Words - 2337

Rating - PG13

Warnings - Ridiculously mild language

#5 – FREEDOM FLYING

Put quite simply, Draco loved to fly.

Racing brooms, caring kits, instruction books, Quidditch teams; he'd never really cared for any of them, though he didn't let anyone figure that out. All he had cared about in the beginning was the feeling he'd get, lost in the air, like part of the wind. No worries, no cares, not even an identity really, just him and the broom and the clouds. He'd felt it, the allure the moment he first touched a broomstick, and ever since that had been all he'd been concerned with.

Draco didn't bother with instructions or lessons, really, just got on and made it work. He must have fallen off countless times, and he'd probably have died had Dobby the house-elf not levitated him before he hit the ground on one occasion, but he didn't care. He had taught himself during a hot, busy summer, when he was eight and his father was busy at the Ministry and his mother was off doing something – he never really knew what either of them did, except that they all ate dinner together and didn't talk about their respective days too much.

Draco had been left at home, alone except for Dobby, none of his friends available for once, all of them off traveling, and to keep him occupied with something other than the Latin textbook he had been assigned for summer reading, his parents bought him a broom and a book on how to ride it.

Draco had flown before, briefly, though never on his own, and so he knew the basics of what to do, and knew that he loved it. And in truth, not only did he not really want the book; he also didn't need it. The whole thing was instinctive – he never thought to turn or slow down or speed up or rise or fall, he just did.

In that long summer, Draco taught himself to fly until it was almost as natural as walking, and though it never was quite natural enough to be easy, it was natural enough to feel right, and for once he absolutely hated his Latin text. He spent hours every day on his broom, and it was only when the school year came around again, that he got into the sport of Quidditch itself – because if he couldn't fly as often himself, at least he could watch.

Draco had known from the start that he would be on the Slytherin Quidditch team – it was expected of him, and all he really had to decide was what position to play. So after a lot of consideration, Draco picked the job that required the least thought.

It wasn't because he was stupid, or because he couldn't handle the mental calculation or alertness necessary for being a Chaser or Keeper or Beater – because they all did require a surprising amount of effort. It was simply that Draco didn't want to have to. Though he was at least passably good at each position, it was Seeker he was best at, because Seeker was the closest he could get to playing the game and still melting into the air.

When Draco arrived at Hogwarts, he was ecstatic about flying lessons, though of course he didn't expect to need to learn anything. He was humiliated, then, when first he learned that he'd been holding the broom handle the wrong way the whole time, and then when stupid Potter displayed shocking skill on a broom (and such a damn natural skill, more than Draco's, too, he never fell or worked for it, it was just there) and got onto the Gryffindor team, even though first-years weren't allowed. As Seeker.

Draco hated that boy.

And worse, even when one had their own broom, it was surprisingly difficult to fly for non-Quidditch-related purposes; for instance, flying for the sake of flying. The Quidditch field was always booked and if someone was caught flying all over the grounds they would get detention, and besides the storage shed was always locked – and you had to keep your broom there.

So Draco became even more determined to get on the team, though when he did, he ended up finding out that not only was Potter more natural than him, but the idiot was just better. Draco hated to admit it and never did out loud, and anyway, when he was just flying, not playing, he probably at least matched Potter's skill – but in a Quidditch match, with the crowds roaring and the team concentrating and putting on the pressure… Draco still loved it but it wasn't the same, he never felt gone. Draco Malfoy was always there, shrewd and calculating and willing to do anything to win, and definitely not part of the clouds, and Draco Malfoy couldn't ride a broom – couldn't Seek – nearly as well as he could fly.

So whenever Draco got a chance, he snatched it. He snuck out at night and Alohamora-ed the broom shed, and took out his Nimbus and gripped it the wrong way and rose up into the sky at a reckless pace, sped through clouds that soaked him to the bone, up until his head spun from the thin air and he couldn't see the ground, or anything but the white clouds beneath and dark sky above, speckled with stars, and then he closed his eyes and dove, and Draco Malfoy melted away into nothing but wind.

-xxx-

Ginny first saw him late one night, up on the Astronomy tower. She'd gotten special permission to be there to finish a project, and was alone in the dark, trying to squint through the telescope and clouds above to find and label Orion.

She was just taking her face away from the lens to look back at her paper when a small dark shape rocketed up and disappeared into the clouds. Ginny jumped and squeaked, then leaned forward eagerly, staring at the spot it had disappeared. She had no clue what it was, and was incredibly eager to know – yet another effect of growing up with Fred and George; things tended to intrigue rather frighten you.

After nearly five minutes of squinting, Ginny had almost decided that she'd imagined it – and then the blur came back down, so fast that she nearly dropped her telescope trying to follow its path towards the ground. It swooped low, so low and fast that despite having no earthly clue what it was, Ginny sucked in her breath in fear – but at nearly the last instant, it leveled out and sped out over the lake, climbing up around the castle in a graceful, slowing spiral.

