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Night Flight	By : Massanie Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 77567 -:- Recommendations : 6 -:- Currently Reading : 30
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me and I'm not making any money with this story

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
CHAPTER 15: First Flight

CHAPTER NOTES:

Firstly: I am sorry for not having answered the reviews of the last chapter. The start of the new term was somewhat chaotic.

Secondly: This chapter should have originally not been written by me, but there were some unforeseen difficulties and after 5 weeks since uploading chapter 14 I found myself writing it anyway. And then I managed to write 12000 words in two weeks… I'm not going to do that again, it's bleeding me out.

I and Neon-Panda are truly sorry for the long wait and promise to try and not do it again.

I might at one point rewrite this chapter, as I currently can't give it the time that it deserves. I had a very tough time during the last two months: my mother had a stroke, and her mother had a stroke, too (I hope that doesn't lie in the family) and one of my dogs was in surgery due to a malign cancer. While my mother was only lightly affected and only suffers from a prolonged weariness now, my grandmother is still in hospital and my dog Cida might still have metastases that we do not know of yet. Only today I felt another knot in her stomach and I'm afraid of what that might possibly mean.

I'm still going to update as often as possible and I hope you'll forgive me if some points of this chapter seem stilted. It's either updating it like this or stopping and I don't want that since writing at this point seems to do me good.

For now this will have to do…

A persistent feeling of elation still pulsed through Harry's body like the echo of an electric shock, defying the sudden sense of loss and loneliness and the deep-routing confusion that followed the break of their connection.

Why the hell had Draco stepped away? He had thought all three of them were enjoying themselves, basking in the closeness, intensity and intimacy after the initial discomfort at the unexpected sensations (and at the identity of the participants) had faded. He himself certainly had…

Harry took a deep breath, congratulating himself when it didn't appear to be shivering. That must be the understatement of the century! But enjoying it so much had in itself been unanticipated to say the least. But explainable, he thought.

All his life he had been alone in some way or the other; that, he really couldn't deny: Harry had been lonely on his own at the Dursleys' without any long-term, real friends that Dudley hadn't managed to scare away sooner rather than later with his not so empty threats and his gang of bullying retards; alone during the long summers after his 11th birthday in that same hell-hole; alone with his problems of mad wizards trying to kill him all his life, and the burden of being predestined to kill the mightiest of them or be killed himself – Harry had never wanted to endanger his friends and had tried to keep them away from the most precarious of situations (not that he had been very successful in that endeavour) and besides that, Hermione and Ron only could follow him and lend him their support so far: in the end he had had to deal with the visions and the fulfilment of the prophesy himself.

And now this.

He had never felt so close to anyone before, never so not alone. Warm and secure and safe he had felt with the emotions of his companions openly visible in front of him. There had been no secrets, no withholding, only the honesty that had been so often denied to him in his life even by the people closest to him. Even after Blaise and Draco had hidden their feelings away behind the thickest Occlumency shields they could muster, he had still been able to read from their body language the thoughts that usually were indecipherable to him. The ease in their posture, a small twitch of the corner of a mouth, a fluttering in the stomach; it had told him all he needed to know – as well as telling him what to focus on in the future.

He had been surprised that for the moment there had been no hidden agenda to be felt at the back of their minds. Instead, their presences in his own mind had been so comforting and soothing, chasing away all of his apprehensions at the transformation for the time being and cradling his curiosity and amazement like something precious.

From the bottom of his heart, Harry had enjoyed that openness, that closeness, that feeling of being held and treasured … or something coming close to that at least.

It was something worth striving for, and for the first time since the full moon Harry felt as if bonding to a dominant Vykélari might have its benefits after all. He didn't need more magical power, he didn't need more influence in the magical world and so he hadn't seen anything worthwhile in this whole affair but this level of secureness and comfort, this level of connectedness, understanding and… and intimacy was something he would not be able to find anywhere else… of that he was almost sure. Ginny was the closest he had come to truly loving someone and even with her there was always some part of himself that hid, that needed to protect her by keeping secrets. This bond had been and meant something else altogether.

A shame, really, that it had not happened with people he actually trusted. Oh, he hadn't lied to Draco, not in the true sense of the word, he was ready to forgive him for what he had done during their school days and in the war, but he would not forget, not that easily. He did not blame him or accuse the blond Slytherin, but their joined past had taught him to maintain a healthy wariness, more so than he would have if it had been a total stranger instead: Draco now needed to prove his trustworthiness instead of his untrustworthiness, and that was always harder to do.

Which was alright. The deal with Ives' only stated that Harry needed to give them an honest chance, and that was exactly what he was doing. He was not being hostile anymore or tried to flee, he went along with their plans even if they made him uncomfortable. They could not expect more of him when he was still trying to get used to the idea of being the object of someone else's desire, let alone of a boy, much less two boys. Two boys, who had additionally graced him only with sneers and insults in the past, had slandered his best friends in the worst ways possible, tried to get them all expelled and generally spared no effort to make him miserable. And now those same teenagers regarded him with glances and gazes he didn't even want to contemplate and kept bestowing fleeting touches on him, which, to crown it all, had the brass neck of actually feeling good.

He still thought that had something to do with his magic reacting to theirs. He couldn't really like it, now, could he?

But why then – if it felt so good, if it was what the two dominants wanted from him – why then had Draco broken away? Why was he so disconcerted now? And he was, the Gryffindor knew him well enough to know when something unsettled him. Their long history as bitter enemies had taught Harry much about the blond and even though he had changed somewhat, had undeniably grown and matured since those days, he was still Draco Malfoy and his eyes still narrowed and flashed when he was confronted with something that displeased him greatly.

Now he was doing exactly that. But he didn't seem angry, just uncomfortable and oddly conflicted and Harry remembered how nervous and reluctant the sensations coming from the blond had felt like right at the beginning of the temporary bond. Still it seemed wrong that something he had found so exhilarating, would disconcert Draco so much.

Thoughtfully and a little bit concerned he considered the blond Slytherin in the mirror, looking at their reflections over one of his pale shoulders – which were broader than normal with the additional wing muscles – right into the delicately chiselled features.

"Are you alright?" He asked hesitantly, wondering if the blond would mind the question – sometimes Slytherins seemed awfully intent on pretending they had no feelings at all aside from pride in themselves, their families and their way of life.

But the few minutes of connectedness had taught him much about the two other teenagers, not least of all that they were not as cold and guarded and calculating as they purported to be. They were protective and supportive of each other and, oddly enough, of him. He had sensed in some way how angry Blaise had become over Snape, the odd sense of awareness that it concerned his former potions master and a sharp irritation had flashed through his mind like a blade of white hot fire and – he couldn't explain how or why – he had known that it was for his sake. And the gentle coaxing, the patient explanations… Draco's insecurity; no, all of this showed that they were far from being cold.

