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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
- 20
- 21
- 22
CHAPTER 21: A Dream Within A Dream

STORY SUMMARY IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

CHAPTER NOTES:

Thank you all for your patience! And your honestly awesome reviews
THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN REWRITTEN. The content itself didn't change, but since the many flashbacks irritated some of you, I rearranged it a bit and rewrote some parts and here we go. Thank you very much for your honest reviews! I really appreciate that, I'm still learning and your feedback is helping me improve, so: thanks a lot.
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After bidding Hermione and Ron goodbye, Blaise and Draco had ushered him into his study so that Ives could keep him company while they made some preparations for the date they still wanted to take him on; of course with the two emergency portkeys as a safety insurance, their comforting weight resting around Draco's and Harry's wrists.
The Gryffindor hadn't confessed to his hosts that he had no intention of using the one Blaise had gifted him with; because, with one portkey short, the dark Italian would not be able to escape danger if it somehow found them and Harry had never left anyone behind to save his own hide and he was not going to start now. But the Slytherins didn't need to know that, did they? Otherwise they'd surely reconsider their plans and Harry found himself rather looking forward to wherever they wanted to take him. Besides, he had an idea that Draco didn't plan on using his own portkey either and abandon his fiancé. As a result, one could say that the emergency portkeys were for appearances' sake only.
As he stepped into the study, his mind was still in some kind of upheaval with different and violently conflicting thoughts and emotions twirling in a maelstrom of enormous proportions, gyrating towards a single realisation that he couldn't quite see and decipher yet.
Lucius Malfoy was a cold, selfish, calculating bastard.

That was the undeniable truth that Harry had understood even at the tender age of twelve. So, it wasn't as if he had ever expected the man to behave any differently now, knowing very well that he held no ounce of his admiration or respect. At least the feeling was mutual.
But Draco loved him nonetheless.

Harry remembered all too well how very upset his former enemy had been at the end of their fifth year after his father's imprisonment. And though admitting it was quite a bit unsettling, Harry couldn't deny that he didn't want those silver eyes to lose the same fondness, desire and intense burning that brightened them now when he looked at Harry.
Despite whatever Draco thought, though, Lucius really deserved to atone for everything he had done.

Even though he had never taken an active role in the Second Wizarding War or the events leading up to it aside from the one incident in the Ministry of Magic that had led to his imprisonment. And Harry knew that the Death Eaters that day hadn't been as vicious, as deadly as they could have been towards a few children, otherwise, frankly, they all would have been killed. But that might have been because Voldemort didn't want Harry to be murdered by anyone but him, and for the sake of keeping the prophecy safe and whole. In any case the fact remained that Lucius Malfoy had escaped justice far too many times.
And Blaise and Draco didn't want him to help their parents anyway.

Being brushed off like that might have angered Harry a bit if Blaise hadn't been so damn mad at his mother and Draco's parents on Harry's behalf. His cold-blooded ranting, the steeliness in his dark eyes had chilled Harry to the core, forcing the awareness on him that the intensity of the Italian's righteous anger gave evidence to feelings much deeper and serious than Harry would have thought them to be. When the hell had that happened?

Wasn't it cruel to continue letting them court him when they invested so much of themselves, more than Harry was? They were defying their parents for him and god ... Harry felt like a wedge driven between the two generations of Zabinis and Malfoys, with both parties hammering him deeper into the rift between them by turns. Maybe he should remove himself before the wounds he inflicted on those families festered and scarred beyond healing.
But Narcissa wouldn't let him. She had taken what Harry did for her with the gracefulness and the shining smile of an angel, only to throw it to the ground and quash it beneath her feet.

That betrayal hurt even though Harry was dimly aware that it shouldn't have been so much of a surprise, after all he had known that the proud woman had not saved his life for his sake but because she had understood that Harry was the only one who might stand a chance to kill Voldemort and with him the master who no longer looked favourably on her family, who had punished Lucius by giving his son a task he couldn't hope to succeed in, couldn't hope to survive. If Lucius hadn't disappointed his lordship before and incurred his wrath, Narcissa would not have lied for Harry, would have alerted the Dark Lord that the Boy-Who-Lived had lived again. And yet Harry had entertained the illusion that the Malfoy matriarch had enough respect for him now to refrain from backstabbing. Obviously not.
But Draco and Blaise were willing to protect Harry from her; moreover they were willing to protect even his friends from her and everyone else.

Of course they didn't do it out of the goodness of their hearts, but that they were going to such lengths when Harry knew how much it must irk them, what with all the bad blood between the Malfoys and Weasleys ... perhaps that was a symbol even more significant than an action based on noble morals.
And Harry didn't want to leave…
All of these jarred emotions left Harry adrift in the centre of the maelstrom of his own making, with Blaise and Draco there with him...

The only possible conclusion was present as well, but Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to face it yet.
"Harry?"
Ives soft voice pierced him like lightning and he raised his gaze to the painting of the rose garden with the other submissive in it a bit guiltily, wondering how long he had stood there in silence staring into space.
But Ives wasn't alone.
Next to him, painted with fine, delicate brushes stood the somewhat sinister figure of a man swathed in black, a foreign invader completely out of place amongst the greenery and the Nostalgia roses, even with the red haired submissive nestled into his side, held there with one arm, as if it was the only place Ives had any right to be in. A waterfall of white-golden silk cascaded down his back, vanishing behind the man's shoulders and his confident blue eyes held a ruthless sparkle as he regarded Harry, reminding him uncomfortably of a goshawk, a predator, a killer who was as effective, fast and merciless as he was intelligent; but not necessarily evil. Just hungry.
"May I introduce my husband to you: Adler, Adler Malfoy."
Honestly, Harry hadn't known what to expect after what Ives had told him of the man who had used Ives' plight, whatever it had been, to earn his hand in marriage, who had given him an 'offer he couldn't reject' for that reason and that reason alone but who supposedly loved him at the same time...
But just as Ives had refused to yield to any expectations Harry might have had on him, so did Adler – the cold, calculative raptor standing there next to his so congenial husband with one arm wrapped around his slim waist like a vice, as if he wanted to stake a claim on the redhead. Harry just... well, they just seemed so wrong together, such a contradictory couple: warm and open versus cold and secretive, colourful and approachable versus black and pristine.
Harry couldn't really say that he liked Adler. He couldn't honestly claim to dislike him either; the man was just ... honestly, he just seemed to lack any emotions one could abhor or admire him for and Harry found himself oddly glad that he had never encountered the man in life-size outside of a painting.
"A pleasure, Mr Potter, to finally be able to make your acquaintance." The man said smoothly, with just enough inflection to not sound bored.
"Likewise, Mr Malfoy." Harry replied cautiously even though he would rather have been speaking alone with Ives who he had come to like in the little time they had known each other.
The older man didn't seem fazed at all by Harry's reticence, and he seemed almost close to a smirk for a few moments before he shifted his stance, his robe swirling around him like a living entity made of shadows, and spoke again. "I must say I was rather looking forward to meeting you, the praised Saviour of the Wizarding World, since I have heard so much of you in the last few years and Ives seems quite taken with you already."

And with that he looked down at his husband, eyes softening like melting steel, stroking a knuckle over his cheek in a soft caress before turning to Harry again, all polite, neutral interest once more.
For some reason the comment rubbed Harry the wrong way, or perhaps it was just the manner in which it was delivered and the way the blonde's eyes seemed to dissect him while he spoke as if he was testing him.

