Chapter Two

The Flight

Draco had tried with all his might to study. Really. He had. But he couldn't stop thinking about that damned Gryffindor. He'd left the dungeons and come to the Quidditch pitch looking for some solitude.

Draco now kicked off from the ground and soared upward, letting the wind ruffle through his normally neat hair. He closed his eyes and let his new Firebolt lead him toward the heavens. He opened his eyes and did a few laps around the pitch, swooping in and out of the goal posts. Then he slowed himself and put a spell on his broom so that it hovered back and forth up and down the field.

Draco leaned back so that he was laying along his broom, staring at the stars above him. He closed his eyes once more thinking. Draco's thoughts once again turned to Potter.

Why him? Why Golden Boy? Draco knew, though. He had always gotten a thrill from his sparing sessions with Potter. He delighted in the look of fury and concentration in Potter's eyes.

Oh, those eyes...

"Whose eyes?"

Draco's eyes snapped open. He sat up abruptly, almost falling off his broomstick. He ran his long, pale fingers through his platinum locks before turning his broom to see who had spoken.

Potter.

Draco watched as Potter glided up to meet him in the air.

"Potter," he said, barely inclining his head.

"Malfoy," replied Potter, returning the gesture.

"Whose eyes?" Potter repeated.

"What's it to you, Potter?" Draco looked at Potter with what he hope was a reasonably rotten scowl.

By Potter's face, he had done his job. The scowl was reflected back at him.

"I was just curious who had you so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even hear me coming." Potter shook his head in mock disbelief. "Tsk, tsk. I would have thought your Seeker training had you more in tune with your surroundings."

"What and who I was thinking about is absolutely none of your business, Scarhead," said Draco, hoping he had added enough hatred into his voice. Draco looked at Potter, holding his eyes in a contemptuous stare, when-

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Malfoy! What in Merlin's name are you doing here? At this time of night, no less!"

The two boys started, breaking their gaze to look down to the ground, forty feet below. Professor McGonagall was standing directly underneath them in her tartan dressing gown and fuzzy slippers. Draco couldn't quite make out her face, but he was sure she was wearing her trademark glare. "Get down here this instant!" she screamed.

As Draco and Potter touched down, McGonagall was yelling again.

"It is far past curfew. I would expect two prefects such as yourselves would have the sense to be in bed already." McGonagall was quite red in the face, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

The boys flinched as she yelled once more. "Twenty points will be taken from each of your houses, and you will have detention. Mr. Malfoy, you should know that as soon as I have a chance to speak with him, Professor Snape will hear about this as well. Now both of you march yourselves back into that castle and to bed with you!"

"Yes, Professor," the boys said in unison as they stowed their brooms in the broom shed and trudged back to the castle. As they walked, Malfoy thought to himself that this was the first time he and Potter had ever spoken in unison. It amused him.

~*~*~*~

At breakfast the next morning, Ron and Hermione asked where Harry had disappeared to the night before.

"I went to the Quidditch pitch," was all he had a chance to say. To his relief, a rustling sound above him meant that the owls were there with the day's mail. The owls carried their packages and letters to their respective targets. Harry was surprised when a large barn owl dropped an envelope in from of him before flying off to the Owlery. Harry opened the letter and saw the all-too-familiar scrawl of Professor McGonagall. The letter announced that his detention with Malfoy would be that Friday, the twelfth at nine pm in the trophy room.

As Harry sighed, he glanced over to the Slytherin table. He watched as Malfoy folded up a letter identical to his and put it and the envelope to his side before reaching for the eggs in front of him.

"What's that all about, Harry?" inquired Hermione.

"When I got to the pitch last night, Malfoy was already there. We were about to have a row when McGonagall caught us in the air. She gave us both detention," Harry finished.

"What were you fighting about this time?" asked Ron.

"I never really got to find out. We sent a couple insults at each other, but that's all." Harry groaned. "And now I have to spend Friday night with that bastard." He hoped he sounded convincing. Harry wasn't quite sure why, but he was secretly looking forward to Friday.

Harry looked again at the blonde boy across the room. Malfoy really isn't all that bad. Sure, he's been an ass around me for as long as I've known him... But he's...well... He's really easy on the eyes... Harry kept staring at Malfoy.

When Malfoy was upright, he was the same height as Harry. Malfoy, too, had the muscular build that could only come from playing Quidditch. The boy was quite good-looking. His pale skin only served to bring out the deep blue in his eyes more. His platinum blonde hair was always expertly slicked back, completing the graceful young man's appearance. As Harry watched, Malfoy smirked at something one of his housemates said. Then he looked up.

Sapphire blue eyes met emerald greens for the second time in recent weeks across the Great Hall. At first there was a reaction Harry couldn't read. Then the sapphire eyes hardened into what was unmistakably contempt.

"Harry!"

"What? Huh? What?" Harry's thoughts were wrenched back to the Gryffindor table.

"Harry, you did it again," said Hermione. "You stared off into space and just stopped answering us."

"Oh. Sorry. What were you saying?" Harry tried to concentrate on the conversation with his friends, but as Hermione and Ron started their usual play-bickering, Harry's thoughts strayed once more.

~*~TBC~*~