Still, as if his uttered words had provided him with the necessary incitement, Draco recovered his bearings and his expression evened out into a polite mask, still friendly, but closed. Harry almost sighed: obviously he had once again breached some etiquette rule no one had bothered to tell him about. His unrest took shape further, when Draco kept silent and his eyes averted.

Well, he thought, a mild annoyance rising within him, they had better not expect him to become the perfectly well-behaved, eloquent pureblooded actor, or the deal with Ives was off. He was not changing himself, not for just anyone and never if he didn't think it justified.

Something else flashed through his mind then as he remembered the conversation earlier with the other submissive now in light of the newly discovered, obvious reluctance of the two dominants before him: would Draco and Blaise unknowingly cancel the deal with Ives by making him leave? Both of them had seemed taken aback by the sensations coming through their connection at first and the way Draco reacted now made it clear that something was not quite right and that they hadn't expected the bond – the temporary bond – between them to be that intense. Maybe the Slytherins, who treasured their masks and pretty facades so much, just couldn't deal with that level of exposure? Maybe they didn't desire the bond any longer?

That in itself might not be as bad, though he was starting to get along with them just fine right now, but if they had no real esteem for him as a person, if they just saw him as a submissive to be played with and exploited, they might retract their protection, send him away to his friends, whom Harry would endanger with his presence. Or was that a lie? God, he didn't know, he just didn't know and he didn't want to even chance to endanger them again after all they had been through in the past. If anyone deserved safety and peace right now, surely it was them…

Furthermore: who would teach him if they made him leave? Draco and Blaise had proven to be surprisingly competent in that regard and he did need them to harness his new powers or he himself would stay a danger to anyone in his presence. If he returned to his friends just now or to other allies, he would not only draw the attention of other Vykélari to them, make them targets, no, he would also force them into the presence of his highly powerful, highly volatile magic that might lash out in a moment's notice at anyone if he lost control.

Like it had done with Blaise.

Only that, during that particular afternoon, he had still been weak from magical exhaustion. How bad would it become if he was well rested?

There was so much he needed to learn. After listening to Ives that had become frighteningly clear.

And right now, with all these changes, all these problems piling up in front of him to mountainous dimensions, Lanai Manor was proving to be a better and more comfortable environment than anything he could have imagined. It was virtually dreamlike after living in a battle-scarred England, a reprieve for his mind that did him much good, he couldn't deny that, especially now, with the knowledge that he would be able to leave in time for the next term in Hogwarts easing his mind.

Would they make him…

"He is fine," Blaise said from behind him, reassuringly squeezing his shoulder for a moment, but Harry saw his deep, dark gaze flitting to his lover who still stood between Harry and the oversized mirror. Blaise was, of course, aware of his fiancé's doubts, too.

Would they make him leave? Of course Blaise had promised him a safe haven in Lanai Manor but could he trust him to keep it? Harry knew almost nothing about the dark skinned Italian, aside from the fact that he loved Draco dearly and that he would probably chose his side if the blond wanted Harry gone. And that was maybe a not so unlikely possibility: if he found he couldn't bear the sensations of a true mating bond, then he might perceive that as a personal failure and if Harry had learned anything about the Slytherin Ice Prince then it was that he hated reminders of his failures.

Uncertain, Harry gazed at Draco, who smiled at him, but though it seemed honest and light, Harry was aware that the blond was nowhere near as calm and collected as he pretended to be.

'Don't send me away!'

"Nothing wrong, Harry, sweet." He said with disarming nonchalance before he reached out for him, and – raising and folding his wings so Harry could pass through beneath them, he steered him forwards by the gentle grip on his shoulder until Harry stood in front of him, encountering the steel grey eyes in the mirror. "Why don't you try to transform now?"

Long moments passed, while Harry tried to gauge the Slytherin's mood and his reaction. What would he do if they made him leave? Ives' words came to his mind, unbidden, baleful words:

Dominants are allowed to collect you and use whatever method necessary to force you to mate. In some cases dominants did blackmail submissives into mateships by threatening loved ones and were never convicted. Who would you turn to, Mr. Potter? Who would you willingly endanger?

No one.

He was the Boy-Who-Had-Survived-Too-Many-Times-To-Count, the one who others looked to for protection. He wasn't supposed to need it in return and though he knew just how ridiculous that notion was, the feeling was there nonetheless.

And, damn it, he had led his friends too often into danger. Hermione and Ron had a future with each other now to look forward to, they needed to live their own lives now that they had survived the war. It was not fair if he took that away from them again.

And he didn't think he could survive Ron turning from him once more. Of course they had all been influenced by that thrice damned locked when his best friend had left him and Hermione during the Horcrux hunt, and yet… it was probably better not to ask to begin with and be disappointed…

Harry couldn't turn to Ginny either, he had tried so hard to keep her away from dangers and problems that were his to battle! How could he drag her or the other Weasleys into something of this dimensions so shortly after Riddle's demise? And Remus and Tonks had the little Ted to care for now, his godson.

Besides, if he had understood it correctly, they were not even legally allowed to protect him from other dominants. So the only thing he would achieve was endangering them with his own wonky magic and forcing them to infringe several laws out of loyalty.

No, in the end he needed to be honest with himself and admit that there was no one he wanted to get involved in this mess that was his life right now. Therefore he would be alone with this problems if Draco and Blaise decided not to help him any longer and so in consequence the uncomfortable truth was that he depended on them, on his former enemy who he had made peace with only a short time ago, and a Slytherin he still didn't really know. He hadn't wanted to accept it before, but with the conversation of Ives so fresh in his memory and the fear of being turned away, he had to acknowledge it nonetheless.

Well, at least it seemed that he had been given some reprieve. Blaise and Draco seemed intent on postponing all decisions until after the two of them had talked in private. Maybe it was a good sign that they (vainly) tried to keep him unaware of the problem and that they wanted to continue with the lesson instead of excusing themselves directly to discuss their next steps. As long as they covered it up, they would not take immediate action.

Shrugging once to dislodge the apprehension that had overcome him, Harry gave the blond a curt nod, turning his gaze, though not his full attention, towards his own reflection in the mirror.

He would fly. Maybe if he showed himself eager to learn, willing to yield to at least some of their wishes, maybe they'd allow him to stay until he could end this farce?

'Not a farce!' Harry reminded himself fiercely, once again angry at his failure to stay objective. Well, he had never been really good at that. Rationality and empathy had been Hermione's domain, to some extent at least. But now, he needed to be just that: he had promised Ives to give Draco and Blaise an honest chance. And so an honest chance was what they'd get.

Taking a deep breath, Harry threw one short glance at the two Slytherins behind him, to see if they were as apprehensive as he was, but either they weren't or they were better at hiding it. Most likely it was a bit of both. Harry himself felt just more apprehensive now that his worries were breaking through the elation he had felt during their connection, causing it to dissipate like a construct of mist in a sudden breeze and he was slowly beginning to remember his own transformation, the nightmarish hours he had lived through and that were so hard to banish from his memory.