Harry raised his chin stubbornly. "It must be disappointing to expect to meet a hero and find out he is human after all."
A short, quiet laugh fell from Adler's lips, as polite and insignificant as all his comments so far seemed to be. "Not at all, Mr Potter. I am not so naive as to expect to find a truly heroic being with otherworldly powers and inhuman beauty anywhere in this world. But many here in Britain seem to think that you came close and I found myself rather anticipating our meeting, though of course it will be sadly shortened now since my descendant and his fiancé are intent on showing you the beauty of Italy."
"Adler!" Ives gasped and grasped his husband's forearm tightly, but Harry kept his eyes focused on the shrewd, black clad man, thinking – incorrectly – that the other submissive was merely appalled at Adler's ambiguous words. He didn't see the small drop of dark, light-suffused liquid that a House Elf hiding behind him was very slowly levitating closer to his eye in the very far periphery of his field of vision where sight was blurred and hazy and more focused on detecting quick movements than visual details, because as sharp as a Vykélari's eyes are, even they have their limits.
For his part, Harry couldn't help but stare at the painting with his eyes widened a bit and his brows raised incredulously, trying to decide whether he had just been insulted or not. After all one could interpret Adler's word such that he himself didn't think Harry close to the vision of the typical hero; but that wasn't necessarily a slight.
A moment later Harry startled, whipped his head to the side, only a fracture of a second too late, clenching his eyes shut as something dark and hard flew right into his eye.
Damn, but that smarted.
"Harry? Are you alright?" Ives voice was tight with concern and something else, something akin to anger, though Harry couldn't by any stretch of imagination understand why the redhead would feel that way when nothing substantial had happened that could warrant that reaction.
"Yeah..." Harry mumbled, "just a fly or something."

Carefully he rubbed at his watering eyes but whatever it was, was gone now, probably washed away by the tear fluid. After a few moments he blinked the wetness away, glad that the irritation of his eye receded quickly.
"I'm fine."
As he straightened himself, Harry was a bit surprised to find the painted, colourful figure of Ives now standing a good portion away from his solemn, sombre husband, fiercely glaring at Adler, who still maintained that air of polite superiority that Harry found so aggravating.
"Wonderful." Adler murmured softly and Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that this had nothing to do with his well-being.
Well, and thus it happened that Harry met Adler Malfoy, on whom he still hadn't been able to form a concrete opinion when Draco and Blaise came to fetch him fifteen minutes later. The man was just too ambiguous.
Unswervingly he continued to enwrap Harry in seemingly meaningless conversation that made his thoughts spin and his mind run in circles, trying to work out what undoubtedly important and incriminating information Harry must be revealing with his words. The fact that the younger submissive was giving him not much more than one syllable answers didn't seemed to bother Adler at all.
Harry would probably have made more of an effort to be polite, if Ives hadn't been looking at the other man with barely contained fury simmering under his skin and in his lively blue eyes. It was unsettling and confusing and Harry would have liked to ask what this was all about but didn't wanted to meddle into the clearly private affairs of a married couple.
It was therefore understandable that Harry was all too relieved to follow Blaise and Draco out of the study and together they made their way to the Manor's forefront. The sight that greeted them there immediately erased the uncomfortable conversation from Harry's mind without a trace.

Harry hadn't been on the front side of the large villa before, only ever visiting the garden and even during his flying lessons they had flown towards the shore and the sea and on his way back he hadn't paid much attention to the ground, keeping his eyes on the wonderful scenery in the distance, the far mountains half veiled by haze and dust in the air that made their outlines blur with the feint blue sky. And on Draco, who had waited for him and Blaise on the rooftop garden.

Seeing it now – if Harry had only the slightest interest in architecture and if he hadn't been distracted by what stood on the circular drive leading away from the Manor's entrance, he might have been impressed.
The villa's forefront looked older and more grand than Harry had expected, even if it was nowhere near as pompous and palatial as many of the manors in Britain, more inviting and homely. Warm.
No extravagant ornaments adorned the façade, no stuccowork, but the windows were tall and some of them rounded and there was a long side porch to the left of the Manor's entrance with a row of wooden pillars partly obscuring the slender chairs situated there.
The circular drive was covered with pale gravel that glowed in the early midmorning sun and lead away from the manor as a white ribbon flowing over the green park that was much more orderly than the garden behind the manor with its neat, geometric flower beds and artfully cut hedges.
Harry preferred the other garden: this one clearly was meant to impress, not to be enjoyed which in his opinion destroyed the purpose of even having a garden in the first place. Well, that is, if one wasn't as narrow-minded and bored half to death as his aunt Petunia and had inferiority complexes to appease by overtrumping one's neighbours in something as inconsequential as gardening.
And if there was one thing his Slytherin hosts didn't suffer from, then it was inferiority complexes.
Whatever.
Harry's gaze was quickly caught by the three chariots lining up on the driveway, the polished, dark wood of the semicircular guard in the front shining and gleaming even though the driveway was swathed in a huge shadow thrown by the manor behind them.

Each chariot was large enough for three, maybe even four grown man if they stood closely together and from the look of it, they were not meant to stay on the ground for long: three, pearly white horses were harnessed to the chariots, one to each vehicle, occasionally rearing their proud heads, sending the white, thick strands of hair flying in the soft breeze.
Their most outstanding feature though, were the lean, wide wings that sprouted from their muscular backs, longer than Harry's own were – or Blaise's and Draco's for that matter. The flight feathers were long and glossy and bled into a steely silver at the tips but the coverts were downy and soft looking and as white as freshly fallen snow.
Four wizards and two witches stood close to the tall beasts, calming hands stroking and petting at their sides, keeping them steady and the obviously wild temperaments in check. It didn't completely work as the animals kept fluttering slightly, sweeping away a bit of the gravel covering the driveway so neatly and swirling up dust from the overly dry ground.
But the group didn't seem bothered by the wilful demeanour of their charges. With their fingers intertwined with the harnesses they looked up to Blaise, Harry and Draco as they descended the stairs, all dark, keen eyes, and wide rough smiles splitting angular faces that bore a strong enough resemblance for them to be related in some way or another. The youngest, a teenager who couldn't be older than fourteen, maybe fifteen, waved an enthusiastic greeting towards them which Blaise and Draco returned, albeit a bit more reserved.
Absentmindedly Harry noticed their open expression and unguarded stances and that all of them wore their wands in closed holsters at their hips; a safe place with no danger of the precious tools being lost and easily accessible at the same time but not quickly. It was unlikely that they meant them ill.
Some tight knot in Harry's stomach released at that observation and his shoulders were able to release their tension. He nodded a greeting to the six Italians and refocused his attention to the winged horses, allowing himself to enjoy the view of the beautiful animals. Maybe he should have expected something like this, Harry thought with a fond eye roll and a gentle, slow grin, especially after discovering the Pegasus water mark on Blaise's letter paper, but really...
"Are you serious?" He asked, his voice humming with a gradually blossoming, incredulous excitement. Where had they gotten these creatures from on such short notice?
"Do you like them?" Blaise smiled widely at him, already knowing the answer.
"Are you kidding? They are like Hippogryphs without the vicious beak." Harry said teasingly, because Hermione had reminded him of that incident with Buckbeak in their third year again and he honestly suspected that the missing, deadly weapon was the only reason the two Slytherins allowed those horses close to them in the first place.
Draco's smirk narrowed a bit as he mock-glared at Harry "Yes, well... Pihassan like these three would have been a more appropriate study subject for third year students."
"Yeah, probably..." sheepishly Harry scratched the back of his neck. Hagrid undeniably had an unhealthy affinity to dangerous things and maybe it would have been better not to urge a group of hormonal teenagers already suffering from a chronic lack of emotional control to mingle with a herd of haughty, prideful beasts with an inclination to easily take offence.

