Chapter 10
On the evening of the 31st of October, Harry was waiting for Malfoy down by the quidditch pitch. He sat on one of the benches, his elbows resting on his knees and his Firebolt propped up next to him. He was watching the sky above, a great mass of grey, rolling clouds that sometimes misted the air with fine drops of rain. He could see heavier and blacker clouds on the horizon, but he figured they would be back inside before the heavy rain reached them. From the castle, a small figure was making its way towards him. The dishwater light of dusk made their meeting feel sinister and secret, a dark contrast to the golden light streaming out of the windows from the great hall where the feast had just begun. Malfoy was carrying his broom over his shoulder. The black school robes billowed around him in the wind and the white blond hair was whipped out of place across his haughty, handsome face. Harry stood and picked up his broom.
"Where are we going?" called Malfoy, when he was close enough to be heard.
"I was thinking we would fly over the forest."
Malfoy screwed up his face and looked towards the forest, where the trees were already shedding their leaves and stretching their naked, clawlike branches towards the clouds.
"Are you serious?"
"Sure. But hey, if you're scared we can just take a little trip around the grounds. We can stay really close to the grass too, so you won't hurt yourself if you fall."
"Shut up, you prick," said Malfoy and mounted his broom.
Harry grinned and swung a leg over his Firebolt. They kicked of and rose high into the air, two arrows shooting straight up towards the clouds. Simultaneously they broke their ascend and curved, racing each other to the treeline.
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It was impossible to tell who won the race, and the wind was rushing too loudly past their ears for either boy to hear the other's cry of victory. Harry slowed down and dipped closer to the trees. A few of the highest branches brushed his feet. Malfoy flew to his side but kept just a few inches higher.
"You still don't like the forest?"
"I'm fine, but I would prefer not risking having my feet ripped of by bowtruckles."
Harry laughed out loud and Malfoy shot him a look.
"I'm seriously concerned about your mental health, Potter. Would you mind giving me a heads up if you're about to be possessed by some freaky creature from down there?"
"What are you so nervous about? Nothing's going to attack us up here," he said.
There was a crashing sound of branches snapping.
Malfoy screamed.
A great, black creature shot up through the yellowing thicket of leaves, for a second the batlike wings swallowed the sky in front of them, they could count every vein of blood in the thin, stretched skin. And then the thestral rose higher and passed over them so closely they felt the wind moved by its body like a heavy force on their backs.
"Holy shit!"
Harry was laughing again, overjoyed with flight, rushed with adrenaline, it sounded maniacal even to his own ears, but he couldn't have cared less.
"Holy shit," repeated Malfoy, looking back over the shoulder.
"Good thing they're friendly!"
"I hate horses. I hate flying horses."
"Wait, can you see them?"
They had slowed down and were gliding quietly through the air. Harry's heart was still pounding, but he could feel the shock seeping out of him. He was watching Malfoy, who rolled his eyes at him.
"Yes, of course I can see them," he said. "Everyone can now. So that's one less special ability for you, but I'm sure you'll manage."
"Who did you watch die?
The tips of his shoes were still hitting the topmost leaves. Malfoy was looking down at him.
"Really, Potter?" he asked. "You want to have that conversation? Swap lists of dead people? Merlin, you're messed up."
"Never mind," said Harry, and thought he heard a disdainful snort from Malfoy.
But when he looked over, the other boy had his eyes fixed straight ahead of them, and his expression was calm and focused. The castle was far behind them, the mountains slowly getting closer. He could hear the flapping of their cloaks in the wind and he wondered why he had never thought to do this with Ron or Ginny or anyone else from the quidditch team. He didn't mind company up here. Here, there was space or it, both around him and in his head.
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Draco wasn't sure where they were going, or if they were going anywhere at all, only that Potter seemed determined to put as much distance between themselves and the castle as possible. As long as he wasn't thinking about the forest below them or imagining the creatures inhabiting it, he could enjoy the flight. Potter seemed absolutely euphoric. He watched him as they flew. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen him not looking all constipated and tortured. He looked like a different person up here.
