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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
- 22
- 23
- 24
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CHAPTER 23: The Second Attempt

CHAPTER NOTES:

I'm back! With a new chapter and the hope that none of you will want to stone me to death after reading it!
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Unaware of the drama taking its course only a few rooms further down the corridor from their own, Blaise unbuttoned his shirt, carelessly dropping it unto the pile of crumpled dress robes as he contemplated his lover, finally, finally understanding (and at least partly sharing) the obsessive fascination he had with the Gryffindor Golden Boy.
To be truthful, Blaise had, in the first years of their long internment in Hogwarts, mistaken Draco's obsession with the prodigy that was Harry James Potter with the jealous rage of a child used to be the centre of interest wherever he went, and to the not less powerful and destructive force of the pure boredom of a young, restless mind.
Then, as the years went on and he learned to read the fine nuances of Draco's expressions that the blonde could not yet successfully supress he had theorized, not incorrectly, that the resentment of the Malfoy heir had sprouted from quite a different seed and it was in no way the envy at the boy's fame; though this had been used as a source for mockery often enough, it had been mostly because Harry himself was so obviously uncomfortable with all the interest in his person, making him an easy target.
No, it was the complete disregard of a well-known hero, a boy whose emotional maturity, sense of justice and self-confidence made him stand aloof of the masses even though he was so painfully unaware of his fame and standing. The disregard of someone who was otherwise almost ridiculously generous with his affection and friendship, befriending a Weasley, for heaven's sake! Blood-traitors and mudbloods whose only redeeming qualities – at first glance – were their Gryffindor loyalty and braveness that bordered on stupidity…
Even though… if Harry had been in Slytherin, if he had befriended Draco and Pansy and Blaise instead of Granger and Weasley, he would not have lived long enough to see his 222nd full moon. It was the unadorned truth, nothing more and nothing less. And what a humbling, shameful truth it was; one of the sobering few (but considering his blood status surprisingly numerous) reasons of his budding respect for Harry's friends, next to Granger's obvious brilliance and the few glimpses of a tactical, sharp mind Weasley had occasionally shown.
The acrimonious taste in his mouth resulted from the fact that Blaise himself had all but abandoned his lover when Draco had refused to give up his parents and declare himself neutral, had wanted to seek fame and recognition in the Dark Lord's ranks. Therefore rationality and logic left him without even the faintest, merciful illusion that he might have stood by Harry and risked his life so that a friend, maybe a love interest, would survive instead. Blaise Zabini simply wasn't that kind of a man…

Pansy was a humanity opportunist, it was a miracle that she had even gone to the pains of lending Harry's friends her most beloved mirror without any obvious benefits. And Draco … Draco would never have betrayed his parents.
Granger and Weasley on the other hand had stayed loyal and supportive – the two occasions the redhead had mentioned aside – and had been there for their friend when he had needed them the most. All the while Blaise had stood on the sidelines, watching the war almost destroy the one wonderful thing in his life: Draco. Of course he had had the emergency portkeys made, but his attempts to give one to his lover had been too tentative and cautious, and in their unsuccessfulness the gesture had lost its meaning.
How unfathomable, how grotesque that they – the scions and sole heirs of two of the proudest bloodlines in all of Britain, who belonged to the best of their year at Hogwarts, who had received the gift of the Vykélari inheritance and thus had proof of their magical prowess – should be less worthy of a young wizard's friendship and affection, than a mudblood and a blood-traitor.
But the notion had speared itself into his mind and never quite left him alone ever since Harry had, in that magical grove under the warm midday sun, given them glimpses into his earlier adventures, told with a carelessness only made possible because they had miraculously not ended in death and disaster and their terror had been surpassed by far by the hardships he had gone through during the last years and especially the war.
And though Blaise had soon called the story-telling to an end by pulling out the teatro del pensiero, he couldn't help but contemplate it every now and then during the rest of the day while he and Draco had basked in Harry's presence, in his unbridled exuberance, his genuine joy, the smallest smiles and broadest grins, the easy-going laughter and liveliness. Even his exasperation and embarrassment.

Like a rare delicacy he was that Blaise found himself indulging in and growing addicted to, a longed-for distraction from the sometimes all too stifling company of his usual peers, the usual tokens on a worn chessboard that Blaise had amused himself with on occasion and secretly grown tired of. And once the desire was awoken, it couldn't be left unsatisfied.
Now Blaise wasn't humble enough to capitulate and leave the man he started to want so strongly to someone truly worthy of his affections – in the doubtable case such a person even did exist – not if he himself could become that man instead.
This finally, Blaise mused, might be the fascination and the true source of Draco's obsession: that inner power Harry held to make people try and improve themselves and the world for him. And the blonde's hate and resentment that rooted deeply in Harry's refusal to even acknowledge him as someone of the smallest importance despite his bloodline and everyone else already thinking of him like that, was probably cemented even further by his inability to follow through with it and gain the recognition and appreciation of the Golden Boy and be acknowledged and seen by any- and everyone as a worthy equal to him.
Now though, they could – might – achieve that and Merlin, how Blaise wanted to.
But…
He first had to fulfil the herculean task of convincing Draco that there was a necessity for a change. His sometimes all too stubborn lover who at that moment started to sneak his arms around his shoulders, pressing his chest to Blaise's back and pulling him out of his musings.
"It amazes me that you still find things to brood over after such a day." Draco murmured quietly into his ear with a hint of laughter in his voice before breaking away completely again as if he couldn't bear to stay still.