But they had been amazing nonetheless and Buckbeak had gifted Sirius with two more years of life and for that alone Harry would always love Hippogryphs.
"... So. Pihassan?"
Blaise nodded and gestured towards the oldest two wizards, a man and woman who were probably in their late forties and – Harry would bet – the parents of the lively boy. "Yes. But I think Velia and Tore have been dying to get a helpless victim to bore to death with their knowledge and who am I to deny them?"
Before Harry could take another step, however, Draco grasped his shoulder, making the Gryffindor halt and face him, his questioning gaze encountering grave pools of silver.

"Don't worry about the Battellis accompanying us for a bit today." He murmured too lowly for anyone but Blaise and Harry to hear and there was a strangely urgent, insistent tinge to his soft timbre and in the expression of his eyes "They are trustworthy and they have sworn wizard oaths not to tell on us. Trust us to keep you safe today?"
Harry cocked his head, wanting to insist that he didn't need anyone to keep himself safe, because mostly it was true that he didn't. But being able to complete a task alone didn't mean that one necessarily should or that it was the intelligent thing to do. He'd stay alert, of course – sometimes Harry thought he'd never again be able to not keep an eye out for any eventuality – but Blaise and Draco were familiar with the region and the people and if they really wanted to be in charge of their safety, of his, if it was so important to them that he trust them both with this task, Harry could let them.

"Okay."
Seeing the genuine smiles that lit Draco's pale and Blaise's dark skinned face told him he had done the right thing and somehow that made a totally unnecessary warmth spread in his stomach and probably his cheeks as Blaise steered him towards the chariots and the six Italians – the Battelis – waiting there.
It was not a completely new experience but it had been rare enough during the last few years to still be surprising: none of the newcomers even took a second look at his scar while they shook his hands with sure, firm grips and introduced themselves to him in that typical melodic lilt that Blaise only adopted when he was tired or angry and maybe when he was otherwise ... impassioned (and god, that thought made Harry freeze for a moment).

Whether they did not recognize him or had been told not to make a fuss about his identity or whether they just didn't care, Harry didn't know; but it made him feel oddly welcome and normal and warm.
And the little lecture didn't turn out to be as bad as Harry feared it would, especially since Tore proved to be an avid storyteller and Harry loved listening to his strong Italian accent and deep rumbling voice. After not even 10 minutes he knew that Pihassan horses, cousins of the much larger Abraxan breed, belonged to the fastest winged horses in existence and that their name meant 'lightning' (here, Draco winked at him roguishly, earning him a not-so-gentle cuff on the upper arm); he learned that they didn't breed in captivity but would stay loyal to the single human that had captured and tamed them to such an extent that they could be released into freedom again, even start their own herds and nonetheless come whenever called or when their human companion was in danger. That was the reason, Blaise told him, why he himself didn't possess one. He couldn't stay at one place long enough to shoulder the responsibility that came with the bond between a Pihassan horse and its rider.
"But they will allow us to ride in their chariots if their riders give their permission, of course. And they will bring us to our first destination today."
"Which...?" Harry prompted.
"Which you'll see when we get there." Draco murmured close to his ears, making the hairs on Harry's neck raise. "And on the way there we are going to play pugna aerea – aerial combat – and since you are already experienced in warfare, I expect us to win, Harry."
Later, Harry would remember the blonde Slytherin Prince proclaiming their supposedly certain victory with a soft laugh, because in the end they didn't win. Not that Harry had been overly surprised.

Pugna aerea was played in groups of three, as Draco explained to him once they had climbed into their chariot: a charioteer steering the Pihassan horse, a scorer who was allowed to attack the players of the other teams with slowing charms that worked for about a minute and the shielder who could throw up shields with a diameter of about two feet to defend their teammates and horse – which the Battellis apparently counted to their teammates, something Harry only noticed when Tore had slowed down their horse that Harry had left unprotected and he turned to Blaise with an incredulous "can he do that?". After that Draco had switched places with him, making Harry the scorer while taking over the position of shielder. Not that that was necessarily fair but since Harry did enjoy the position of scorer more, he wasn't about to complain.
To ensure that no illicit use of other charms took place, the game was played with specialised fake wands that were only able to produce the type of charm the players were allowed to perform – a good precaution in Harry's opinion since he knew his Slytherins, and the team of the younger Battellis didn't seem above using dirty tricks either. Besides, he still didn't have his own wand and the missing presence of his holly and phoenix feather wand was a constant nagging in the back of his mind.
There were three basic means by which a team could score points: being the first to arrive at the previously agreed goal was worth 80 points. Hitting members of the opposing teams brought 5 points per hit.

But the one method that made this game so enjoyable and exciting was catching the ring fastened to a 10 metres long rope hanging from each chariot, which earned the team 20 points. Once an opposing team had snatched away the ring, it was magically replaced by another up to ten times. If a team lost all its rings, it had automatically lost the game.
Right now, Harry, Blaise and Draco were attempting exactly such a move.
Skillfully, Blaise had steered their chariot closer to the one carrying the twins Alessa and Abele and the young teenager Piero (the third vehicle was crewed by Tore, Velia and her younger brother Savio and they were still trying to catch up after being slowed down), little by little reducing the distance between them and that red metallic ring swinging there so tauntingly out of reach a little above them. It was a most difficult endeavour since Alessa pressed their own Pihassan to fly in a soft slalom of uncoordinated left and rights, up and downs and it caused the ring to flutter about, swerving and careening so hard and quick that it was nigh impossible to catch and furthermore a weapon of its own: Once or twice the metal ring hurtled past Harry's or Draco's head only missing them by inches as they ducked out of its path but even so, it kept evading their grabbing hands.
At the same time Piero fired one slowing charm after the other at them, which so far Draco had miraculously managed to ward off and Harry was trying his hardest to distract him with charms of his own but Abele was quick in his defence and the siblings were obviously a well attuned team so that not even the fairly random movements of the chariot managed to throw them off balance.

Of course the sticking charms on the ground of the chariot made sure that the players would not fall off, but moving with the rolling of the vehicle was still a precarious balancing act that Harry found by far more difficult than controlling a broom.
Harry drew his brow together in concentration, his attention zeroing in on the shining, metallic red ring as it once again swerved from left to right, the single minded vision of having it in his hand filling his mind until it was all there was left to think about.
'Take it!'
Just like the snitch when it was only a few meters away…
A yellowish light, a slowing charm, shot past Blaise in front of him who had leaned away just quickly enough to evade it, but Harry hadn't seen it coming, being hidden behind the taller Italian. Before he could even take notice of the charm, Harry heard Draco snarl to his left and a shimmering disk of what looked like ice appeared in front of him, shattering into thousands of crystalline shards as it absorbed the slowing spell.

