Chapter Nine: Flight Together
Draco's eagle owl was becoming a familiar sight at the Slytherin table. Every few days it brought him something from home — sweets, trinkets, or Narcissa's latest indulgence.
This morning, however, Draco's composure cracked. He unwrapped the silver parcel with unusual eagerness. Inside lay what he had been waiting for: an invisibility cloak.
He had ordered it himself, forging his mother's hand, paying dearly in galleons. Not for daily use, but for necessity. Unlike the legendary cloaks woven from Deathly Hallows, this one would fade with time, its magic thinning until it was nothing but cloth. Still, it was safer than his imperfect Disillusionment Charm.
Draco had no desire to lose fifty points again for wandering at night. Some places — the Room of Requirement, the high towers where ghosts lingered — were best visited unseen.
Across the hall, Neville Longbottom fumbled with yet another Remembrall, his grandmother's gift. Draco barely spared him a glance. Fate, it seemed, had its own stubborn rhythm. Even without Draco's interference, Potter still broke rules, still soared after Neville's dropped ball, still caught it in a reckless dive that left every first‑year gaping.
McGonagall swept him away. Hermione appeared at Draco's side, anxious. "Harry won't be expelled, will he?"
Since Draco's private flying lessons, she had begun to seek his counsel instinctively. He was calm where others were foolish, precise where others blundered.
Draco smirked. "Expelled? Hardly. McGonagall loves Quidditch. Gryffindor needs a Seeker. I'd wager she's already thinking of him for the team."
Hermione frowned. "That's absurd. He's too young. Rules exist for a reason."
By dinner, the castle buzzed with the news: Harry Potter, youngest Seeker in a century. Even the portraits gossiped. Draco brushed past Hermione, murmuring, "Told you." His smile was faint, amused at her wide‑eyed disbelief.
She scowled, furious not at him but at the unfairness of it all. Rules broken, yet rewarded.
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Private Flight
Later, at their second lesson, Hermione mounted her broom stiffly, muttering, "I don't understand why boys lose their minds over flying."
She had studied every book, memorized every instruction. Yet she would not leave the ground. Neville's fall haunted her.
Draco watched, impatient. "You're not afraid of heights, are you?"
"I simply think flying is pointless," she said primly, perched but unmoving.
Draco sighed. Enough. He swung onto her broom in front of her. "Then hold on."
"Wait—"
The broom shot upward. Wind tore at them, clouds rushing close. Hermione clutched his robes, panic rising. The ground vanished. She was weightless, helpless, a feather in his grasp.
Draco laughed, exhilarated. "Feel it! The freedom!"
Hermione's breath caught. She wanted to scream, but the wind stole her voice. Instinct drove her arms around his waist. His steadiness was her only anchor.
"Look down," he urged.
She dared. The castle below was a toy fortress, the Forbidden Forest a dark sea of green, the lake a mirror. The world unfolded vast and magnificent.
Her fear melted into awe. "It's… beautiful."
Draco grinned, boyish joy breaking through his usual mask. He dove suddenly, broom plummeting toward the lake. Hermione shrieked, clinging tighter, face pressed to his shoulder, catching the faint scent of summer on his skin.
At the last instant he leveled out, skimming the water's surface. Their reflection rippled beneath them like a bird in flight.
Hermione's heart hammered. Yet when they landed, legs trembling, she could not deny the wonder.
Draco steadied her, eyes bright. "Well, little know‑it‑all? Another round?"
She glared, cheeks flushed. "You're mad. Completely mad. And this was against the rules!"
He shrugged, smiling. "If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun."
Hermione stormed off, furious at him, furious at herself, furious at the confusing warmth in her chest. She hated flying. She hated the chaos it stirred inside her. And yet… part of her wanted to try again.
---
Aftermath
For days she avoided him, lips pressed thin, temper sharp. Draco regretted his recklessness. He had wanted to share the joy of flight, to see her shaken from her composure. Instead, he had frightened her.
Still, he noticed she ignored Potter and Weasley as well. Her silence was universal. Perhaps her anger was not only at him, but at the broom, at the unfairness of boys rewarded for breaking rules.
When Harry received his broom at the Gryffindor table, Hermione's scowl returned. She muttered about rules, about danger, about misplaced priorities.
Draco watched from across the hall, thoughtful. Hermione Granger was unsettled. And perhaps, in that unrest, lay the beginning of something new.