But he hadn't ever fled from Dementors, just because of the fear and desperation they evoked in him.

Maybe they had seen the uncertain flicker in his eyes, but the pale and the dark Slytherin both smiled at him with expressions Harry rather guessed were meant to be encouraging (he also guessed that they had had little exercise in such things), and Draco's slender fingers touched the points of his back at exactly the position corresponding to where he had earlier seen the new joints forming under Draco's pale skin. The fingers were gentle and of a soft texture, softer than his own were, but they moved with more intent and poise, pressing against his skin rather than caressing it, which Harry was glad for at that moment, the touch felt intimate enough as it was and he fought not to shiver.

"Here, Harry." The blond murmured softly, the voice caressing like his fingers were not. "Don't think about the process, your magic has memorized it. Think only of the end result."

Without hesitation, Harry glanced up into stormy grey eyes and briefly he had to wonder if Draco really had found their connection that intolerable, surely he wouldn't willingly get so close to him now if that had been the case? Maybe it was just that overly pragmatic side he could from time to time exhibit: after completing the transformation and having showed Harry just what he and Blaise had intended to, after alleviating his apprehensions, maybe he had just not seen any use in maintaining the bond?

But seeing as Draco really had been shaken – and Harry didn't think he had been mistaken in that observation – Harry thought that it was probably just another attempt to distract his mind and keep him from focusing too hard on his memories.

Feeling a little bit more grateful for the thoughtfulness, assuming it had been that, Harry wetted his lips and again took a deep breath, letting it slowly out in a steady stream until his lungs were empty and the knot in his chest had loosened somewhat. Then, he began to will forth his wings.

They would be heavy on his back, Harry remembered, not uncomfortably so, or like a real hindrance, but a noticeably weight, nonetheless. And green. A flashing green like the bolt of light that was an Avada Kedavra.

'No, not quite', he thought, clenching his jaws together and frowning. A bit darker and lighter at the same time, deeper and richer. The many nuances interweaving almost playfully. They had encompassed him as he had lain on the ground in his bed chamber after awaking for the first time, like the protective cocoon of a silkworm, so soft.

They had mocked him then with their presence, because he had not wanted them to be there. Now he did.

'You are going to emerge, because I will you to!'

Something shifted just below his shoulder blade, his magic maybe, coiling and moving endlessly like a nest of serpents, drawing together to get to work and he could feel Draco retracting his fingers, so that Harry's growing wings would not face any pressure at all, not encounter any resistance. He wondered if Draco had felt the jolt of magic just waiting under his tan skin.

'Emerge now!' He ordered.

And they did. His bones moved oddly against each other, not at all painfully, just in a weird, grating way that was neither pleasant nor really uncomfortable.

"Slowly, Harry." Blaise reminded him, mildly, just as Harry was about to decide that he didn't need to draw this out as much as Draco had. He really didn't want to see featherless wings erupt from his own back, regardless of whether his instructors had found his disgust amusing… it reminded him too much of a plucked chicken.

But Blaise was right, he didn't want his bones to pierce his skin, either.

Before he could draw a conscious decision, however, he could feel a steady pressure against the skin of his back and knew from when he had been observing Draco so closely that the growing bones of his wings would dent out the skin, make it grow with it. As if in fast motion, he saw his wings extend, quickly, so quickly! His heart beat a little bit faster in his chest.

For a moment Harry was tempted to look away from the mirror that reflected his transformation, and which withheld nothing from him as he saw the skinny appendages that clearly showed where the bones ran, surrounded by a layer of different muscles that he would have to learn to address correctly in flight. But then, feathers appeared – small and downy at first, covering the whole of his still growing wings. The expression 'tarred and feathered' flashed briefly through his mind, making him erupt into a broad grin, but that stage only lasted for a moment and Harry felt his grin soften into a smile as his feathers lengthened and firmed up, locking together at the edges to form a smooth surface that could resist the heavy pressures of the winds.

Then, his wings were complete, though they were shorter as he remembered them being, Harry thought, with almost neat edges, and sharp tips. And they glowed in the sun, that was still standing behind them and thus infused the green feathers with a golden light, lending them a halo, like sunlight through leaves, and a sense of otherworldliness almost.

Harry pressed his lips together, so that his grin might not become too goofily wide. He had done it. Here his wings were, in flesh and blood literally, his flesh and blood, and it hadn't hurt at all.

Behind him, Draco spread his pale feathered, downy wings in such a way that they seemed to frame Harry's own, smaller but sharper ones in hat huge mirror. It made quite a striking combination, Harry had to admit, that silver grey, almost white and that intense green. They could have been Slytherin colours, but the nuances were not quite right: too pale, too luminous and too varied; so Harry could endure the fleeting comparison without too much annoyance, even without a frown.

"Beautifully done, Harry." Blaise said behind them. He ducked down and crawled through the gap beneath their combined wings and the roof to come to stand in front of them, a wide, honestly happy smile lighting his features and a teasing glint in his eyes, which were, with the sunlight flooding them directly from behind Harry and Draco, of a brightly glowing amber. "If I may say so: that was certainly a more elegant transformation than Draco usually carries out!"

The offended Slytherin merely gave an annoyed huff, lifted his own feathered wings and shifted them forwards as if he intended to embrace Harry and Blaise in them, but he stopped in time, letting them hover over the two of them like a protective barrier instead. He didn't grace his fiancé with a single glance as he stepped closer to the boy in front of him, trying awkwardly to draw him in a loose hug from behind – which presented itself as quite a difficult task, seeing as Harry's still respectable, though smaller, wings were in the way. Finally he settled with putting his hands on Harry's slim hip and laying his chin on his shoulder.

"I knew you of all people wouldn't let yourself be held back by memories." He whispered into the younger Gryffindor's ear, staring at the submissive's reflection in something akin to warm pride, but Harry could hear the smug smile in his voice.

That didn't annoy Harry as much as it would have only some days ago; no, instead he savoured the praises coming from people who, Harry thought, would surely be very parsimonious with such words usually. At least he couldn't imagine them giving random compliments to their friends.

But Harry reminded himself that that didn't have to mean anything, after all they were trying to beguile him and so he raised his chin, defiantly, only half-jokingly and with an unvoiced challenge flashing in his eyes he said in an exact replica of Draco's haughtiest tone of voice "I won't let myself be held back by anything … or anyone." And left the 'And don't you ever try to again!' unspoken.