For a quick moment he almost had to close his eyes against the melting splinters, looking aside and into Draco's gleaming pools of silver, flashing with the illogical, unreasonable outrage over the fact that the submissive next to him was being attacked but Harry was refocusing his gaze again, following the quickly retreating ring. It was almost past him but if he stretched just a little bit more ... just a bit– and god, it was frustrating to be unable to follow without the degrees of freedom that a broom offered, being literally glued to the chariot.
He didn't know how he had managed it, according to Blaise it should have been impossible, but the next thing Harry knew was that he had overcome the sticking charms, had left the ground of their vehicle and jumped into the air. His fingers touched the smooth, cold surface, closing around the ring and he ripped his prize straight off the rope before gravity and the loss of momentum could catch up with him. Then, as the chariots and their passengers were propelled forward from the force of the Pihassan's powerful flaps without him, Harry felt his stomach lurch and his heart skip a beat, already seeing himself falling. The knowledge that he theoretically had wings now hadn't had the chance to be engraved into his mind deeply enough to remember it in that split of a second when he was frozen in shock.
But before their Pihassan could literally pull the chariot out from under him, Draco's arms wrapped around his waist like a vice and Harry found himself pulled back against a solid chest and onto the smooth surface of the chariot, the sticking charms once again latching onto him.
For a moment there was nothing to be heard but the constant rushing of the wind around them and Harry noticed that both the other team and Blaise and Draco had been shocked into silence, regarding him with wide-eyed surprise and a touch of alarm.
Emotions mirrored within Harry himself. But it was a combination of feelings under which he had learned to still function, his body and mind operating at full stretch and so he used the moment of general stupor to his advantage as he whipped his fake wand into the direction of the other team's players, managing to slow down first their opponent's Pihassan and then their shielder Abele before Piero could even react and attack again. But Harry had already managed to make them slow and defenceless, leaving them open for another ring-theft.
Blaise laughed as he worked on bringing the chariot closer to the newly appeared ring again, the sound merry and proud and challenging. "That's my colibrí!"
And the feeling of success and the surge of elation flushing through his belly in a storm of butterflies and into his cheeks was heady and great and wonderful until for a moment Harry thought that his magic might rush out of him and act on its own accord. But he was still aware of it, the powerful entity within him still entirely separate from the dominants next to him and he was still lucid and awake and his magic was just there, complacent to be with him instead of trying to mess with his thoughts and emotions and that was okay, that was alright and good.
It made him not care as Draco grumbled "Fine, just stay on the chariot, mon verdier!" Instead he grinned and shrugged the Slytherin's protectiveness away, the new ring that was dangling just a few feet away already his main focus.

That had been the first ring Harry had caught that day and by far not the last. Blaise, Draco and Harry had, in fact, been leading when Piero managed to slow down their horse and their team scored the 80 points from arriving first at the goal, points that lead to their victory.
Of course Blaise assured Harry that their own defeat had nothing to do with Blaise's skill as a charioteer, it was just that the other two teams were at an advantage since their Pihassan horses were actually bonded to their charioteers and therefore more inclined to give their best (which somehow morphed into the allegation that their horse had been influenced by its bonded rider, Velia). And Draco proclaimed with a haughtily raised chin that the winning team must have cheated. He had smirked widely though, while he spoke those mock accusations, his eyes sparkling as the younger generation of Battellis laughed and teased them, blaring their victory into the blue sky.
In Harry's humble opinion, putting six experienced players against three with a lot less practice, one of them never having even played before, might have been just a bit unfair.
But he hadn't had so much fun since before the war. Longer, perhaps. Harry honestly couldn't quite recall the last incident. In any case, he hadn't felt so carefree and elated for such a painfully long time that it was like being high on endorphins.
And seeing Piero's exuberant joy at having won would be worth quite a few losses. That and the Slytherin's excuses had been growing much more colourful and, well, absurd (and therefore entertaining) by the minute.
It didn't really matter now, though, especially not when Harry started noticing that the three chariots were moving steadily upwards in wide circles and not down, just like large birds of prey soaring higher into the sky, riding the wind.
Soon, the valley nestled between two spurs of the Apennine Range above which their race had ended, faded into oddly wrinkly looking foothills that were gradually taking on the appearance of a model landscape: the treetops covered the ground like coloured cotton balls and the fields to the west extended to the ocean without any interruption, a patchwork quilt of yellows, browns and greens.
It was a breath-taking view with the blue sea blurring into the far horizon and the mountain range to the other side, the sun painting short shadows onto the surreal looking scenery in between; and Harry realised that this was the first time since that mad flight in Mr Weasley's For Anglia that he was able to enjoy the feeling of floating above the world, escaping all of his mundane problems for a little bit – the dragon and the thestrals didn't count for obvious reasons.
That feeling only lasted until the Slytherins informed him why they were currently flying circles in such a height…
"You want me to jump?" Harry repeated incredulously, wishing he could actually look into Blaise's or Draco's face to gauge their sincerity, but he was honestly too busy staring over the edge of their chariot at over three kilometres of thin air and a shockingly solid ground.
His breath froze in the cold air around him, small fleeting clouds that were immediately blown away by the breeze ruffling through his hair. The visual proof of the temperature was a disillusioning contrast to the warming charms around his body.
Because apparently the air was just below the freezing mark at a height of 10.000 feet and though Harry had never been afraid of heights – he was a seeker after all, and not really a bad one either – taking a three kilometre jump was something else entirely. Damn it, that was higher than the highest point of the mountain range to his right.
Soft fingers touched his shoulder, closing around it and making Harry turn to face Draco with his pale skin and intense eyes, the airflow playing with the blond fine hair as they kept on drawing their circles.

Harry couldn't but wet his lips and for some reason that made Draco's smirk turn wider, his gaze more penetrating and invading and – by Merlin, that mad snake really wanted to jump down there. Harry glanced back down to the ground over three kilometres away, then back to Draco. They were utterly insane.
"Yes. In a manner of speaking." Draco agreed over the rushing wind and Harry gave a strangled groan, partly because it seemed like an answer to his thoughts, but he nodded nonetheless, because, well, had he ever shied away from something that held the promise of dangerous exhilaration and extreme daring that bordered on stupidity?
And with Draco standing so close to him and all of them so close to the edge of the chariot, nobody could expect him to actually think rationally. It should be enough that Harry managed to take a second to realise that it wasn't his magic that made his stomach feel as if he was already falling. But there was no compulsion fogging his mind, no tingling of magical sparkles travelling along his nerve fibres to sear him.
He only hoped Draco and Blaise would attribute his red cheeks to either the heat of the warming charms or the cold of the air.
"Don't worry." Blaise murmured, tying the reins of the slowly circling Pihassan to a knob at the front of the chariot. "You'll wear a charm that will slow your fall to a halt if you touch it. You'd need to activate it after about 35 seconds. That gives you another kilometre to slow down."
Slowly the dark skinned Italian turned around, an oddly neutral expression fixed on his face but just like a filigree masquerade mask, it didn't manage to hide what lied beneath: a kind of hopeful anticipation that lit his eyes from dark chocolate to honey amber, softening his angular face. "But we were wondering if you would like to dive with one of us, actually. To see how a Vykélari would do it?"
Images exploded in Harry's mind. Visions of falling, of cutting vertically through the thin air, pressed to Blaise's body or Draco's, back to chest or possibly facing each other as they plummeted. Staring down at the treetops and fields while the ground would rush towards them and if he reached out with his magic, he could actually align their sensations, feel as his partner's wings strained against the force of the air friction, as they opened slightly, moving them into a horizontal position to pull out of the dive.
It would probably be too dangerous to try that for himself – he had only flown once before – but yesterday he had thought of diving, imagined it… true, mostly he had thought that he could use it as a means to escape the wards but it was also something he had wished to do just for the experience of it. Ever since he had seen Krum perform that perfect example of a Wronski Feint, Harry had been fascinated with dives.
A wide grin budded and blossomed on his face as his resolve hardened. "Well then: with whom?"
And from the way Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance while Blaise smirked complacently, Harry knew his two hosts had already agreed on that matter in case he said yes. Amusement rolled through him in waves as the blonde Slytherin grumbled something that suspiciously sounded like "cheater".
A few minutes later Blaise flew Velia over to their chariot so that the Battellis could take the three vehicles back to their estate somewhere in the north from their current position and leave Draco, Blaise and Harry alone for the rest of their date.
Meanwhile Draco placed a belt around Harry's hip that contained a touch activated slowing charm in the buckle and he told Harry how to position himself during the fall and showed him how to let his magic conjure up a transparent membrane to protect his eyes from the wind and how to keep them from drying out, ensuring that the Gryffindor had gotten it right, making him transform his eyes again and again and again until Velia told him to 'leave the poor boy alone!'
They said their goodbyes to the six Italians who wished them fun for the rest of the day, winking and smirking knowingly and laughing at Harry's blush and Draco's and Blaise's sneering.
And suddenly the moment was there and Harry stood with his back to Blaise's chest, their bodies held together with a sticking charm, toeing the edge of the chariot's platform, Draco standing next to him, clasping his right hand tightly. The dark Italian's warm breath teased against the shell of his ears, distracting but not enough so…
"Okay, then. On three!"
And looking downward, Harry could think of a million reasons (given or taken a few) why this was an honest to god bad idea.
Like the fact he had thrown off a sticking charm not even an hour ago.
"One!"
Not willing to follow that nauseating thought any further, he whipped his gaze away from the ground and to the endless horizon before him but that didn't miraculously eradicate his objections.