"By Morgaine!" He exclaimed and closed his eyes with an expression of pure relish. "I understand what you meant when you said you'd never have problems with your Patronus again after that kiss. Honestly, his magic is wicked and Harry totally knows how to use it, the little devil… he had way too much fun, I could tell."
Blaise hummed a vague, distracted affirmative that earned him a sharp look. "So what is it?"
The blonde tilted his head and regarded him with a frown while Blaise still tried to find the right words. Asking whether Draco had ever wondered whether they were worthy of someone like Harry certainly wouldn't go down well, besides, it wasn't quite what Blaise meant either. There was no doubt in his mind that they were worthy of him – no, rather that they could be worthy of him, they just … hadn't been. So far.
"Or has it something to do with what happened at the ruins? Whatever was that about?"
Blaise almost smiled to himself. Of course Draco had noticed something bothering him, he should have known and expected him to satisfy his curiosity at some point. Well, at least it made explaining easier now.
"In a way." He said evasively, partly in answer to Draco's first question. Then, deciding to just press on and deal with the consequences if and when they arose, he tilted his head curiously, taking in every hitch in his lover's smooth façade that might be indicative of his mood.
"Have you ever forgiven him for not taking your hand that first day on the Hogwarts Express?"
The question took his lover by surprise: there was a curious twitch in Draco's expression, a miniscule hardening before it smoothed out into nothingness. A quietness beneath which he had ignited more than a spark of anger, Blaise suspected.
"Do we have to speak of this now?" The 'or ever' rang clearly with the annoyance in his tone. "Don't ruin a beautiful day with something as inconsequential as this. Besides: it is late, we should…"
"You should forgive him." Blaise insisted quietly.
Draco shook his head wearily and turned to head towards their bed. "We were only children, Blaise, I have already forgiven him. Let it go."
"Not because of that reason…" Blaise stated, shaking his head. "You should forgive him, because it was maybe a wise decision. He wouldn't have survived with us at his side, Draco. He would have died long before even reaching the age of his inheritance." Perhaps that was a bit blunt, but Draco could be so very stubborn if he wanted to, and the long years of friendship and more with the young Malfoy scion had taught him that critic always had to be delivered in a direct way lest it be ignored completely.
Pale hands clenched in the satiny bed sheets, white knuckles contrasting sharply with the dark green and grey fabric.

"You don't know that." Draco hissed without looking up.
"Draco!" Blaise huffed impatiently, though some part of him registered that this was a much harsher reaction than he had initially expected. Nonetheless he had a point to make, and he was right, so…

"If he had accepted your friendship instead of Weasley's, if you had brought him into our circles of purebloods and rich, he would have been abandoned at the first sighting of the Dark Lord and undoubtedly he would have been killed. Neither you nor I nor any of the others would have risked our lives, our family's lives for him."

The very notion was ridiculous: In contrast to all the muggleborns and halfbloods and bloodtraitors they had had nothing to gain from Harry's victory – not until the Dark Lord had shown the true extend of his madness. It had only promised a loss of the values they held dear and their influence in the wizarding world.
In spite of what Blaise conceived as an undeniable truth, the blonde whirled around and Blaise almost drew back in surprise, rarely having seen his lover as angry as this. The silver eyes had darkened to a stormy grey and the lean pale fingers were bent to strike, nails growing into sharp claws. A crown of feathers rose from his platinum blonde hair, imposing and threatening in their show of dominance, gleaming in the pale light to show off his magical strength.

Blaise could feel the need to counter it but with a minor mental struggle he resisted. There was nothing to be gained by provoking his lover even further.
"Many Slytherins fought on his side during the last stand at Hogwarts, Blaise! If they had known him for years, befriended him… they would have fought with him from much earlier on! It's unfair to judge them like this. It is unfair to judge me like this! Only because you…"

The words – that seemed to have surprised even Draco, for he didn't dare to continue and the thin, sharp feathers in his hair flattened down against his skull – cut down clankingly into the suddenly freezing night air between them, hanging there like crystalline blades, sharp and deadly and mocking.
Blaise felt his eyes flee to the side, unable to hold that silver gaze that was judging him ruthlessly in one moment and then faltered, broke with a strangely fragile, hesitant uncertainty as if its owner was terribly afraid of what these words, spoken in a moment of thoughtless anger, might have done to the dark skinned Italian, to them.
"I'm not… I didn't…" Blaise fell silent when he realised how badly he was stuttering, how at a loss for anything to say he was. The genuine, passionate outrage that had literally exploded into his face had stunned him beyond reason.
He hadn't meant to pass judgement on his lover, not more so than on himself at least. It was only meant as a statement, a remark, a reason to change: just a goad, nothing more. And yet, it was the truth, wasn't it? Pansy, Theodore, Goyle and Crabbe and … and he, Blaise… and Draco.