And as if to prove it – his independence and his stubborn will – and of course, to show off a little bit as well as sating his own nagging curiosity at what he looked like, he demanded his magic to answer to him and bring forth all the other Vykélari traits that he hadn't allowed his body to show since the full moon. With a lazy head-shake, silky, emerald feathers burst through his thick, black locks, as if they had hidden beneath and between his tresses and the single shaking of his head had made them fall from their hiding places and reveal themselves. They mussed up his hair even further, disrupting what little order he and a brush had enforced on them earlier that morning, and made the skin on his head tingle pleasantly with the magic that had gathered there and from the new physical presence of each feather.

At the same time the skin around his eyes paled, and it was that same sparkling ultraviolet, a colour that he had never seen on himself but had discovered on several plants in the gardens and even in some of the portraits and paintings of the manor. It emphasized his eyes and made them glow now: gems of leaf green surrounded by an almost white. Fascinated he reached up to touch the appearing mask, wondering what the skin now felt like, only to have Blaise gently grasp his wrist, shaking his head mildly.

"Your claws, Harry." He reminded, and Harry had the sudden feeling that there was a new depth to his voice, that it was slower somehow and … and knowing that the Italian's voice shouldn't be so distinctly audible, not when he was speaking so softly, made Harry realise that the transformation was also affecting his hearing very noticeably. He hadn't realised just how much it did in the hospital, not having had a direct comparison available, but now… well, he should have know, after all hadn't he been told that the manor had sound-proof walls for the sole reason that Vykélari with their extraordinary hearing could still find peace and quiet within it and to offer privacy to its inhabitants and save rooms for secret conversations?

In any case, Blaise was right: each of his fingers ended in the dark greyish, almost one and a half inch long talons. He had been shocked and even a little bit devastated the last time he had seen them upon waking in the manor, but now with the certain knowledge that he would be able to retract them, they didn't bother him quite as much, aside from being a real hindrance all the time whenever he tried to touch something.

He nodded curtly to Blaise to let him know that he had understood and taken the warning but as he tore away his gaze from the deadly poisonous talons, his attention was immediately drawn back to his own reflection, visible over the dark Italian's shoulder: from his temples, starting from beyond his hairline, several green lines, varying in their thickness and brightness, flowed over his brow, in swirls and curls along his forehead, eye-lids and cheek-bones, encompassing his wide green eyes like a Victorian filigree mask, never leaving the blurred band of ultraviolet around his eyes that in its brightness drew even more attention to the unusual mask.

It gave him a – for him – strangely exotic appearance, handsome, yes, but exotic and unfamiliar. Harry didn't quite know yet if he liked it, so different was it, but he guessed he would get used to it, in time.

Turning his gaze away, and, remembering the other markings that had graced his body the last time he had transformed, Harry carefully leaned sideways to gaze around Blaise's broad back at the reflection of his sides in the mirror, where another set of lines grew from his hip upwards, from beneath Draco's pale hands, which tightened on the markings.

Annoyed, Harry swatted at them, leaving it to Draco to keep himself from being scratched. This was really taking too many liberties.

"Keep your hands to yourself!" he demanded, or tried to demand, really, since all that came out of his mouth was the hoarse, scolding screech of an enraged crow.

Exasperatedly Harry mused, he should be starting to get used to that: whenever he really tried to give it to his hosts straight, his new body didn't let him. His own body. How typical.

He settled for glaring at Blaise instead, who was obviously fighting not to laugh, the strain of the effort making his lips twitch (he didn't want to look at Draco right then, as he barely covered his chuckles with suspicious coughing), while he concentrated on human words again. Moments later, Harry transformed his syrinx back into his human voice box, only barely feeling the slight shift in his throat.

"You!" He hissed at Blaise, noticing with satisfaction that clearly discernible, firmly spoken words darted from his lips "Stop smirking. And you!" he continued, this time glaring at the pale blond. "Stop laughing, and keep your hands to yourself!"

"I'm sorry, Harry." Blaise said, still smiling. "It's just…"

"… oh, so funny. Yes, I know!" Harry growled. But he wasn't really angry, he might have even laughed himself, if their positions had been reversed; but well, it was starting to grate on his nerves that they were so much more knowledgeable in all these Vykélari … things … matters … whatever.

"Didn't we want to fly? Will you show me how, or not?" He asked impatiently.

"Of course, if you wish." Blaise relented amiably and nodded towards Draco, who finally tamed his chuckles into a grin and vanished the mirror with a lazy wave of his wand. Almost, Harry did regret it not being there any more: firstly, he was no longer able to see what Draco was doing behind his back, and secondly… well, he somehow felt that there were still so many things to discover with his body's new appearance and he hadn't quite looked his fill yet.

There would be time later for that, however.

Not having anything else to look at, Harry turned to Blaise, who now regarded him once more earnestly and with an almost tender expression. "I am glad that you were able to transform completely. You already went a long way to overcome what you went through that night and I hope the memories won't trouble you further."

Awkwardly, Harry lowered his gaze, flushing faintly from shame and embarrassment and searched futilely for anything to answer. He had never wanted to appear weak in front of the two Slytherins, never wanted them to see that losing his magic and encountering such levels of agony and fear when he hadn't known what was happening had achieved what Voldemort and his followers never had in all those years. But although he had known that this would be the consequence of asking after the transformation and the pain he had felt, he had needed the reassurance. And they hadn't batted an eye-lash and they were not mocking or teasing him, but they knew, and that was bad enough.

To add to his embarrassment, the Italian was not yet finished. "If they do, don't hesitate to speak up right away or to search us out. Whenever." He added with emphasis.

Harry kept silent and bit his lips, hoping that his cheeks weren't as red as they felt like. He would certainly not go to them and ask for help whenever. Nonetheless he murmured a barely discernible "Okay." And hoped that would suffice… Merlin, he had never known Slytherins could be so prone to worrying and protectiveness. … Maybe that old Sorting Hat was wiser than students usually gave it credit for, Harry could still remember the first song he had heard, treasuring the memory: 'Or perhaps in Slytherin you'll make your real friends' … A tight-knitt group they were, those Snakes. But he almost had to smirk a little bit as he looked at Blaise and Draco. Real friends, huh?

But the longer the silent moment between them lasted, the less amused and the more fidgety Harry became, until Draco nudged his shoulder and said teasingly. "The proper thing to say would be 'thank you'."

"Git!" Harry grumbled only half-earnestly and glared over his shoulder at Draco's grinning form, making both of the other young men laugh out. But the awkward moment at least was gone.

"Now Harry," Blaise began, and led the Gryffindor to the middle of the roof, facing south-east. "We'll teach you to fly."

At those words, Harry's heart made a distinct leap and now he really felt reminded of the day he had first flown on a broom on the grounds of Hogwarts, without any gloomy thoughts of pain remembered; with the transformation now behind him, all he felt was the nervous excitement, the fear of embarrassing himself, of failing, the anticipation of being free of the ground and do something that mankind had always dreamt of: flying.