Like the one that Blaise and Draco had only had wings for two months now and therefore not that much more flying experience than Harry had.
"Two!"
Harry held out his left hand for Draco to take, locking eyes with the blonde's which flashed in an unspoken challenge, a challenge Harry couldn't not take, his smirk wide and dangerous as he grasped both of Harry's hands and…
"Three…"
They jumped sideways off the chariot, Blaise securely behind him, Draco in front of him.
For a moment, Harry was simply and utterly shocked. His stomach churned so violently from the sudden drop that he felt unable to breathe for a moment or two and he pressed himself against Blaise's body as flatly as he could, reeling from the intensity of the experience as the two Slytherins turned the three of them around so they plummeted headfirst towards the foothills, gaining speed with every second.
The force of the wind and the friction was violent and stupefying and for a moment Harry wondered why he wasn't afraid. His heart rate was skyrocketing for sure and the rush pierced through every part of his body mercilessly, bluntly.
But it was not terrifying like he thought it might turn out to be, it was exhilarating, liberating. It was defying gravity and physical laws and hardships, the most pure form of freedom and weightlessness that Harry had ever known. And he had flown in a car and ridden on brooms and thestrals and Hyppogryphs and even a dragon. This outshone anything and everything else.

He was brimming with a fullness of life that came from exploring the boundaries and finding that you pushed them further just by trying and still haven't found the limits.
He looked ahead at Draco's pale throat, saw the skin ripple from the wind, followed that silver gaze towards the ground that didn't seem to come any nearer, the vague outlines of the landscape beneath them keeping that illusion of a model with that blanket of green treetops, the faint greyish lines of the streets, the rag rug of green and beige fields.
As if they weren't falling at all, as if they were truly weightless.
Floating above the world.
The fall took no longer than 30 seconds, but it were the most wonderful moments in his life, an eternity of keeping his whole life, his very existence in suspense, the world with its grief and dangers and problems a far removed surreal phantom that held no meaning.
It was such a profound and powerful experience that Harry didn't even think about reaching out with his magic, of sharing this precious, immeasurable amount of time. Harry didn't think he could stomach the additional sensations of merging into one being… he might have lost himself in it.
Finally they were close enough to the ground and Draco let go of his hands, pushing himself away from them and Harry saw his wings appearing slowly as if they melted out of his back around his shoulders, not disturbing his flight. He could feel Blaise behind him doing the same, the copper and bronze wings brushing slightly against his shoulders before they started to fan out a bit.
Strong arms wound around his torso and Harry grasped at them tightly as he imagined that it were his forest- and spring-green wings doing that instead of Blaise's. The longing to just spread his wings and fly himself was so tangible, so painfully real and solid in his chest, that the temptation was difficult to resist. But it might be dangerous to unbalance Blaise that way.
They shot off into opposite directions as the Slytherins started to pull out of the dive, Blaise with Harry towards the mountains, Draco towards the sea.
Once again Harry's stomach felt as if it was pressed into his chest as Blaise arched his back, suddenly unfurled his short wings with the durable, hard feathers wide, turning their fall into a sudden rise that had Harry close his eyes, the fast change in direction overwhelming, dizzying and he had to concentrate on the arms around him, that pressed into his stomach, held him tight and safe.

Soon Blaise's flight levelled out into a leisure downward spiral towards the forest beneath them that Draco joined a few moments later.
Harry laid his head back against Blaise's shoulder, nudging his neck in a silent thank you because he didn't think words would make it past the grin literally splitting his face in two, didn't think that he would ever be able to explain the tsunami of emotions surging within him, flooding him. This had been worth everything, maybe even becoming a bird.

After that dive, it took Harry forever to calm down enough to even take note of his surroundings again let alone take part in the lunch that Draco and Blaise had brought along in shrunken packages.
But the scenery where they had landed was perfect: soothing his frazzled nerves with the quietness of nature and moreover, natural magic. The energy that permeated the earth and air and every single plant around them was so in tune with his own that Harry at first hadn't even noticed its presence but once he had been made aware of it, Harry could feel it vibrating in every cell of his body.
Apparently, what looked like the overgrown, ruinous remnants of some small, roman temple was one of the last naturally magical places in Italy, a wizarding preserve area where unique plants and animals could be found that were unable to survive outside of this little sanctuary.
The Battellis had covered for them, pretending to book this place for the day so that no one would know that three Vykélari had been there. Thanks to them they spent some undisturbed hours between toppled stone pillars overgrown by moss and roots, sitting on a blanket on the grass in the shadow of a Hesperides' tree and eating sandwiches and fruit-salad and a terribly huge amount of different sweets while they talked about anything that came to mind.

It started with the dive and how Draco and Blaise had been taken on such activities with their already fledged relatives long before they had gotten their own wings and somehow evolved into Harry telling them some of the minor adventures he had experienced in his early years at Hogwarts, especially those that the Slytherins had played some role in. It soon became rather grotesque because their perceptions of certain events differed so much sometimes Harry had to wonder whether they had lived through different realities that had somehow been merged into one now.
Perhaps, Harry was enjoying Blaise's and Draco's reactions a bit too much as he let them in on how Buckbeak really had escaped; but the subtle shifts in their expressions were just too precious… Harry didn't think the Slytherins would recover their cool façades anytime soon.
Maybe that was why Blaise produced a Pensieve and a wooden box from a tiny, extremely shrunken trunk not unlike the one Harry had seen in the deceased Alastor Moody's possession (or his imposter's, actually). It was a 'teatro del pensiero', as Blaise explained to him, a Pensieve Theatre containing the memories of wizarding actors. It was an interactive game insofar as that after every scene the onlookers could decide between different bottled memories, different sceneries, depending on how they wanted the leading actor to behave.
Because of his ostensible 'inability to leave a secret the hell alone', Blaise and Draco had chosen a mystery story for them.