Every single one of their little group would still have followed the Dark Lord or – in Blaise's case – remained neutral, wouldn't they? The fact that Goyle and Crabbe had turned against Draco during the last stand and that Blaise, Theo and Pansy had fled at the earliest convenience (though of course, they had thought that Draco was somewhere among the evacuated Slytherins) should be proof enough.
Draco would have forsaken Harry just as easily and quickly as he had been forsaken.
But even before he could finish that thought, a feint stab of insecurity made Blaise's gut churn suddenly. Or would he?
If Blaise was entirely truthful, he had to admit that Draco had never abandoned a friend, never in his life; of course he had never had to face such a decision, all his friends having been on his side of the war or at least neutral, carefully chosen individuals that mostly followed his rule without question or doubt until they had all abandoned him during his fall from grace.
No, in contrast to Blaise, Draco had never been put to the test and neither of the two lovers could honestly claim to know for certain how the young Malfoy heir might have decided, no one could. Because to risk your very life for a friend was one of those enormous, life-changing deeds – like murder – that only life could prove you incapable or capable of.
The realisation that he had been tested and had failed, was as sudden as it was nauseating.

But … Hadn't Draco left him first – why hadn't he declared himself neutral when Blaise had asked him to?
Only that Blaise knew that it wasn't a fair comparison: Draco had had his parents to think of and he had known that he and the name of his once illustrious family would have lost any social standing they might still possess, any influence, forever pushed out of the limelight and right off the stage of politics and life and disregarded from then on, had he not joined a side in the war.

Blaise had known of his lover's ambitious character, wouldn't have fallen in love with him if he was any different. It hadn't been fair to ask him in the first place.
In front of him Draco sighed, a sound so tired and frustrated that it tore at Blaise like a squall and suddenly he was afraid of losing him – not to war and death this time but to a mistake that he hadn't acknowledged, hadn't rectified in time.
"Draco," he pleaded a bit hoarsely, taking a hesitant step towards the blonde, "you know that I love you, right?"
Wearily, Draco folded back the blankets and sat down, but his voice still held a hint of sharpness as he spoke, like the grinding of knives. "I know, Blaise."
"It was not… I never…" Blaise licked his lips, at a loss of what to say, how to portray what he meant.

"I never questioned, never doubted that you'd be there for me, if I needed you." He finally said. It was the truth, though Blaise had rarely thought about it, confident in his ability to overcome most of his problems himself. 'Please believe me…'
With a humourless snort, Draco faced him, letting him see the acidic anger still raging in his eyes. "Is that so? It definitely sounded different a minute ago."
It made Blaise's heart pound in his chest, in his throat. God, they hadn't had a row so severe since … since they had gone different ways in their sixth year. How could it have come to this? Blaise had thought the war behind them, had been, and still was, so sure that Draco and he belonged together and that there were no misgivings between them over what had happened in the past. Otherwise, he wouldn't have proposed. They had both been fools those past few years, but should that really be allowed to shape their whole future? "I didn't mean …"
"Oh, you didn't mean it like that?" Draco raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, a hint of mocking tinging his voice and Blaise had never heard it like this, so full of bitterness and hurt and accusation. Then it picked up both in passion and in volume and he stood again, unable to stay seated on the bed.
"Didn't mean that I was a spineless coward without a sense of loyalty? I was trying to save my life, Blaise and that of my family! I tried to keep us all alive and I really won't apologize for not caring how I did that or at what price or who'd fall by the wayside, but nothing I did was on the expense of my friends! I never turned on any of you. Never."
"Not like me." Blaise concluded the tirade, biting his lip. "I'm sorry, Draco. I wasn't there when you needed me, when I should have been. And I'm sorry."
Immediately, the blond deflated, all the aggressiveness and anger leaving him in a rush. Then he threw his head back tiredly, staring at the ceiling in silence for many, agonizingly long moments. "Damn, Blaise…" he muttered and ran a hand over his face, "I told you to let it rest."
"Obviously I did that for much too long." Blaise answered, finally daring to take a few steps towards his lover. God, how he wanted to just hug him tight, ensuring himself that Draco would be there, even when Narcissa, Amalyne and Lucius were untrustworthy bastards, even when they couldn't rely on their peers. He couldn't do this without Draco, care for Harry and keep him safe. Or do much of anything else, for that matter.

If the war had taught him anything, then that he didn't want to live without this stubborn, prideful, egoistical idiot.
Draco smiled humourlessly. "I understood, you know? In a way. Somehow you realised much sooner than I where this whole mess with the Dark Lord was heading. And you couldn't have dissuaded me, I was so intent on gaining back my family's honour, my honour and achieve what Adler once did. And then I was just in too deep."