Just like the eleven years old child he had been then, still amazed at everything magical.

"I guess you noticed that your wings are smaller and sharper tipped than when you first transformed?" Blaise asked and Harry nodded immediately, even though he had only seen his wings once from up close, cocooning him and only for some short minutes, yet the difference was palpable. Literally.

"So we can change the shape of our wings." He said pointlessly, only to show he was still listening, still following.

"Yes." Draco nodded, once again falling into his teacher-role, eager to give his charge more of an understanding of what it entailed to be a Vykélari. "You opted now for wings that are well suited for a high speed flight. But flying with these will cost you much energy, either magical or physical. Different shapes are suitable for different aspects of flight, you know. Long, narrow wings are well-suited for a slow, gliding flight and soaring. Short, curved wings that are broad and have a roughly elliptical shape make for an agile flight. And now, if you'd lengthen the outer feathers and spread them to get slots in between them, you'd be able to glide for hours – if the wind is favourable and your magic strong enough, which of course won't be a problem for you. Well, and they will support an easier take-off, so I'd advise you to lengthen the primary feathers… that are the ones on the outer side, at the wing tip." he added when Harry blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

Curious, Harry pulled his wings closer, bending them and folding them inwards so that he could directly scrutinize the feathers. They were fascinating to look at, that he had to admit and he couldn't help but flap a little bit up and down, watching with rapt attention how the feathers curved and strained against the resistance of the air, how they caught the light and let it burn over them in flashes of green flames.

Blaise smiled at him, and seeing the warm approval in his expression, Harry remembered how disappointed the Italian had been when he had insisted on his natural – well, his human – sight. It seemed strange that it had been so important for him and Draco even then, that Harry himself should find pleasure in the smallest things his inheritance had bestowed upon him without being asked. He filed that thought away for a later time when he would have the leisure to ponder it more thoroughly, when Blaise spoke.

"They are of an exceptionally beautiful colour, colibrí mio."

Briefly Harry wondered if he should take offence at being compared to such a tiny bird – the similarity to the word kolibri, the hummingbird was easy enough to grasp – but then he discarded the thought again in favour of more important matters: "How do I change the shape?"

"Just like anything else, with will." Draco answered and then went to show Harry the exact wing shape to adapt. Only moments later, the green feathers shifted and grew along with the complete structure of his green wings until Harry stood there with the wings of an eagle raised high above his head.

"That's it!" Draco said with evident eagerness. "Now you are properly equipped. And so we finally get to the fun part: the flying." Draco harrumphed slightly and automatically Blaise and Harry raised an equally exasperated look.

"What you have to understand first," Draco said pragmatically, reacting to the raised eyebrows with nothing more than the merest tightening around his pale lips, "is that humans, even those with wings, are physically unable to fly except under the most fortunate conditions."

"Draco!" Blaise scolded and Harry, feeling rather confused at that statement, saw him frown at his fiancé somewhat fiercely.

"Ignore him." He then said to Harry, soothingly. "Technically, he is right, but I don't want you to concentrate too much on what is happening. Sometimes instincts are much more reliable than logic. And I think you are more like me in that respect: trust your body."

"It helped me!" The blond objected in that tone of voice someone would use when bringing forth the ultimate argument to end a discussion.

"Well, love, not everyone works like you." Blaise gave a crooked smile with such exasperated affection it made Harry bite his lower lip to suppress his amusement, especially when the blond cocked his head in mock affront, and declared with the haughty poise of the perfect Malfoy heir, "But the best do!"

"Anyway," Blaise rolled his eyes and then focused on Harry again. "The basics are pretty technical: when air is flowing over your wings, the form of your wings causes the air beneath your wing to be accelerated and directed downwards. It is compressed which increases the pressure, while the air is directed upwards above your wing, thus reducing the pressure. That gives you lift and enables you to glide." He summed up. Harry blinked. What was it with Slytherins trying to explain all the theory behind the most simplest of things instead of just doing them? Honestly, they would so get along with Hermione if only they would change their attitudes and start speaking normally with muggleborns.

"To achieve enough lift to get off the ground, however, you need to get the air to flow very quickly over your wings. And while that technically is not possible for someone as heavy as a human because you can't run quickly enough while bowed forwards so that your wings are in a horizontal position, you can – being conveniently a wizard – accelerate the air instead. And being a Vykélari, you can do that wand- and wordlessly and even without thinking too much. After all, it only affects the air in the direct contact with your wings and your magic can handle that subconsciously. And if you change that thin layer of air, the surrounding wind currents are affected also."

"A-huh." Harry swallowed. He hadn't concerned himself with physics since entering the wizarding world at the age of eleven and to be honest, he had somewhat stopped following Blaise's explanations when the Italian had started to talk about different pressure levels.

"Don't worry, it's not important to understand that." Blaise continued, throwing a stern glance towards Draco who was pressing his lips together firmly to keep silent and had crossed his arms over his chest. He obviously didn't feel comfortable with the 'grit-your-teeth-and-get-to-it'-approach, Harry thought, not really surprised.

"I didn't either, not really until I felt for myself what my cousin was trying to explain to me."

"Right." Harry said and kneaded the knuckles of his wand-hand, not quite convinced, yet very much determined to forget about pressures and lift for now and to fly like he had always flown on a broom: by instinct.

"Now come, Harry," Blaise said with a last encouraging glance at him before he turned and faced south-east, the coastline to his right. Harry followed, moving into the Italian's wake, Draco behind them.

With little ado, Blaise planted himself firmly on the roof top, his feet digging into the ground. In no longer than a few seconds his coppery wings burst from his back, spreading out behind him. They had also changed since the last time Harry had seen them: they were long now, and sharp-tipped and narrow like those of a sea gull.

It suited him better than the broad ones he had had when they had been swimming in the sea, Harry thought, as much as he seemed to love water.

A moment later the dark Italian leaned forwards slightly into the balmy wind, his wings curved to catch the currents, the feathers curling and bending backwards in the light breeze.

"Always turn into the headwind!" he said, the huge appendages flapping almost lazily, the muscles flexing with well-practiced ease as he prepared to take off. The fabric of the shirt he still wore and which he had magically cut two slits into to make room for the two new limbs, stretched with every movement, every steady beat of is wings.

"You might want to magically lighten your body so that your wings won't have to carry quite as much weight. But don't overdo it, you need a certain weight or the wind will make you his new plaything." Draco interrupted from behind them and as if in reaction to his comment, Harry could see Blaise's stance shifting: the Italian leaned forwards into the headwind and his feet dug further into the ground to keep himself still; his wings kept beating steadily now, as he fought against the wind that was now a considerable force against the wide plane of his wings and his reduced weight.

His voice, though, was still unmoved, still unstrained as he addressed Harry next. "Then imagine wind flowing over your wings … and leap!"