Harry loved it, because not only was it giving him some insight in the work of an Auror, and glances into the life of wizarding families and politics, showing social rules and traditions that he hadn't even imagined before with his short stays with the Weasleys as his only reference, but it also gave him the opportunity of solving riddles while listening to Blaise and Draco scheming and spinning intrigues…
Apropos: should he be concerned that the two Slytherins spent more time discussing smart, complex and devious ways of committing certain crimes and getting away with it than actually trying to solve the murder case the play was about?
Harry decided not to care for as long as they weren't carried out; maybe this was the difference between Slytherins and Gryffindors playing cops and robbers…

Quite a few hours later, the three of them set out for their last destination that day. In one of the compartments of the trunk that Blaise had brought – which turned out to be more of a dressing room than anything else – they had changed into their dress robes before the Slytherins proceeded to alter their appearance slightly and Harry had ended up with nut-brown hair and chocolate coloured eyes.
Blaise's new, unusually pale skin colour should have made him look sickly but instead he looked a little vampiric: startling dark eyes surrounded by still olive skin that nonetheless was just a nuance too light for him, making his lips more prominent and well, a constant focus for Harry's suddenly too short attention span. He straightened his hair out and coloured the strands a tad lighter, which Harry was sorely sorry for, because somehow he loved that slightly curly shock of hair.

Draco on the other hand had darkened his hair to a dark gold and looked as if he had spent a few hours in the sun for a change. The slight tan looked good on him but not like Draco anymore and Harry found himself missing the platinum blonde and almost translucent skin.
It was a strange feeling, knowing that he didn't look like Harry Potter anymore, even stranger to see unknown faces on the two men he had spent almost every moment of the last few days with and quite a few very intense and life-altering experiences. And in a way it was a constant reminder that outside of the little bubble the Slytherins had created for him he wasn't safe, and especially not his magic.
It made him feel a little bit apprehensive and anxious as they apparated directly to the east-southern end of the small Tiber Island. From there a small, flying boat had taken them to a group of floating platforms in a vague half-circle over the elongated chariot racing stadium, the Circus Maximus, and towards the enormous outlines of the Coliseum. The view was spectacular, the city spreading out beneath them, bustling and pulsing and humming with life that swirled around the ancient monuments and remnants of long forgotten times like the waves of the ocean that washed around and gnawed at the age old rocks embedded deeply into the fleeting sand of the shore.
To that view they ate on the highest of seven platforms that were spelled to look like the sky from below and were transparent from above, and travelled slowly in seemingly random paths over the ancient city. They were covered with protection and disillusionment charms and a variation of the Notice-Me-Not, so that no muggle would notice them.
But more importantly: they were alone on this platform and aside from a single waiter no one intruded on their privacy, which calmed Harry considerably.
For over two hours they sat and talked and enjoyed the descending night and the lights that flickered to life below them, sometimes falling silent for several moments, just watching.
During such a quiet time, Draco leaned over the table towards Harry, eyes glowing in the wavering light of the single candle between them; intense, deep and filled with that spark of mischief that Harry had missed in his post-war life.
"Did you know, Harry, that some birds court by dancing with their prospective partners?" He asked with such an utterly straight face that Harry wondered for a moment if he had heard correctly. Was he being asked to dance?

"If they can move together in perfect harmony," The blonde continued, "they regard each other as worthy mates."
Oh god, he was. Caught between mortification and amusement, Harry could do nothing but safe himself behind the shield of sarcasm. "Really? This totally renders all my problems null and void: since I couldn't dance to safe my life, I won't have to mate at all! Jeez Draco…" he said with mock disappointment "You really should have told me that earlier! Though I won't complain of course, not … after today…"
He stumbled over the last few words, realizing what he was saying only a fraction of a second too late. Flushing bright red, Harry cursed inwardly… he really hadn't meant to say that out loud and he lamented the fact that he never really had such problems before becoming entangled with this insane Vykélari mess (though to be honest, Harry really couldn't tell if he shouldn't just attribute his missing brain-to-mouth-filter on the influence of the Slytherins; they seemed to do that to him sometimes).
Thankfully for once the other two young men chose not to bask in his embarrassment for too long, though it was debatable whether the alternative was better.
"We have both seen you fight, Harry. Anyone who can handle himself on a battlefield with such grace is also able to dance just as well." And while Blaise spoke those words, Draco stood and rounded their table with sure steps, resting his hands onto the backrest of Harry's chair, indicating for him to stand.
With a long-suffering sigh, Harry did, rolling his eyes as the blonde behind him insisted on pulling out the chair for him. At least they had already seen how bad of a dancer he was back in their fourth year and Harry couldn't imagine performing any worse than that. Every scale needed to have a lower end and that, Harry had already exhausted.
"It's not going to be my feet on the line…"
Draco smirked obviously unfazed and grasped the sullen, younger Gryffindor's hand in his, leading him to the open part of the platform where Blaise soon joined them to help position Harry's elbows, hands, and general stance.
Thus, Harry found himself once again caught between Blaise's firm body behind him and Draco's slighter frame in front of him and the insignificant amount of space they left between them seemed more teasing than anything else, making him more aware of the Italian's hands resting on his hips that were guiding his steps as they slowly moved over the transparent floor and Draco's left hand on his back firmly keeping him in place.
It was too close for his comfort and yet not close enough for his liking, making his heart beat fast and his skin tingle in anticipation but no matter what, they neither moved away nor allowed him to be closer than he already was. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't look into Draco's eyes that he knew would devour him, couldn't look down at his feet like he so desperately wished to, because not looking into Draco's eyes wasn't an option either.
His feet constantly tangled with themselves and with those of his dance partners when Harry just reacted too slowly again and he did maltreat the one or the other feet beneath his own. Repeatedly.
Having had enough, Blaise suddenly stepped away from him and swooped the Gryffindor's lithe body up bridal style, ignoring Harry's surprised outcry and flailing arms as Draco stepped closer from the other side, stabilising them and pushing his arms beneath Harry's legs and shoulders also.
"See?" Blaise asked while he and Draco performed a few turns with the younger man trapped in their hold between them and if his eyes hadn't outright laughed at Harry, he would have thought that the Italian snake was completely serious with that smug, self-satisfied smirk playing around his lips. "We can dance perfectly well together."
Harry couldn't help the mirthful, embarrassed, incredulous laugh bubbling out of him and he didn't even try.

"Yeah, sure. Now let me go…" He pleaded instead, grateful that no one else was able to see him now.