With a rare, genuinely grave expression, Draco turned to him. "I don't think I could have watched you head for your own ruin either. I never blamed you for doing what you did."
Relieved, Blaise felt his shoulders relax. It wasn't an absolution, but it was an understanding and that was enough. They both had their fair share of accumulated mistakes and they had accepted each other's faults long ago; it was good to know that this argument had not been about long past transgressions. It wouldn't bode well for them and their relationship, if they started to hold their mistakes against each other.
Besides, Blaise could admit that it had been more than just insensible to imply that his lover might readily commit a sin of this magnitude when he had never done anything of the like before. That would rouse many much more quiet tempers, especially when the accuser was throwing stones from inside the literal glass house. And Draco Malfoy, if anything, was a very prideful man. Still, Blaise had never actually apologized for his cowardice, never acknowledged it within or outside of the silence of his mind and his fiancé deserved to hear the words at least once more.
Therefore, Blaise carefully reached out to squeeze his lover's, his fiancé's hand. "I nonetheless should have been there."
Draco released some of his tenseness with a long, deep breath. "Yeah, Maybe…"
For a few moments he remained silent, his one free hand gliding over the luxuriously smooth fabric of the bed cover, before he gave Blaise a long sideway glance out of the corners of his eyes and conceded with a voice far too sober and dry to be mistaken with remorse "maybe I shouldn't have tried to raise your jealousy with Pansy's help in revenge."
Laughing, Blaise shook his head and pulled his lover closer. "I was so angry…"
"I know," Draco smirked, "that's why I did it."
"Sometimes I hate how much I love you." Blaise smiled slowly, closing his arms around his lover's waist, warmth and content suffusing him, and he would have leaned in and kissed him, if not at this very moment a little House Elf had appeared right next to them with a quiet popping sound.
It was a young female Elf, covered in the remains of a pale curtain with dark edging, her eyes rolling in the overly large sockets from left to right, from Blaise to Draco. Fidgety she seemed and anxious as she wrung her long-fingered hands, her drooping bat-like ears trembling.
Blaise immediately recognized her: it was the young Elf that Harry had tricked into sending the letter to his friends. The female, Giallina, had confessed to her involvement later on under many tears and much wailing when Blaise and Draco had already known of Harry's deed.

Though he had refrained from punishing her (more because of Harry's wishes than anything else) or maybe because of his leniency, the little Elf had thrown herself into the task of watching over Harry with an almost obsessive fervour, and had planned to continue even after Blaise had officially told his servants that there was no need for any more observations and that, for as long as Harry wasn't in danger, he wasn't to be denied anything. Only if his safety was at risk, his staff had the permission to force Harry away from the threat.
But driven by her guilt and the wish to rectify her mistake, Giallina had asked to be allowed to keep at least one eye on their guest whenever her duties allowed it, especially during those times when the Gryffindor was alone. She had therefore been the obvious choice when Blaise had to decide on a House Elf to give to Ives. It relieved her from her usual duties and gave her more time to see to Harry's safety, a task she took very seriously, more so than maybe any other Elf in his employ. Besides, she was of a very gentle nature and he thought both Harry and Ives would be comfortable with her.
Now though, a darkly ominous feeling crept over Blaise's chest, knowing that the only duty this Elf had was keeping Harry safe and serving Ives' every order. It must have been three o'clock in the morning, and so it could only be a matter of grave importance that had brought the Elf into her masters' rooms at such an hour. He wasn't disappointed.
"Master Blaise!" She cried shrilly, reminding him uncomfortably of the keening of a gull. "Master Blaise! Master Harry Potter is being forced to leave the manor!"

Large, fat tears of fright rolled down her cheeks and the poor thing pressed her fingers into her cheek bones as she delivered the terrible news.
For a moment, Blaise could do nothing but stare into those absurdly large, red-rimmed eyes, uncomprehending how this day, this wonderful day, had gone from perfect to bad with the row with Draco only to become wonderful again with Draco's forgiveness and now take a turn to the worst with the latest development.

How could an enemy have reached Harry here in Lanai Manor, the home of his deceased father and his own refuge? How? How could anyone find the unholy means to blackmail Harry Potter, the vanquisher of the Dark Lord, to anything he didn't want? It was surreal, a notion that fought with claws and teeth against being understood and ingrained into his thinking.
Draco reacted quicker. With an incredible swiftness he was past the Elf and almost at the door already, summoning his recently discarded robe in midstride and calling out harshly "Where, Elf?"
Giallina flinched at the ominous tone of voice of her master's fiancé but she didn't hesitate to point a trembling finger in a roughly eastern direction. "The manor's front, master!"
She hadn't finished the sentence when Draco was already gone. Pale but determined Blaise made to follow him but he stopped for a moment longer as a terrible thought struck him. By Morgaine, hadn't Draco and he said just the last morning that there was only one thing that might rob Harry of his level-headedness and make him rush into danger unthinkingly? What if someone was blackmailing him using that very thing – or rather, those very persons?
In that case it might be two dominants against one heavily determined submissive and trying to stop the Gryffindor when he has brimming with magic and intent on leaving was like trying to keep a dragon from its hatchlings. If Harry really wanted to leave, they had almost no chance of keeping him from it, not in an open, fair confrontation.
But damn him, if he allowed someone to harm Harry, to force him into … he had vowed that he wouldn't let that happen!
So any confrontation between the Gryffindor and them couldn't be open, and it couldn't be fair… They would need help.
Thus resolved, Blaise clapped into his hands sharply, calling all his staff together once more. Even in the middle of the night, when most of them had to have been resting, they came immediately, popping into existence in the large bedroom, over twenty pairs of glowing, huge eyes trained on his form and waiting for instructions.
For a moment, Blaise assessed the number of the small creatures that with their short legs and too long arms seemed so unsuited to take on a young Vykélari. But he had heard the stories of the Battle of Hogwarts from the lips of direct witnesses, had read the gruesome reports and he knew of his servants' worth. A group so large might still not be a match for the average submissive, but with the moment of surprise on their side and with Harry still so painfully untrained and probably not in his right mind, Blaise was confident that they would be able to take him on nonetheless. They had to!
Quickly Blaise made out the tall form of his head House Elf, Alfar, who had apparated right in front of him as one of the first Elves to arrive. Sleep still crusted the corners of his eyes but he silently waited for his master's orders with all the due attention and alertness and without questioning the situation.
"Take all the House Elves and see to it that Harry doesn't leave the grounds and that no one gets in!" Blaise ordered, his tone mirroring the severity of the situation. "Draco and I will distract him while you surround him and when I call your name, Alfar, you are to stun him. Only you!" He repeated emphatically. The last he wanted right now was injuring Harry with the force of too many stunners. The accumulated effect of these kinds of spells could be rather nasty, after all.