A sudden gust hit Harry hard as he was standing not far behind Blaise, and he had to narrow his eyes as it mercilessly whipped into his face. The dark Italian meanwhile had indeed jumped up into the air that caught him with open arms, it seemed, cradling the lean body in its currents, carrying him steadily upwards and still the wind was beating around him. Only its effect on Harry and Draco, still standing on the roof garden, diminished gradually as Blaise was borne farther and farther away from them.

With a silly, excited smile Harry followed him with his eyes, watching as the copper-winged teen started to circle above them for a minute before he began his slow decent towards the two of them again.

"I'll stay behind you." The blond reassured, coming up behind the brunet. "And levitate you when you lose control."

Harry looked over his shoulder at the other young man, still a teenager like himself, but matured before his time. Draco had his wand firmly in his hand, rolling it between his slender fingers. The thought that this very hawthorn wand had been directed at him numerous times in ill intent did not even cross his mind, only the surety that it – hawthorn and unicorn hair – and its master would not let him fall. He smiled, but also raised an eyebrow at the doubt in his flying abilities that Draco was portraying. Again. One would think Slytherins should have a steeper learning curve.

But Draco only shook his head lightly and explained. "Flying with your own wings is much more difficult than on a broom, which only requires you to sit steady upon it and not fidget. I expect you to fall at one point or the other today. Everyone does during their first flying lesson."

"You, too?"

"Of course." Draco nodded. "More than once in fact, I assure you. So don't take it to heart if you don't get it right the first few times or even today at all. We'll simply try again and practice with you until we can hunt for the snitch together."

He tilted his head, his eyes and smirk flashing a challenge. "I'd like that."

Harry laughed. "I bet! Then I'll just have to see to it that you won't have to wait too long. And you should brace yourself for a sound trashing, Malfoy!"

Draco frowned a little bit offended. "Are we back to surnames, now?"

"Only when we are competing." Harry answered unconcernedly with a dismissive gesture. "You know, sometimes it's as if you had two different personalities: Malfoy, the prat who lives to make me miserable and Draco the … well, the … the other extreme…"

And before any expression on the blond's face – be it surprise, mirth or offence … or that ever present haughty smirk – could make him regret that remark and cause him to flush even further, Harry turned into the headwind and spread his wings wide. It didn't save him from Draco's clear laughter, though, that rang through the air.

"No part of me lives to make you miserable nowadays. But to say that some part of me always lived to get your attention, now that just might have some truth to it."

Surprised, Harry turned, but before any further inquiry could have made it past his lips, Draco had already clapped his hands and stepped forward. "Well then, Harry," he drawled, his eyes still sparkling with laughter. "If monsieur would like to continue now…" And with an elegant, expansive gesture he invited Harry to proceed.

In the end Draco was right: It took him a little bit to figure out how to take off, mostly because the success depended largely on the strength of the lightening charm he used on himself wand- and wordlessly, an accomplishment he was rather proud of but which, Blaise told him, he would be able to do rather easily and without much training as long as the magic stayed close to his body. As soon as the effects were more far reaching however, Harry would most likely still need his wand for as long as he stayed without a mate to help him control his magic.

For now though, the exact strength for the lightening charm caused Harry enough problems: if he became too light, he had not enough to counter the wind with, and once he started the sudden gust that was supposed to let him reach sufficient "lift", as Draco and Blaise called it, he was simply blown backwards (and Draco really had to catch him the one time or the other); but if his charm was too weak, he was too heavy to get off the ground.

But after a few failed attempts, and much frustration on Harry's part, he managed to really leave the ground of the roof garden for the first time.

Like during his previous tries, Harry spread his wings wide and forced his already burning muscles into the repetitive, vigorous flapping movements that were so exhausting – he had never thought that air alone would put up so much resistance.

Forward and down he pushed his wings, the air pressing against them insistently, and then he pulled them up again, felt the outer feathers rotate slightly like the slats of a jalousie. It broke the integrity of his wings and made upward movements so much easier than the downward stroke, as the air could simply flow through in between the feathers.

But the feather rotation felt weird.

Up and down, up and down, smoothly, steadily. And then he reduced his weight, wished himself to be lighter. He did that gradually until he knew that with much force, he would theoretically be able to get off the ground with several strong beats. But he wouldn't. He didn't have the strength anymore, because Blaise and Draco had been right and using muscles he had never used before was just so damn exhausting…

Almost he didn't feel the tingling of magic, barely perceptible, rushing into his wings, but he was becoming better now with sensing the currents of his own magic. It was a pulsing, desiring thing, wanting to be used so strongly that it kept reacting to his thoughts. Now it flowed into his muscles like an energetic balm, trickling into them continuously until they prickled and heated and were soothed and energized all the same. And then it wasn't only the power of his muscles beating, it was all of him, all of what was Harry, his wings, his magic, his body moved smoothly with each flap.

It was then that he knew he was ready. Wind through his hair, on his wings, ruffling the feathers. The image was in his mind only a fracture of a second before the sensations were on his body. A wind took hold, no gust. He didn't need something so sudden, he needed something more stable and in contrast to the two dominants, his magic was powerful enough to keep up more than just a short gust and do that again and again and again without much effort. It wished fervently to do more, so he let it.

And he kept flapping.

His feet were almost skidding over the ground, he had to reduce the wind and when it did without him consciously making it do so, Draco called out to him "Now, Harry!" and Harry jumped, leaped forward, letting his whole weight fall into the air currents that he himself was producing. They kept pressing against him and he kept his wings rigid and with the artificial air stream flowing so steadily around him he was able to hover on the spot, against the wind.

That was not enough. Harry wanted to fly, not hover, not soar or glide. On his broom, he had always enjoyed fast flying more than the calm, slow rounds some did for relaxation and this wasn't going to change anytime soon.

Harry reduced the wind and flapped his wings downward with all force, propelling himself forward, ever forward and with a velocity that surprised him. His heart skipped a beat when he passed the edge of the roof top and almost he lost his balance from the short flutter of nervousness. There was nothing beneath him, no broom to hold onto, and the ground was far… if he fell, if his wings faltered… But he knew that Blaise was in front of him, and Draco still stood on the roof, his wand out, watching him like a hawk and they would keep him safe and why shouldn't he risk it?

With the wind no longer whipping into his face and against his wings, Harry used all the strength he had, the combined forces of magic and muscles, to gain height and speed. It wasn't easy. The natural currents were much more unpredictable than he had anticipated. He kept faltering for short moments, whenever he flew right through warmer regions and his stomach seemed to drop as the thermal lifted him upwards. But, god, he loved that feeling! He laughed and mafficked and flapped stronger. Now he knew what Blaise had meant when they told him the differences in pressure would raise him

"Harry! Harry! Not so high!" Someone shouted from behind him. It was probably Draco, since a moment later Blaise was at his side, ten metres away from him to his right, flapping furiously to keep up with Harry, who still pressed magic into his own wings to force them to continue the vigorous flight that his own muscles would never have supported. This was exhilarating.