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The sky had grown darker. A cold gust of wind blew over the trees with a whisper.
"How come you're not on the quidditch team this year?" asked Harry, breaking a long stretch of silence.
"I don't know," said Malfoy. "I got bored with it, I suppose."
"So you didn't even try out?"
"If I had tried out I would have been on the team."
"How can you get bored with quidditch, though?"
"Maybe I just wanted to give Gryffindor a shot at winning this year."
"We've been beating you for years."
"I just have better things to do with my time, okay?"
There was an edge to Malfoy's voice. Harry glanced over at him, but he was looking straight ahead and his face didn't give anything away.
"What's the name of that 5th year they've replaced you with?" he asked.
"Evelyn Selwyn."
"Right. She seems alright."
"She's a nice girl. I didn't know she played quidditch. Do you think maybe we should head back soon?"
Harry turned to look behind them. He could make out the castle as a black shape in the darkness, dotted with the golden lights of the windows like a strange, low hanging cluster of stars.
"If you want to," he said. "But I don't think they will be done for a while."
"I know, but it looks like it might rain soon. We could circle back over Hogsmeade and walk up to the castle that way? Maybe speed up a bit?"
Harry shrugged.
"Sure, we can do that."
He turned his broom around, trailing behind Malfoy in a lazy curve. They made their way to the village in silence with Malfoy leading the way.
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They didn't begin their descent until they had passed over the village and were far enough up the path to the castle to avoid risk of being seen. Malfoy landed in the gravel of the path and Harry joined him seconds later.
"So is this what you've been doing when you weren't stalking me around the castle?" asked Malfoy.
"Sort of. Flying keeps my mind off things."
The first drop of rain hit his forehead. Dark spots were already dotting the path ahead of them.
"Maybe that's your problem – people usually do come off as unintelligent if they are deliberately trying not to think."
"Shut up," he said, and didn't mean it. "Do you think we ought to fly all the way back? We're going to get soaked if we walk."
Malfoy pulled out his wand.
"You do realize you're a wizard, right?" he said.
He mumbled an incantation, pointing the wand into the air above them. The rain was getting heavier around them, the path already turning muddy, but Harry no longer felt the cold drops on his face.
"My shoulder is still getting wet," he said and watched the strange trajectory of the raindrops that fell straight towards them and then suddenly curved as if they had hit an invisible shell.
"I can't extend it that far."
Harry stepped closer to him.
"Handy spell," he said.
Malfoy shrugged. It was pouring down now. Apparently the spell didn't protect their shoes or the hems of their robes from getting soaked by the tiny rivers and muddy deltas forming in the gravel that splashed around them as they walked. He heard Malfoy laughing softly.
"What?" he said.
"Nothing."
And then after a pause:
"It sort of feels like I've taken you hostage, doesn't it?"
Malfoy looked at him with the apologetic expression of someone who has said his private thoughts aloud.
"Not really," said Harry.
They passed through the gates and the winged boars looked sternly down at them from their columns.
"It does feel a bit like blackmail."
Malfoy grinned, and Harry thought how strange the expression was on him when it wasn't tinged with condescension or malice. Usually everything about Malfoy was sharp, tight and proper – his face was a controlled mask of calculated emotions, his robes looked like they had been spelled clean and creaseless, and there was never a single hair on his head that was out of place. That Malfoy was hardly even a person, but simply the well-tended product of an aristocratic upbringing. But when they walked together up the stairs to the oak doors of the castle, his robes had been ruffled by the wind, even if they still weren't creased, and his collar was unbuttoned, which was enough to make him look disheveled. His hair was damp and windswept, his cheeks were flushed from the cold air, and he seemed very real. He became approachable, became something you could touch without cutting yourself. And Harry wasn't sure if it made him hate him more or less.