In the early morning hours of the following day, the Slytherins finally apparated them home to Lanai Manor, where they followed the illuminated path to the main house, the white gravel crunching beneath their feet, the ocean greeting them with the quiet rushing of waves tumbling onto the sandy shore.
Without any hesitation they all headed to Harry's rooms together, Blaise and Harry in silence while Draco kept on talking like he was sometimes wont to do, or at least like he used to, Harry remembered, before everything had gone to hell in their sixth year.
Though now it was the first time that Harry experienced the flood of words without eavesdropping (that time in the Slytherin common room totally counted as eavesdropping, besides they had been only twelve then) or happening upon the blonde and his goons totally by chance and it was astoundingly comfortable to just listen to all the background information to their activities today, mixed with random thoughts and anecdotes and Harry kept on sneaking amused glances towards Blaise who just smiled and winked back, his own silent version of a fond 'he does that' – the words Draco had used that day at the sea when his fiancé had gone ahead and directly flown into the waves without waiting for them.
And when had he started to be able to read them that well?
"Well, then, good night it is, ma douce colibri."
Startled out of his thoughts, surprised that they had already arrived at their destination, Harry looked to the door leading to his rooms a bit accusingly as if it was the reason this day was about to end. And by Merlin, that was the truth wasn't it? He really didn't want this day to end, really wanted to have more, more wonderful, breath-taking experiences full of surprises and extremes, of testing their boundaries together. Blaise and Draco and he himself.
Blinking, not quite in shock but still a bit taken aback at that realisation, Harry turned towards them, searching for something, anything to prolong this moment, hold onto it just as he had held onto Draco and Blaise during that reckless jump; which was illogical and mad and unnecessary because they'd see each other in the morning, anyway.
Nervously he licked his lips. "Thank you for today… you know, everything. I really had a great … a great time."
Draco smiled as he stepped closer, reaching out to cup Harry's cheek, turning it up with gentle pressure so that the slightly smaller man had to look directly into his eyes. For a single endless moment he remained like that, leaning slightly forward as he bluntly invaded Harry's personal space, doing nothing but staring and stroking a strand of black hair away from the corner of his eyes. But it didn't seem as if he was hesitating, merely as if he was offering Harry the chance to realise what he wanted to do, the choice to pull away, maybe, turn his head.
It was a ruse, Harry thought, because someone with such piercing eyes should know that he needed no arms or hands to trap his prey. The brunet couldn't have looked away if his life depended on it, feeling like the trembling little finch staring at the hawk tumbling through the canopy.
His magic swirled in his belly, slowly and indefinite as mist, hesitating to take form like a wisp of cloud, as if waiting for a cue on how to act.
Suddenly Harry felt a spark of indignation at himself, surging through him and making his magic solidify and coil and hum in excitement within him. That vision of the fragile little bird wasn't him, was less than he was and he'd prove it, to himself and anyone else who might or might not be doubting it.
Determinedly, Harry leaned forward and up, reaching out to wind his hands into the soft blond strands at that sinewy neck, and they were so smooth and silky in their texture, fine and thin, caressing the skin of his fingers like cool satin that he couldn't help but tug softly at the white golden mass, pulling the blonde down to meet him halfway. For a moment those silver eyes widened in surprise but immediately they started to burn with bluish hot flames, cleared from some nebulous veil that usually hid everything going on in those endless depths.
Harry's stomach gave a sudden jolt and he closed his drooping eyes, feeling warm breath ghosting over his lips that was replaced an eternity of a second later by Draco's lips, soft and warm and gentle as they moved against his. Curling his fingers against the pale neck, Harry arched into the other's body, a shockwave of pleasure searing along his nerves and his magic rose in answer like a phoenix so hot and blazing and enthralling.
He fought it down. Just because he found that he could! Held it back, coiled it up tightly until it was trembling from restrained eagerness inside him. The powerful knowledge and sense of accomplishment rushed through him like a wave of euphoria.
Teeth buried themselves in his lower lip, a demand for more, for Harry to part his lips for Draco and he did so willingly, eagerly, enjoyed the feeling of Draco's agile tongue mapping the circle of his teeth, the outline of his mouth, entangling with his tongue, relished it just as much as the blonde did himself.

He pressed forward to deepen their kiss and was greeted by sweetness and the sharp tang of wine coupled with a million other more subtle flavours.
And he let go of the tight hold he kept on his magic, pushing it into Draco's stomach and downwards, spilling it into his mouth and letting it pierce the pale skin through the tips of his fingers, raw sparks searing along nerves, stroking and caressing to the quick rhythm of their breaths and hearts and touches.
A strangled moan escaped Draco and it made Harry feel great and powerful and elated and he let himself fall into his magic's hold, feeling his senses heighten and sharpen, zoning in on the pleasure coursing through him like liquid fire.
Draco's lips grew more demanding, possessive, aggressive, his mouth covering Harry's as if he wanted to devour him whole, his hands mapping the outlines of Harry's body so much more insistently than Blaise had. Harry was quickly losing the battle against his control, and Draco took over, unleashing a ferociousness on Harry that he had never experienced before. Mindlessly, Harry moaned into the kiss.
Then he was suddenly gone but before Harry had a chance to voice his discontent, another mouth moved over his, nibbling, kissing, sucking, tasting with a gentleness that stood in stark contrast to Draco's forcefulness of a moment before. His magic, confused and bereft at the loss of the first Vykélari's closeness, pushed forward with a hint of hesitation, then eagerly as it came into contact with Blaise's wonderfully familiar power, flooding the Italian's body with waves over waves of magic, swirls and pulsing bulbs of light and energy. Softly trembling fingers gently caressed Harry's cheek, his sides, coaxing him closer and deeper into the kiss until they were both gasping for breath.
"I'm sorry" Blaise murmured breathlessly as he broke away, a pleasantry without meaning, Harry could tell because the dark skinned Italian looked everything but contrite.
He looked dazed; just as much as Draco did: both their eyes blown and dark. Just as much as Harry felt.
"You looked good together…" He murmured absentmindedly, his head cocked to the side, dark eyes following the line of Harry's jaw and mouth unblinkingly. Blaise licked his lips.

"I couldn't just watch the two of you any longer without…" For a moment he was silent, glancing between Harry and Draco with chocolate eyes that became more clear by the moment before settling them on the Gryffindor, a self-mocking smirk playing around his kiss-bruised lips. "Don't castrate me?"
And Harry half groaned and half chuckled and rolled his eyes as he remembered his threat from the day before, made in the heat of the moment, spurred on by his own fearful realisation of how very vulnerable they all were.

Honestly, he couldn't be angry: he had been the one to initiate the kiss after all and well, it gave Harry a not inconsiderable amount of guilty satisfaction to see the two Slytherins, especially Draco, still so affected from their little make-out session. Even now the pale blonde stood there frozen and silent, with a dazed expression on his still a bit pointed face, a marble monument to Harry's skill as a kisser and the seductive power of Harry's very own life essence, his magic, the nature and boundaries of which he was only just beginning to explore. The smugness he felt over that little trivia almost completely shoved the gut-wrenching contrition from the screen of his consciousness, contrition at what he had done, at playing on the dominants' instincts, when he had promised himself to keep his distance until they had control over their magic only the day before. Almost.
"I don't think I will do that quite yet." He said finally, turning to his rooms with a small smile. Not only would Draco probably hate him if he delivered his threat, but Harry had a feeling that he himself might come to really regret such an action as well.

Maybe… one day?
"Well, thank you Harry, how very gracious." Draco drawled amusedly, his smirk sharp and pointed, "I don't think I'd enjoy an eunuch for a lover very much…"
And how Draco was enjoying his very not-emasculated lover wasn't a visual he really needed to have, Harry thought as he palmed his scarlet face, the sound of Blaise slapping Draco's arm a satisfying and welcome distraction.

After a few more minutes of teasing banter going back and forth and another two or three kisses being stolen, Harry finally retreated with another thanks for the wonderful day, slipping into the velvety darkness of his rooms.
Quickly he closed the door while behind him the shadows swathing the living area flickered and died reluctantly as, one by one, candles burst to life magically upon his entrance, making the beiges and sand colours of the elegant furnishings and the artfully marbleized walls glow.
But Harry barely took notice of how the flaring flames filled every edge of the room with warm and gentle light as he absentmindedly leaned back against the door. Knowing that behind not even two inches of wood and maybe a few feet of air Draco and Blaise still stood in mutual silence was distractive enough. At least he hadn't heard their retreating steps, even though some distant part of him remembered that privacy charms suffused the wood and the stone walls, to prevent even Vykélari hearing from being disturbed by any noise.
Merlin, they could kiss… and while Harry still doubted whether he maybe should have done it, he couldn't help but think that the whole day had gravitated towards such an ending as straightforward and unstoppable as a Niffler following the scent of gold.
And damn, if that day hadn't felt as if his dates had secretly drunk some Felix Felicis... it wasn't as if Harry didn't think them capable of doing something like that, or that he would mind, honestly, the golden liquid was after all no love potion that inspired feelings that weren't there. But he knew there was no way the two Slytherins would have been able to acquire the expensive rarity on such short notice, and they probably would have won the game of aerial warfare, if the potion had played any part. Which meant... that maybe he could stop reminding himself to give the two Slytherins a chance and just do it instead.
Slowly Harry laid his head against the solid wood of the door and closed his eyes, thinking back to that floating restaurant, the ruins, the teatro del pensiero, the falling and before that the ride in those floating chariots... Blaise and Draco had put much more effort into planning this date than Harry ever had with Cho or Ginny both. And more money. There was no denying that.
Harry didn't usually care much for material things and during the few dates he had had, he had always enjoyed the simplicity and uncomplicatedness of merely spending time with someone he liked and being able to get to know one another without any fancy distractions that were only meant to show off and impress.