"No!" he shouted back, grinning like a madman, and he wasn't sure if it was the magic intoxicating him or the flying. The wind rushed through his hair, letting the brilliant green feathers flutter violently, it whipped over his face, making his eyes tear up, it flowed over his wings, through the feathers, bending them, curving them. And his magic sung! God, it was pure elation. It had never been so much a part of him than ever before, exulting in being used for something this wonderful.

There never had been anything better.

"Don't fly further Harry!" Blaise called over, sounding concerned. "You'll pass the wards soon!"

Immediately Harry slowed a bit and looked down. He was surprised to see the sea roll in waves towards the shore directly beneath them. They glittered in the sunlight like a carpet of gems and crystal. It looked so surreal from this height.

Then Harry turned his gaze upwards and really, he could almost see the slight flicker in the air; in any case he could feel them if he concentrated enough: A persistent pressure that prickled against his skin, that caused him to recoil. The wards. Which he wasn't allowed to pass. Which he had been ordered not to pass.

A rebellious sparkle rose in him and for a moment he wished he could heed it, just because Blaise had been such a bastard about it all and still hadn't apologized or taken back his stupid rules. But that would mean leaving the two dominants and that he couldn't do.

Nonetheless: if he went into a plummet from this height and passed the wards with such a velocity, then surely no House Elf would be able to react in time. He remembered that the fastest bird could dive … well, okay he didn't really remember how fast, but it was very fast, too quick a target for a House Elf to possibly hit with a stunner. That meant he wasn't necessarily dependant on Ives Malfoy's goodwill… when the time came for him to leave, he would be able to do so. But that time was not now and with how happy he felt at that very moment, Harry thought that that time could gladly stay in the far future where it belonged.

"Please, Harry, let's head back!"

Harry nodded, ready to set his feet back on solid ground. He was getting really tired and needed to push more and more magic into his wings; he knew as soon as he pulled it back, he would probably not be able to lift the wings even one more time. Tomorrow he would probably feel all stiff and aching.

He followed Blaise in a slow zigzag descent, turning alternately into and away from the headwind until they reached the roof top. The landing though was trickier than Harry had anticipated and he might have crashed hard onto the ground, had not Draco caught him with a quick levitation charm and set him down gently.

Immediately Harry let his wings melt back into the skin of his back, glad that their weight was literally lifted from his shoulders. Only then did he let the magic go that infused his muscles and almost cringed at the weariness that took its place, striking home with brutal force. He allowed himself to plop down, then, having neither the will nor the strength to stay upright.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked concernedly and rushed forward to kneel at Harry's side.

"Yeah." Harry smiled exhaustedly. "Just tired."

"Good!"

Blinking up at the smirking Slytherin questioningly, Harry wondered what he had done wrong now to cause this latest change in attitude. From concern to what … gloating? In less than three seconds.

"If you had flown like this when it was only your first time and you hadn't been bone-weary afterwards, my ego would have been badly bruised."

Snorting, Harry let himself fall backwards. How typical.

"What he means to say is: well done." Blaise translated with a smile as he, too sat down next to his fiancé and the young Gryffindor. "But you really shouldn't depend so much on your magic, Harry. You should train those muscles."

"What do you think I did? If I hadn't used my muscles, my bag wouldn't hurt so much."

For a moment there was silence and Harry tilted his head up to see the two Slytherins share a smile and a glance beneath hidden lashes that to him seemed oddly ominous…

His premonition proved to be well-founded when Blaise leaned over him, supporting himself on one hand, while bringing the other up to brush Harry's hair aside from his sweaty brow. "I have just the prefect remedy against that."

Oh-oh. "I don't like back-rubs." Harry hastened to get out, guessing that this was what the Italian was hinting at and before either he or Draco could inquire for the reasons or insist, he rushed on. "It's not something a warm bath couldn't do equally as well. And anyway, I'm more tired than anything. And hungry."

But Blaise didn't draw back, still leaning over him and staring into his green eyes as if he could see right through them and into his soul. 'Is he a legilimens?' Harry wondered but then abandoned that theory as soon as it had taken shape in his head. If it were true, he would already have known about the letter he had written to Hermione and Ron.

Oh, shit. Harry felt once again as if he had flown into one of these warm air currents that made his stomach do flip-flops, though right now not in a good way. The letter. He had almost forgotten that thrice damned spawn of his thoughtless impulsiveness.

He probably should tell them, but… to be honest, he was a little bit afraid of their reaction.

His thoughts were interrupted by Draco's smooth voice. "Why don't we have a snack then and get ourselves cleaned up and afterwards, we'll see about that massage."

With the memory of his hopefully small transgression heavy on his mind, Harry didn't object even at the mention of the back-rub he had just refused. He felt positively horrible when, while they were waiting for the House Elves to bring them their meal and then while eating, both Blaise and Draco attempted to draw him into light conversations about all kinds of things, like what he had done during the past two months or what he planned on becoming job-wise. Draco even asked about his cousin Nymphadora, whom he had never met, which startled Harry somewhat. Yet he was too distracted for small-talk and didn't feel able at all to come up with astute or witty remarks or even remotely sophisticated answers.

But nonetheless they didn't allow their conversation to become awkward, telling him about themselves instead when it became obvious that Harry was not feeling very talkative. It was no surprise for him that both boys had a major interest for politics, and neither that both of them did not intend to engage in them openly for at least some years. The Malfoy name was still linked to Voldemort and it would take time and effort until it commanded more than fear, until it was backed by more than wealth; and the Zabinis, while remaining neutral had now allied with the Malfoys through the engagement of both families' heirs.

"Though the magic in the mark died with its creator, and even though it is hidden beneath a glamour, it is there, and people will remember." Draco said, gesturing to his left forearm, and Harry had to admit it was true. The Malfoys were still powerful enough in the right circles to evade punishment – mainly because of the money that backed them and the knowledge that the family would most likely come to power again after some years and then remember its benefactors. But no politician could allow himself to appear too friendly right now with the fallen, dark families or risk losing the support of the wizarding community.

Not very good prerequisites for political careers. Instead Draco considered following into Severus' footsteps and becoming a potions master, though magical theory fascinated him enough to maybe become a charms inventor. Blaise rather felt drawn to the Unspeakables, he admitted to Harry. All the silence and mysteries…

"And you, Harry? No idea at all?" Blaise asked, gently coaxing. They had asked before but Harry had evaded the question and they had told him of their plans instead. Of course, Harry knew that it would be only polite to reciprocate, but…

"I don't know." He said, picking at the rest of his meal: fillet of beef (since he had been declared well-rested enough from his magical exhaustion that his stomach wouldn't protest) with a nearly black coloured gravy made of boiled down and spiced balsamic vinegar and an ensemble of fried vegetables.

