Reckless
"I'm worried about him," Daphne frets to Blaise.
"If I didn't know any better, I would say that Draco is trying to kill himself, but I know he wouldn't give Lucius the satisfaction," he responds.
"If I didn't know any better, I would swear that he's a weather-wizard. That's the only way I can explain how he can constantly fly in a squall and come out of it unscathed."
"Are you discussing how I am being rash again, Daphne," Draco asks, materializing by his best friend and his pseudo sister without them noticing.
"Of course I am, you prat," she exclaims, hitting him in frustration. "I don't understand why you continue these irrational flights during a thunderstorm!"
"I don't know how to explain it exactly. Being in the midst of a storm makes me feel small and insignificant, but there is a certain thrill of knowing that although I can't control the weather, I can control getting myself to safety," Draco explains.
"Wow, that's just messed up," Blaise declares, although he knows the reason why his best friend acted so senseless - it was the result of a controlling father and an overprotective mother.
"I will try not to act so foolish again," Draco comments when he sees the look of concern on Daphne's face.
"Don't make promises you won't keep," she grumbles.
"I didn't promise anything, Daph – I said I would try," he corrects her.
"You don't even do that," Blaise mutters and Draco doesn't bother to disagree.
0o0o0o0o0o0
He knew he told Daphne he would try and he really did, but the wild weather calls to him and after three days of ignoring it, he finally grabs his broom and makes his way to the Quidditch pitch. Soon he is in the air, lazily running Seeker drills as he waits for the main event.
He can tell by the air, the heaviness of the atmosphere that a storm is brewing. What started as a calm, sunny day quickly becomes overcast; the wispy cirrus clouds and calm breeze replaced by blustery winds and menacing nimbostratus clouds.
A saner flier would have ended their flight, but he has always been a bit irrational with his flying habits, more so since the abrupt disappearance of his father. Suddenly, there was no pressure to be the perfect pure-blood heir, the perfect son to carry on the family name. He no longer have to hide behind a mask, could finally drop the façades
Floating mid-air on his Nimbus 2001, he lifts his face to the sky. He relishes the feel of the fine, misty rain giving way to heavier raindrops falling on his face as the wind disarrays his hair. He knows he shouldn't be out in the dangerous weather, but flying while the thunder claps and the lightning flashes makes him feel alive.
The turbulent current pushes him to and fro as he hovers, his eyes searching for the familiar glint of gold in the failing light. Just when it seems the rough wind will unseat him and cause him to fall, he suddenly whoops with joy as he dives, racing towards the ground blindly. Before he can crash he pulls up, the Golden Snitch clutched in his left hand. His goal accomplished, he skips the Quidditch locker room for the comfort of the Slytherin dorm.
Daphne and Blaise watches as Draco passes through the common room soaked from the rain. Although they want to reprimand him, they refrain from doing so. They both know that they have to come to terms that Draco's the storm and the storm's Draco – wild, uncontrollable, reckless.