But as Draco had said that day they went swimming in the sea: for the two Slytherins all that they had given him so far was nothing extraordinary. And it wasn't as if Harry would ever need them to finance such kinds of activities if he decided that he didn't want them to stay something extraordinary for him either: even if he decided not to mate his two hosts, even if he managed to get away with mating no one at all, Harry was still the sole heir to the Potter fortune and had inherited most of Sirius' possessions as well. He would never have to depend on anyone to uphold or reach a certain live standard and his hosts knew that well.
So Harry had accepted that they were not boasting, trying to impress him or buy him over with all the little luxuries offered to him so freely; rather they seemed to enjoy pulling him along in their not quite voluntary holiday, choosing to ignore a world beyond the dreamlike landscape of the Italian coast where a civil war in their homeland had just culminated in a bloody battle lead by Harry himself, where the corpses of friends and schoolmates rotted under grave compost that was dark and fresh and had not yet had the time to be overgrown with plants like a wound in the earth itself waiting to just scar and stop hurting; choosing to ignore a world where Blaise and Draco's parents were trying to force them into cruelly predefined roles and the wizarding community was a powder keg just waiting for a spark to ignite it and blow up right in their faces.
It was a simple case of escapism and it might have been reckless and stupid but Harry felt it was what he had been thirsting for, and he deserved to have experienced it at least for a single day. He had relished the carefree hours he spent with his hosts, and yes, also the luxuries they provided him with; even though he still didn't quite get the need for bed rooms that might comfortably fit a whole year of Hogwarts students or why someone would need to possess a villa that was probably only inhabited for three or four weeks a year instead of just going to some nice hotel.
Or the need for a living area the size of an entire flat, Harry finished his list as he pushed away from the door and headed for his bedroom where he quickly shed the expensive, dark blue dress robes and carelessly threw them over the back of a chair.
Regardless, it had been a long time since he had been able to enjoy such carefreeness, such simple and meaningless fooling around and it had been nice, more than nice: liberating and exhilarating; and somehow he felt more like himself now – more like any normal teenager – than he had since the day Dumbledore had told him that he would have to become a killer to save everything and everyone he held dear.
To top everything, his magic had followed his lead throughout the day, not interfering the slightest bit with his actions and feelings, at least not that he could tell. It had swirled in excitement and hummed in appreciation, but mostly it had been content and quiet. And maybe that had something to do with the fact that Harry had not tried to push Draco and Blaise away, had indulged their wishes, had not attempted to pull back when they had gotten physically close. Or it was something simpler: so far his magic had only interfered when he had been angry or afraid or simply overwhelmed, urging him to rely on the two dominants that had guided him through his transition, taken him in afterwards and protected him. Maybe it was enough for his magic to have Harry trust them?
In any case, Harry thought as he made his way to the bathroom, the little control he had found was the perfect little extra to a great, almost perfect day.
Well, with the exception of the beginning, when he had met Adler right after Hermione, Ron, Blaise, Draco and he himself had talked about the mess with article and the Slytherins' parents.
Something about the portrait stroke Harry as odd, something was definitely wrong with him… the way he had looked at Harry after that tiny something had flown into his eye reminded him far too much of a hunter smiling down at a deer caught in a trap: full of dark satisfaction. And Ives being so angry suddenly did nothing to soothe his suspicions. Maybe he should ask the other submissive in the morning what their shrewd behaviour had been about. He wasn't sure if the redhead would answer, but surely at least he wouldn't outright lie.
So engrossed was he in his thoughts that Harry jumped in alarm as he heard his name being called softly and with a pounding heart he looked around the room, the many candles luckily producing more than enough light to search for an intruder. But there was none.
"Who is there?" He called out quietly, all weariness from the long day forgotten. He didn't doubt for a single moment that something was in his rooms, having learnt years ago to trust his instincts, that itching feeling of being observed or overheard.
Quickly his eyes darted to the closed door of his office. There was no way that Ives could have heard the quiet murmur or his call with how well the rooms in Lanai Manor were isolated, even if he was in his portray.
Would Ives even hear him if he called out for him to get Draco and Blaise? Would he be in the room? Should he even try?
Uselessly, Harry's hand clenched around the thin air at his hip where his wand should have been. The emptiness made his stomach churn uncomfortably. It wouldn't be the first time he'd have to face a potential threat unarmed, though. And Harry was almost sure that this was a threat. Draco and Blaise would have told him if there was anyone else who might search him out, not to mention the fact that it was already two or three o'clock in the morning. They were so adamant about the privacy of one's own rooms.

"Show yourself!" He demanded, calmly, calculatingly, needing to know where the danger originated from.
"I'm right here, sottomesso." Came that same soft voice with a strong Italian lilt to it.
Italian. Had someone recognized them at the restaurant? Had the Battellis betrayed Harry's whereabouts?

It was doubtful, they had sworn wizarding oaths, but still someone might have forced the information from them…
"You'll have to move away the curtains, uccellino."
Merlin, no! His stomach knotting in apprehension, Harry turned towards the two-way-mirror leaning against the wall, veiled with a thick curtain so that Harry who had no wand to close the connection could still have his privacy in this suite of rooms that Blaise had given him.
Ron … Hermione!
Swallowing bile around the sudden lump in his throat, Harry walked towards the mirror as if in a trance, his feet moving without his consent.
Let them be alright let them be alright let them be alright…
The mantra didn't help to settle the sense of foreboding and dread as Harry reached out with a shivering hand to pull aside the white curtain and he stood frozen as his eyes fell onto the man standing there so casually within the rectangle of another two-way-mirror and in front of the reflective surface there Harry could see the cowering, tied up forms of his two best friends.

CHAPTER END NOTES:

okay, uhm ... fluff's over! Which is not necessarily something bad; I even bet most of you were dying for this story to pick up a bit. Well, now the pace is going to pick up plenty, though unfortunately not the rate of the updates. I can't manage any more at the moment, sorry; I wish real life left me more time for writing.
And for those who still after all these months remember what the dark liquid is for, yes Adler is a ruthless bastard. And for those who don't: it will be mentioned again later but if you are curious, have a look at chapter 6 again ... or at the summary chapter.
About this chapter: I did a lot of research, including the history and use of chariots, skydiving experiences and the altitude of bird flights, bird dives, magical creatures, ruins and places in Italy... I hope this chapter is now at least free of glaring mistakes, but if it isn't, feel free to tell me.
Pihassan – pihassas is one proposed etymology for Pegasus, meaning 'lightning' in Luwian. I somehow didn't want to use 'Pegasi' since, well, that's just too commonly used and the meaning lightning was just so perfect for Harry, really. And then I changed it to PihassAN, because it seemed like a HP thing for winged horses: Abraxas became Abraxan, Aethon became Aethonan, Grani became Granian...
nictitating membrane – a transparent 'third eyelid' that protects the eyes of peregrine falcons from dust and debris in the air while a secretory gland helps keep the corneas from drying up
mon verdier – French: my greenfinch

colibrí – Italian: hummingbird

sottomesso – Italian: submissive one

uccellino – Italian: little bird
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Night Flight