"I mean since the not-quite-real professor Moody said I'd be a good Auror, I wanted to become just that and I picked my courses just to be able to follow that path. But I'm not so sure anymore. And I'm not so sure if he was right. He was a mad imposter after all and wanted to get me killed." He attempted a weak smile but neither Blaise nor Draco returned it.

"I've done enough fighting for this wizarding world. You know, I never fought for them, I just fought to keep my friends save, because if Voldemort had won, Hermione would have been dead, and Ron, and all my muggleborn friends. And Luna and Neville. And what would have happened to Hagrid?"

With a sigh Harry laid down his fork. "But there is so much wrong with our society, and I'm sick of fighting for a sick world."

"If you mean the slander during school, Harry," Draco said, unusually subdued and not meeting his eyes, "you should know that much of that came from me."

"Oh, Draco, no. I mean yes, but no." Harry blinked, maybe he should order his thoughts before speaking. "Well, I mean I know that many of the rumours came from you, but damn it, so many of the wizards were stupid enough to listen to the prattling of a fourteen year old teenager! No offence." He added as an afterthought. "But your lies were just so obvious…"

Draco grinned crookedly. "None taken, I was inexperienced and young. Of course, any smear campaign I started now would be much subtler and cleverer, be assured."

"You had better not do that again!"

"Oh, I wouldn't, Harry. Aside from the fact that it would be political suicide if I tried to slander you, I sort of start to like you." Draco said, from under lowered lashes.

Harry was far from impressed. "Against anyone, Draco!"

At that, Draco's gaze turned just that bit sharper and he sat up straighter. "If someone hurt a member of my family, or a close friend… or you, Harry, I would arrange it so that they would not be able to show their face in any respectable circle ever again, maybe lose their job and depending on the severity of his crime, I would see that the one or the other curse reached its target untraceably."

"But…"

"That is how it is, how I am. I might be persuaded by the injured party to refrain from the curses, though, and find other measures of revenge."

"Harry," Blaise started gently, "this is a very common concept. The family of your best friend is pureblood. They, too, have engaged in blood feuds and…"

"But that is what I mean!" Harry exclaimed, "I don't want to defend the laws of a society where vigilantism is so common that it isn't even punished! Or where it is possible for a single family to play puppet master for the minister…" He said, with a nasty glance at Draco, leaving no doubt as to which family he meant. "… a man so powerful that he can singlehandedly decide over the fate of any wizard without anyone to stop him, without any legal means to defend oneself. Like … like throwing people into Azkaban without trial, or pardoning anyone just because he feels like it!"

Harry calmed a little bit at the shocked expressions he encountered. He had let himself be carried away for a moment, he knew it, and yet…

"In a land where the ministry can regulate what the press writes, where they … Merlin! You remember Umbridge?" He asked, not waiting for an answer. "She used a Blood Quill on me so often that the scars are going to be with me for the rest of my life. She was going to use the Cruciatus on me! You were there, Draco, you were there! You heard her confess to sending the Dementors after me, to kiss me! What a country is this where such a person is not prosecuted?" Tiredly he looked away from Draco's bowed head and Blaise's anguished face.

"I hate this." He murmured.

"I'm so sorry." Draco whispered.

"Oh Merlin, please, Draco! Stop apologizing! I don't want all our conversations to end in apologies…"

"No, Harry, I'm sorry! I'm sorry not only that I would have allowed her to do that to you, but that I wasn't even sorry then. I had never seen it used on a human being before, never felt it myself. I… I'm not above ruining my enemies in a purely materialistic sense, but that, things like that… I wouldn't do that. Not anymore, not since I know…"

Harry reached out for him, a smile on his lips that was painful to watch, and he clasped the blond's pale hand in his for a moment. It was the first contact he had initiated himself between them, a fact that at that moment only Blaise realised. "I know, Draco. And the worst is: I cannot even fault you for that vigilantism mentality. Since you cannot go to the Ministry and be sure that a complaint or report will actually be investigated, you have to counter grievances against you or your family yourself. Nowadays a wizard in England cannot be sure that a crime will be punished by those who should enforce the law. I understand that. But it is wrong! It's so wrong on so many levels… I don't want to be an Auror if this is what I'll be defending."

"Then do something against it." Blaise murmured, drawing all attention immediately towards himself. Harry, he noted a little bit amused, looked mildly horrified at the suggestion, while Draco's eyes were starting to regain their gleaming brilliance.

He continued quietly, making sure to keep eye contact with Harry, trying to portray his sincerity. "You are a war hero. The war hero of the Second Wizarding War. People will listen to you, stand behind you, follow you. They will follow a powerful wizard who won't exploit his powers."

Harry grimaced. "I suck at politics, Blaise. Really I do. And I have no idea how to handle press and…"

"But I do." Draco declared and stood up, gazing down at Harry with an air of solemnity around him.

"If you chose to go that path, be assured of my advice and funding. You need only ask for it. And I am sure together with Granger it won't be difficult to determine whether any advice I might give you will be true or not."

Harry shook his head, a little bit ruefully. "Hermione's not good at such campaigns either… I don't know, were you in Slytherin aware of her attempt to free House Elves, forcibly if necessary?"

Blaise shook his head, his eyebrows all but vanished beneath his hair; Draco gaped.

Hmm. That probably meant no.

"Don't ask." Harry said. "She is one of the smartest people I ever met, but she has no idea how the minds of normal people work. Truly."

Then he bit his lips, glancing up to the Slytherin. "But you know, it's okay, I don't think you would deceive me." And Harry was a little bit surprised that he actually meant that.

Something fiery flashed through Draco's expression, something very, very pleased and smug and biting his lower lip he leaned down until he was at the same level as Harry's windblown head, their faces mere inches apart. "I would kiss you for that, mon doux rossignol, if I thought you'd welcome it."

For a moment a totally crazed part of Harry wanted to ask 'who said I wouldn't?', but he managed to stop himself in time. Honestly, what was he thinking? Or not thinking …

"And if you weren't so sweaty… " Draco added with a grin as he straightened himself. "think about it, Harry. Now: why don't we all have a bath or a shower?"

His eyes flitted towards his fiancé and there must have been some form of silent communication between them, because Blaise gave a curt nod before standing himself and pulling Harry to his feet. "I'll accompany you to your rooms."

Harry didn't quite know what he was supposed to think of this new development. He a politician? Merlin…

A little bit dazed, and still horrified at the very notion of 'going that path', he nodded at Draco, whose face lit with a brilliant smile; then he watched him stride away, leaving an emotional jumble in his wake.

CHAPTER END NOTES:

I hope you liked the chapter and that the length somewhat made up for the long wait. The next is going to be up much sooner…
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Night Flight