"And all you others: whatever happens, don't let him leave the grounds. But you may only use stunners yourself when Alfar has failed."

Draco felt as if he was walking through water. His muscles worked furiously, tensing and flexing as he ran down the long corridors spreading out in front of him like endless tunnels in which only his rugged breathing and the echoing drumming of his feet reverberated back and forth but however much he pushed himself he didn't seem to be moving fast enough, his body caught in a distortion of the time continuum while his mind raced.
Forward, forward!
Around a sudden corner, along another corridor, the artful wallpaper rushing past him in an endless blur of shadowed beiges and thank god that Blaise's manor was spacious enough to allow for wide, wide hallways where he didn't need to dodge any furniture! He was almost at the stairs.
And still he wasn't fast enough! Harry might already have left the wards and then… There was no doubt in him that it wasn't by his own free will that Harry was leaving: damn, only fifteen minutes ago the Gryffindor had kissed him with all that he was, passionately, insistently…
Mordred, FASTER!
He could still feel the pressure sore of those soft lips upon his, that powerful magic flowing through his body like a summer storm, leaving his nerves raw and oversensitive. Could still hear that sweet, embarrassed laughter tinkling through his veins, from when Blaise and he had carried the Gryffindor between them on that floating platform of the Palazzo di Vetro, pretending to dance while enjoying the excuse to hold Harry closer, feeling the warmth of his body through the clothes with which they had dressed him. He had smelled so familiar, felt so right. Now, the memory made his stomach cramp painfully. Harry was on the verge of dropping out of their lives!
Damn it, not now! This couldn't be happening just now!
From the corner of his eyes Draco noticed the window in passing, a wide surface of glass intermitted only by the numerous glazing bars; an idea pushed to the forefront of his mind with the force of a giant and Draco skidded over the smooth tiles to a sudden standstill. The hallway behind him was dark and therefore didn't reflect Draco and his surroundings, instead it offered him, as he quickly stepped closer, a clear view of the manor's front garden with its beautiful flower beds and the neatly and artfully cut hedges.
There, just past the circular drive, was Harry.
Of course it was dark, of course the figure there was nothing more than a sudden movement between shadows. But Draco would have recognized that gait anywhere. How often had he watched this boy sneak around the corridors of Hogwarts, leaning into the safety of walls and the veil of dark corners? Just as he was doing now.
With a flourish of his wand the glass was gone and another vanished the glazing bars. Quickly, Draco leaned over the window sill, hard and unforgiving beneath his fingers, while allowing his Vykélari magic to flood into his eyes, wishing for the sight of an owl. Colours vanished or dimmed from his vision, taking with them the darkness reigning the night and sharp and clear, the lean, long-legged form of his Gryffindor stood out from the pile of leaves belonging to the bush behind him.
An involuntary snarl left Draco and his claws raked over the wood of the windowsill, leaving deep scrapes in the paint. Harry was half naked, wearing only light footwear and no shirt at all, the elegant markings swirling and streaming down the sides of his torso for everyone to see. Only the thin fabric of his pyjama bottoms clung to his legs, at least partly covering him. The idea of someone else – another Vykélari dominant for that matter – to see him like this was intolerable, a barbed arrow in his chest.
"HARRY!" He shouted, his heart skipping a beat when the young man turned with a swift, abrupt step to the side that brought him from the darkness into the softest, faintest touch of light coming from one of the garden torches illuminating the driveway.
Draco could have sworn the moment lasted an eternity. Harry's hair flew in a wild disarray of raven blackness around his head, sharply pointed feathers gleaming in it like dark green glass shards, a glorious frame for the deathly paleness that was his face. The flames flickered, playing games and tricks on the tanned skin, making the markings around his eyes dance.
Those eyes that the velvety night had darkened to onyxes held his own gaze for this indefinite length of time, showing nothing but the shock of prey that had noticed a predator.

But it wasn't fear, nor insecurity, only deep surprise and it was swiftly overcome. Draco could see the other's eyes narrow and his jaw clench tightly and he knew even before it happened, that Harry would bolt and run, run down the driveway and try to escape past the wards where – and it must be so, nothing else made sense – someone was waiting for him, someone who had given their Gryffindor no choice in the matter.
It wasn't to be borne!
The moment Harry started to move, Draco agilely propelled himself forward and out of the window as if he had waited for the other to give him a start signal and perhaps he had, perhaps he had wished and hoped against hope that the brunet might wait and stay long enough for him and Blaise to figure out how to solve this latest problem. But there was no time to contemplate the little sting of disappointment in his chest now at seeing Harry turn away with steely determination.
Draco fell.
For the split of a second he fell, before the robe that he had thrown over hastily ripped behind his back messily, Draco's mind too intent on the man running away from him to achieve neat cuts; and his wings fanned out in a flurry of pale, white-golden and silver feathers, spreading to their impressive span of at least seven metres and catching his fall.
Blood and wind rushing in his ears, Draco pushed forward, violently beating with his wings with more force than he ever had, only that one purpose in mind: reaching Harry before he could reach the end of that path!
Only a few seconds parted him from the running young man, some fifteen metres, nothing more! So close and Draco felt his heart beat faster with the exertion and the relief. Everything was going to be okay, if he could just reach Harry – they'd deal with everything else later, he and Blaise would deal with it…
To his dismay though, the Gryffindor didn't come any closer, no, the distance between them only increased!