As the shape slowed, and before it rounded the castle around where she couldn't see it, Ginny finally identified it: someone on a broom. But who? And why? They didn't appear to be doing anything in particular, just flying – though clearly with incredible skill… and on an incredible broom. Maybe it was Harry? But again – why? And he knew better than to be out here after dark, didn't he?

Ginny turned her telescope up again, at the clouds that were starting to move aside. She could probably find Orion now, if she tried. But the flyer should be rounding the castle now – and she had to ask Harry what on earth he was doing… Maybe try to join him.

Ginny ducked low and backed into the corner, watching as the broom slowed even more as it came up next to her on the balcony. Well, actually on the far side of the balcony, and she was standing in shadow, so she probably wasn't visible – but she could see him.

Yes, she saw him, as he finally stopped right on the ledge, slipping off the broom to sink down and slump against the wall, breathing fast and loud. She saw his chest heaving and saw his broom, propped up next to him, and saw the distinctive lean shape of an athletic boy who knew how to fly – but it wasn't until he leaned forward and put his head on his arms, and the moonlight hit and illuminated his almost-white hair, that she saw Draco Malfoy.

-xxx-

Draco slid back, breathing heavily, trying to clear his buzzing head. He'd outdone himself tonight. He'd gone higher than ever before – and while it was amazing as always, the fall had been so fast and he'd been so dizzy that he had hardly managed to pull out before he hit the ground, and had been forced to climb back up to the Astronomy tower to rest for a while.

He felt heavy, his robes soaked with dew, and his eyes still leaking uncontrollable tears from the wind, though they had been shut the whole time anyway. He was sore all over – it took a lot of muscle power to control a dive like that, not to mention to stop it – and his limbs were trembling. He was completely unkempt; out of control; breathless and brainless.

He had never felt so alive.

A shaky grin grew on his face with another pant, and Draco rested his head in his arms, folded over bent knees. He wiped at his face, smearing off rain and tears, and grinned wider, his breath still heaving. Another pant, and a laugh was forced out, breathless and weak, but there.

God, he felt – felt indescribable, and he knew that he was going to do this again. His heart was pounding, keeping his body warm in spite of the cold wind and wet, thumping so hard he could feel it in his cheeks and stomach, and hear it, too.

Draco closed his eyes briefly and let the laughter die, reaching a hand over to slide down the length of his Nimbus. It hit him then, familiar and urging, soaring through his weak, shaking body – the desire to fly again.

Draco stood, slowly, shaking himself slightly, unable to stop grinning but trying to calm down before he set off again, less riskily this time. He should probably head inside soon, it was late – but he just wanted to soar around the castle one more time first.

-xxx-

Ginny had been watched, completely enchanted. She had never entertained the thought that Draco Malfoy would indulge in late-night daredevil flying, but even if she had, she would never have expected it to be like this. He looked exhausted – soaked, head to toe, with his face smeared with wet and his hair in sweaty spikes rather than slicked back. He was panting like he was about to keel over and die, shaking like it too; and then he started grinning, brilliant white teeth shining in the moon and holding her in place.

This wasn't the Draco Malfoy from daytime at all; this was a mysterious ghost, a phantom of the night and clouds, that Ginny half expected to glitter with faerie dust. And then he laughed, and oh, it was magical, because the sound was so welcoming and warm, genuine, and completely uncontrolled that Ginny just wanted to go over there and kiss him.

He was only there for a short time longer; then he stood and got back on his broom, slowly arcing around again, swerving and diving in short little motions as he spiraled back down around the castle. Ginny ran to the wall to watch, and followed his flight with her eyes (when she could) until he landed back at the broom shed. His tiny figure disappeared inside it, then returned outside without his broom, slowly turning up the hill back to the castle.

Ginny watched him all the way up, until she couldn't see him anymore; then she turned back to her telescope, mind whirring.

-xxx-

After that time, Ginny kept watching. Not from the Astronomy tower anymore, but from her dormitory. She would get up, late at night, and sneak over to the window. Leaning out of it, ignoring the chill of the air on her bare arms, she'd watch and wait, and some nights, after midnight, he'd appear. A bolt from above, a daring display of flying at its finest, and at first Ginny wondered why he never flew like this during Quidditch games. Harry would have an unexpected challenge.

But, after a few more nights, Ginny thought that maybe it wasn't that he didn't want to; it was that he couldn't. There was something, in the way that he flew, that was so… so free and uncontrolled, that Ginny became convinced that it wouldn't be possible for Draco to use in a game.

And that was okay.

She watched him fly, and after that, she could never treat him or view him the same way. She'd borne witness to this hidden side of him, this passionate and magical creature that escaped at night in the air, and now Draco himself just wasn't evil anymore. So she didn't mention it, and kept on watching, and took his insults with a private smile, because she knew better.

Watching him was something new… something private, something free, and she wasn't going to give that up for the sake of a moment's anger.