinking of the game Question and Answer. I assume you've heard of it? You see, I ask a question, and you answer it."

"Yes! It's a bit windy, Malfoy!" Harry half-shouted, struggling hugely to keep his annoyance from boiling over. If he was as successful at that as keeping a potion from boiling over, he already knew he would fail horribly.

Malfoy, again, appeared unperturbed. "Your turn."

Harry stared, obviously confused.

"It's your turn to ask a question."

"Why are you asking me questions? Why are you following me? What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" fired Harry, almost losing control of his broom as he gesticulated wildly with his hands.

Draco frowned. "Hey, one at a time." He shook his hair back again and appeared to be thinking about something that caused him great amusement. "I believe I'll answer your first question: Because I want to."

"That isn't an answer," spat Harry, and he yanked his broom back around hard, heading for a thick patch of grass. Once his feet touched down he immediately made for the castle, conscious of the fact that Malfoy was not following him. As if he cared.

*****

The next day Harry was back out on the pitch. It was a cloudy, slightly chill day, so he wore his black cloak with the Gryffindor emblem on the left breast. He liked the way it streamed out behind him like a banner, stark against the pale grey of the sky, or twisted itself tightly around his body when he made sudden turns. It had been a birthday gift from Hermione. She had said he would need it when the weather turned, and had given it to him because she knew he would fly regardless of what it was like outside. The cloak kept him warm in cold weather, and had also been charmed with an anti-rain, sleet, and snow spell. That was Hermione, always practical.

"Why do you come out here and fly everyday?"

"Because I want to," Harry immediately replied, remembering Malfoy's answer of yesterday. He turned around, expecting the other boy to be frowning at him, but, to his surprise, he wasn't. Instead, his face was as blank as a brand-new roll of parchment. "Why are you following me?" said Harry, repeating his second question of the day before.

Draco adjusted his wind-ruffled robes as best he could. "Because I want to."

Harry shook his head and sighed in exasperation. "You don't even answer my questions, Malfoy! This is the stupidest game I've ever played! And I've played some pretty stupid ones with my Muggle cousin!"

"You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't answer mine first!"

"Yes, I did."

"Oh, so I can't give the same answer as you?"

"No."

Harry gave a cry of annoyance and shot his broom toward the ground, dangerously tilting. He stumbled as his feet made contact, caught his balance, and ran for the castle. He had no idea why he was running, but he knew that, again, Malfoy was not following him. He still didn't care.

*****

Once again, Harry was flying around the pitch. The day was a pleasantly breezy one, and it wasn't too cold, so he had not opted for the black cloak. He had been out for hours, and still no Malfoy. Harry was beginning to feel very annoyed. Two days in a row the git had interrupted his flying time, and then neglected to show up at all when he expected him to. That was so like him.

Why am I annoyed at all? Harry wondered, absentmindedly doing a barrel roll. I shouldn't be. I should be glad he didn't show up to bother me. But he wasn't. He wanted Malfoy to bother him. He wanted his last question answered, damnit.

A few Malfoy-free hours later, the sky darkening to purple, Harry gave up. He couldn't help but feel utterly disappointed. It seemed he didn't even have flying to ease his mind anymore. Malfoy had seen to that. Whenever Harry was up there, he would always be expecting Malfoy to appear and answer that last question, and the bastard probably never would.

As he walked slowly back towards the castle, broom slung over his shoulder, Harry realised that he was being followed. He turned around, knowing already whom he would see.

"You didn't let me answer one of your questions."

Harry was silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. I thought you weren't coming? I've been expecting you for hours? Why did you wait so long? Instead, he said, "Then answer it and leave me the hell alone, Malfoy!"

Draco took a deep breath. "You asked what was wrong with me." He paused, staring at Harry, and Harry, in turn, stared back. "This is my answer." Draco leaned forward, grabbed the front of Harry's jumper in both fists, and pulled the oblivious boy towards him until their lips met.

At first, Harry couldn't think of anything to do. He couldn't think of anything at all. This was like flying; it felt so relaxing and comforting. Strangely, he wasn't only aware of what he could feel externally, the soft brush of Malfoy's lashes, but what he felt internally, a fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach.

And Malfoy tasted nice. That wasn't something he got from flying, which always left him with an unsatisfied feeling. This, however, left him with a different kind of unsatisfied feeling, like when he was a child and someone gave him half of the smallest chocolate-chip cookie before dinner, and he knew that that was only a tiny taste of what was to come after.

Draco pulled away. He released Harry and sat back on his haunches, biting his lip.

Harry blinked a few times, and then said, "Good answer. You win."