It shouldn't have been possible: Harry was only running, not taking to the air because there in the black nocturnal sky Draco was the more experienced one and wings were much more difficult to handle than brooms; he would be able to outfly the submissive before he had achieved enough height. By Morgaine and Mordred and the great Merlin himself, Harry shouldn't be able to run faster than Draco was flying, it was a physical impossibility. And yet…
Then sudden understanding hit Draco with the force of the Hogwarts express, taking a hold of him and clenching down over his chest, ice-cold and merciless: he remembered keenly how Harry had flown for the first time, how he had spread his feathery appendages and climbed into the sky above the manor's grounds, flying like one possessed; the young submissive had pushed his magic into his muscles to an extent that no normal wizard and no unmated dominant would ever be able to achieve, ever understand, enabling him to fly faster and longer.

Now, the young Vykélari was using his inheritance to his advantage once again and Draco couldn't keep pace. He couldn't!
"Harry! Stop, Harry!" Draco called out pleadingly, desperation rattling in his voice, but the Gryffindor didn't turn. Harry just kept on running away.
His hawthorn wand clenched tightly in his hand, Draco knew that there was little he could do short of hexing the other man. But would he even succeed, was it at all possible? Not only was Harry like the brightly flaring sun compared to the softly shining moon in terms of their magical power, but he also – technically speaking – held the allegiance of Draco's wand, the same magical tool he had taken from the Malfoy heir by force during his escape from the manor, only to return it after the war in a personal offer of peace…

Given by the rightful owner the wand had continued to work just as well as it ever had during his usual spell-work but the link to Harry most likely wasn't broken yet, not when Draco had never properly reclaimed it.
This beautifully crafted piece of wood with the unicorn hair embedded deeply within, the trusted friend that had served him so well for so many years… it might refuse to be raised against the Golden Gryffindor who had won it for any kind of offensive magic, even if it was to save him. Hopefully, though, it would allow non-offensive spells.
Well, there was only one way to find out.
"Levicorpus!" Draco murmured as silently as possible while still loud enough to pronounce the incantation carefully and correctly, lest Harry might hear him and be alerted.
A moment later, Harry was hit by a flashing light directly between the shoulder blades that violently ripped from his feet. For a moment genuine joy and gladness bubbled up within Draco at this small concession of the lady Fortuna but it was dampened soon after by the gruesome sight his successful spellwork invoked: Harry's feet were pulled out from under him, forwards and up so quickly that his head never touched the rough gravel of the driveway, and he was wrenched into the air so abruptly that he barely had the time for a surprised outcry.

Disoriented and helpless he swung back and forth from the force of the spell for a few seconds where he hung suspended a few metres over the ground, a bundle of flailing limbs that exuded tenseness and desperation so thickly Draco thought he might be able to cut it.
Then, as he saw Draco flying towards him he immediately started cursing and swearing, writhing and struggling uselessly so that the loose pant legs of his pyjamas slid down, exposing naked skin and lean, firm muscles.
Torn between relief and guilt, Draco flew towards him at a more sedate pace, keeping his wand trained on the violently moving body to keep him in the air. Merlin, he hadn't meant to shock him like this but Draco hadn't known what else to do: A body-bind or stunning spell, even if he could have successfully performed it, would undoubtedly have caused the Gryffindor to fall face first to the gravel covered ground and at the speed Harry had been running, that could have seriously injured him.
But judging from the way Harry was flashing his eyes at him somewhat fiercely during his struggles, this wouldn't be forgotten with a smile and a simple apology. Draco heaved a deep sigh as he started to lower Harry closer to the ground.
Suddenly, Harry went still and Draco could see the muscles of his stomach and his ribcage working, drawing in a deep breath, then another as if in preparation for a great exertion before Harry reared up, bending his torso backwards so that he was facing away from his captor. In the same moment the green wings spread away from him, starting to beat even before they were fully grown.
And Harry cut the Levicorpus charm.
Draco could feel it as it happened, his wand giving a tiny jerk in his tight grip as his spell was brutally crushed and ripped apart by Harry's magic that flared around his body, seemingly setting the Gryffindor on flames like a white burning torch.
Instead of falling, like Draco had half expected him to, the Gryffindor rushed forward without losing a metre of height, gliding on his wings with the grace of a vulture and the nimbleness of a goshawk, leaving the young dominant Vykélari behind, helpless to do anything as he continued towards the boundaries of Blaise's land.
"Harry!" Draco yelled, his voice ringing out in the otherwise silent night, and again with even more desperation when he was ignored but with as little success. Harry was leaving the manor and it seemed as if there was nothing he could do about it.

Blaise had Alfar apparate him directly onto the porch on the front side of the manor where the sudden darkness enfolded him like a cool velvet cloak and for a moment, the only thing he could say for sure was that Harry, and also Draco, were nowhere on the torch-lit driveway. His heartbeat set out for one excruciatingly long second only to return with a vengeance while his eyes swept restlessly over the neat park, searching frantically for any movement that might betray his lover's or their submissive's whereabouts but coming up dauntingly blank. Had they already come too late?
But just as he saw and heard the other House Elves appear in a line along the eastern wards a scream ripped through the air, chilling him to the core.
Draco! That was Draco shouting Harry's name!
Lead by his lover's voice, Blaise's eyes found the dark silhouettes of the two Vykélari as they rushed over the night sky, two enormous shadows obscuring the stars as they flew eastwards. Damn, they were so close to the wards already!
"Master?" Alfar asked from his side, large eyes switching from him to Harry and Blaise didn't know what to answer: stunning him in the air – too close to the ground to safely levitate him especially considering his reckless speed yet too far from it that a fall would not injure him severely – was madness and something he hadn't contemplated when giving his instructions to the House Elves.

And while Harry was conscious and in full possession of his magic he would cast off almost any spell that attempted to bind him or keep him back or even slow him down.
The only thing that might stop Harry now while not risking his life was the influence of a dominant's magic but the submissive needed to be able to see or feel it…
A reckless idea came to his mind, too bold and too hazardous for his liking, he who had always avoided any kind of brawl or fight, but he couldn't think of anything else and there was so little time left…
"Don't let us fall!" He ordered and hoped by Merlin Alfar would know what he meant, what he was to do.
Then he apparated directly in front and above the Gryffindor's form. A small moment of nausea and disorientation from the short travel incapacitated him for a moment, the sensation made worse by the sudden loss of a solid ground beneath his feet and the sense of direction as he started to fall.
But he had calculated the distance and Harry's speed correctly and with staggering force and a pained grunt from the younger Vykélari they collided, Blaise dashing with his stomach against one of the wing roots, the impact of such violence that it robbed him of his breath and pushed Harry into a lopsided position, and the Gryffindor was too inexperienced a flier to be able to recover rightaway.

Immediately the Italian started sliding down along Harry's naked back, in his stupor unable to find any purchase as the submissive rushed forward, carried on by the sheer magnitude of his momentum even while he faltered in his flight, fluttered and frantically tried to keep his balance.
For a short, horrifying moment Blaise already saw himself plunge to the ground and he heard his lover scream his name in terror and the flash of a levitation charm darted past him without finding its goal. It was only by pure luck that Blaise managed to grasp one of Harry's ankles as his hand swept past the other's legs and instinctively grabbed a hold of him in the last moment and it felt as if his shoulder was being dislocated from the sudden jerk, but he held on tightly nonetheless, ripping at the other's leg and pulling him down with his weight. One of the light shoes fell from the foot he was holding unto, tumbling to the ground with a clearly audible thud like a cruel reminder of what would await the Italian, should he lose his grip.
If Blaise had taken a hold of both of Harry's ankles, he might not have succeeded in slowing the Gryffindor enough to prevent both of them from passing the wards in the last moment. But as it was, Harry couldn't assume the correct pose for flying once again: he couldn't straighten, didn't manage to get his legs in one line with his torso; even worse: the heavy weight of the Italian's body, hanging so suddenly from only one of his legs, threw him completely off course.

Abruptly his leg was wrenched down, causing Blaise to be ripped forwards and to the left so that he acted as a weighted pendulum. Already having been brought into a heavy rightwards tilt by their collision, the Gryffindor was whipped around and Blaise's weight, driven by Harry's incredible forward momentum, propelled him into a tumbling, lurching pirouette that made the two Vykélari tense and feint with dizziness.

"Let go!" The brunet screamed at him, panic creeping into his furious voice. But without the determination to carry an attempt at freeing himself to the extreme and hurting or injuring Blaise, it was no use.
Blaise half expected them to fall, it all happened so fast, but before he could really start to fear for their lives, or do anything at all, his fingers started to tingle, becoming warm and warmer as magic pulsed beneath them, no streams, no sparkles, just one powerful entity living within each cell of the body he was holding onto, existing in Harry's mind and spirit if not his very soul. It was Harry, and Harry was magic.
It rushed into Blaise's body before he had the chance to close himself off, streaming into his hands, along the muscles of his arms and into his chest, flooding his lungs until he felt he couldn't breathe, piercing his heart until it ached, making his stomach lurch and his legs cramp and he was jerked off Harry's body as if he had been caught by a tornado that had carried him for a few twirls only to spit him out again, throwing him away.
It also caught him. In mid-air, facing Harry who had also come to a stop and by Merlin, he looked as if from another world: floating in the darkness with his wings poised behind him like a vengeful angel, he was gleaming softly as if filled with an inner light that burned along the edges of every feather, danced over every inch of skin but which was nowhere near as bright as in his eyes, the green having replaced the white almost completely, creating ominously gleaming gems of emerald. Surrounded by pale ultraviolet and dark swirls they held him captive, demanded his sole attention.
"Let me go, Blaise, and don't follow me!" He ordered, his voice reedy. Ordered!
By god, he was beautiful!
"Harry!" Blaise whispered, because he couldn't say 'never', like he wanted to.
Swiftly but thoroughly, he felt out the cloud of magic still suffusing him, the invader the submissive had left behind to save him from a fall and hold him up and keep him captive.
Harry still didn't understand, or at least hadn't acknowledged that while he was the one with more magical strength, the dominants were the ones with more control. And softly Blaise welcomed the not so foreign energy, gentling its aggressive, rough tendrils with affectionate, soothing touches, letting it fill him and melt with his own.

What a heady feeling, all that magic vibrating within him, waiting to be used, clamouring for it!
It took only seconds for the whole process, Harry's magic already knowing and most likely trusting him, and for Blaise to spread his wings and let the stolen magic that was now indiscernible from his own dance over the surface of his feathers, drawing swirls and patterns more energetic than ever to confuse the submissive, to hold his attention captive, while he soared closer.
"Let us help you, Harry. Let us protect you!" He called, infusing his words with that magic so that they vibrated magnetically.
Harry shook his head as if to clear it and of course he must know what was happening, but that shouldn't make it any easier for him to turn away from this unusually impressive display and really, he couldn't honestly want to face whoever was blackmailing him on his own.
But he wasn't as close as the last time he had done it, after Harry's first flight when he had cocooned the submissive in his wings and dazzled him out of instinct, and Harry was not merely insecure but angry and terribly afraid and so those green eyes jerked away from his with what had to be an act of true volition and Harry's whole posture straightened where he kept himself levitated in the air, his chin raised proudly with defiance even while he kept his eyes averted for fear of catching sight of Blaise and falling under his influence again.

"You promised never to use this on me again!" He pressed out stubbornly, but there was also something colder there making his voice tremble and his shoulders hunch up and he lowered himself to the ground in one elegant, fluent movement. None of them truly wanted to fight each other.
Blaise followed suite, coming to stand some metres away from their Gryffindor and he could also see Draco landing so that Harry was between them.
Slowly, Blaise let his eyes drift to Harry's again and he shook his head once.

"No, actually I only promised we'd work on it together." He clarified but went on swiftly, when Harry's expression twisted as if speared with fury.

"But I did swear not to let anyone force you to do anything you didn't want."
For a moment, Harry seemed to be on the verge of staggering backwards as if slapped with full force. Then he reigned himself in, his face hardening into a caricature of the Gryffindor Blaise knew, torn between pain and guilt, fear and anger, determination and insecurity… and Blaise hated. Hated. Whatever had done this to him.
"What if I just want to go?" Harry sneered, but it wasn't genuine, his face forced into an expression it wasn't made for. "Maybe I just can't bear to play these games anymore."

With an indefinite hand wave he gestured between Draco behind him and Blaise.
"You're lying, Harry; Merlin, you are the worst liar ever!" Draco said softly, making Harry whirl around his own axis to face him.
"That's not true!" He shouted.
"I know that someone is forcing you to do this, but whoever this is and whatever they threatened to do, I don't care, I won't let you leave the Manor now!"
"That's not your decision to make!" Harry yelled and Blaise could see him trembling. "You can't tell me what to do!"
It was a precarious situation that needed swift, thoughtful actions… they might stun Harry now while he was so agitated, too agitated perhaps to protect himself, but they might also lose his trust and really, Blaise didn't want to incapacitate him while somewhere out there an enemy was just waiting to thrust his claws into the younger man.
They needed to make Harry stop to deny the blackmailing, needed him to confide in them.

"Harry," He said gently and waited for the Gryffindor to throw him an intense look over his shoulder. "You are right, and we would never force you to stay here. You can go, if you really want."
Harry's eyes narrowed, as if sensing a trap, unable to believe that it could be so easy. Of course he was right. It was time to find out, whether Blaise's suspicions were correct.
"But not like this. It is too dangerous. You can use the portkey I gave you to return to England and from there you can go anywhere you want. You know the keyword, Harry. Let us just wait until the morning and contact your friends via the two-way-mirror so that they can come and get you from the safe house."
He had been right, this was about Granger and Weasley: during his suggestion, all colour vanished from beneath the tan on Harry's face, leaving him deathly pale and for some reason he clutched at his left arm causing Blaise to wonder for a terrible second whether the Gryffindor had given his blackmailer a Tiwaz oath.
"No!" Harry all but yelled, desperation creeping into his voice like frost. "No, I want to leave now!"
At that moment, a House Elf appeared right next to Blaise, making him almost jump in surprise. It was Alfar, his chief House Elf, the large ears trembling with distress as he bowed so low his nose almost touched the ground. "Master Blaise, sir. The guardia, master!"
Immediately, Blaise whipped around and true enough, there, just behind the wards before the start of the driveway leading up to the manor, stood a group of at least a dozen men, most of them in the elegant, green uniform of the Italian Aurors, looking grim and determined with their wands drawn.
And there in the back was the pale face of one of Blaise's uncles, a tiny, winsome smile playing at the edge of his lips, not quite there yet but almost and his chin raised proudly. With the poise of someone who was sure of his victory he encountered his nephew's betrayed gaze and Blaise didn't need Harry's gasped "They are here!" to know that he was facing one of the blackmailers.

CHAPTER END NOTES:

Palazzo di vetro ~ glass palace
I know, I know, another cliff hanger. I'm sorry. Or not. Well, I at least have fun and I hope you do, too, and that you enjoyed the chapter!
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Night Flight