In which Harry and Sunny fly
“Accio!”
Nothing happened.
Sunny swallowed down his disappointment and closed his eyes, breathing out through his nose. He was outside, standing at the edges of the Black Lake with his wand held high.
It was early in the morning, very early in the morning, so much so that the sun still didn’t rise and the sky was that deep pre-dawn dark blue hue. The air was chilly and carried that scent of wet grass and cold, a light breeze gusting across the hills Sunny walked down from.
Fog condensed around the horizon, swallowing the trees that Sunny could see across the lake, allowing only those at the very front to show off their greenery and dwindling the transition between sky and ground to a blurry nonexistence. It was almost easy to forget there was an entire castle behind him only a three minute’s walk away, also hidden away by the swirling grey mist.
Green pebble, come here, please, he prayed silently to himself, envisioning the moss-colored stone that he’d thrown somewhere inside of the Lake.
For the first time since he got dropped into this damn universe, Sunny got a night of full, heavenly, uninterrupted sleep. No Headspace, no nightmares, no waking up in the middle of the night. As soon as he reached his bed at nine o’ clock and allowed himself to fall into his pillows, he sank into the blankets and the mattress and slept like a fucking rock.
He still woke up super early, about 5:30AM, but he got more than eight hours of sleep and it felt absolutely invigorating. All that pent up energy that made shit difficult, all the buzzing anxiety he had the past few months, all of it was mostly gone now. And he had no clue why.
Well, ‘no clue’ was an overstatement. He had a theory, ish, one he was trying out right now.
Madame Pomfrey mentioned that he depleted a lot of his magic yesterday, and it was only yesterday that he got a good night of sleep so far. Since he arrived here, other than practicing spells with Lupin and participating in class (in the rare case he wasn’t sleeping through them anyway) he didn’t do all that much magic. He didn’t mess around with it, or try new things, or push his limits, none of that.
He didn’t really use his ‘magical energy’ often, if that was a thing. Not as much as everybody else did in any case. Probably. Maybe.
Eh, this was all guesswork, but bear with him a minute because maybe, just maybe, if he constantly used his magic or used it more than he was already using it, it would… what, make him tireder? More exhausted?
He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, but he wanted to give it a shot. He was following the same type of logic of being able to sleep better and stuff when you worked out compared to a day where you stayed in bed the whole time.
It’s not like he had anything to lose.
And so, as soon as he woke up he changed into his uniform, actually bothered to brush out his hair, fed Mewo, and left to go do some magic somewhere more private. The most private place he could think of was the Black Lake (not the Room of Requirement, because he actually forgot– surprise surprise– how the fuck he was supposed to find it).
This was a spot where people didn’t go to all that often, especially so early in the morning, and some good fresh air was something he wasn’t used to and wanted to seek out more. He even brought Mewo along for company. She might like being outside too after all, poor thing having to stay cooped up in the Commons or the dorms everyday.
‘Accio’ was a spell he already knew how to do. Sort of. It was a simple summoning charm. He looked at something, said the word, and the object would come flying forward.
But lately Sunny had been thinking about magic and its boundaries. Like, wordless and wandless magic was already a thing, and so many other things in the Harry Potter universe just sort of… happened, and nobody questioned it. Versatile word building now that he was inside of said world implied versatile rules.
Point was: maybe he could stretch the existing spells to do new things.
“Wonderful question, wonderful question. ‘Magic follows emotion’... ah, it truly is a very nice little phrase, is it not Mr. Goldstein? But don’t you get caught up in it too much!”
Professor Flitwick spoke clearly with his pitched voice and snatched words, pointing a finger to the ceiling in emphasis.
“It is not emotion that we follow in this class, it is intention. The two things are very interconnected of course, but magic that follows intention is sharper and more defined. It is a tool, which is what you want it to be! The spells and movements that we teach are also tools that we use to better control our intention, to turn it into something automatic per say, something more intuitive rather than unpredictable. Among other things of course, but we don’t cover the origins of spells until O.W.L.s, haha!... ha…! A-ahem, in any case. Magic that follows emotion, and only emotion, is chaotic and dangerous, much like our feelings. So be very, very careful, and make sure to read your textbooks properly!”
Magic followed intention.
So therefore, as long as he had a clear enough intention, everything should work no matter what, right?
Spells were good guidelines, good ‘tools’ as Flitwick said, to make things more automatic and precise.
But tools were customizable. Or they should be, in any case.
That at least was what Sunny was trying to find out. A sub-experiment so to speak, on top of trying to get himself better sleep.
“Accio!” He cried again, opening his eyes and flicking his wand.
Come here, come here, come here.
He waited.
Nothing happened.
Sunny sighed, dropping his arm as he pushed his bangs back, running his fingers through his hair in building frustration. Mewo made a noise from the spot where she sat beside him, licking her paw.
God damnit, what was he doing wrong?
The Accio spell, as far as he could do it anyway, was able to summon any object straight to his hand. It would fly straight towards him with the flick of a wand. That was, of course, as long as he had the general idea of where the object was, and it wasn’t too far for his magic’s pull to become weak.
But he wanted to extend the limitations of that ‘pull’. He wanted to be able to summon something without having any clue where it went or where it sat. He knew even Harry managed to do it once, ish, with his broom and all during the First Task of the tournament in the fourth book– or, well, next year.
The broom thing wasn’t exactly what he had in mind but close enough for him to know his goal was at least canonically possible.
More than that though, he wanted to increase the speed of how quickly something got to his hand.
If people can apparate anywhere in a heartbeat given enough focus, what’s stopping him from ‘apparating’ (so to speak) other objects anywhere himself? He wasn’t sure if a spell specifically for teleporting things was mentioned in the books, but if there was one then he couldn’t remember it. Either way, he wanted to try it this way first before rushing to the library to do even more research on top of his mountains of coursework.
All of this brought him to here and now, with the tiny green pebble he threw to the middle of the Black Lake, left to sink to a bottom whose deepeness itself was a mystery. He had no idea where it was nor how far it went, but he knew what he wanted to bring it back to himself.
In retrospect, maybe he should’ve started with something easier.
But fuck it, too late now.
Sunny breathed in, and breathed back out.
“Accio,” he said again, waving his wand.
—
The Black Lake lived up to its name. Its waters were always dark, always cold, always still. For outsiders, it resembled a mirror that swallowed light and hardly reflected any back. While within, the native creatures could see the bright green and blue colors that swirled closer to the surface, vivid rippling aquarelle that darkened into black in a murky gradient the lower one swam.
Sitting on sand, too deep for any light to reach and reveal its color, laid the pebble.
It moved from time to time, the surrounding finned creatures were quick to notice. Lifting before falling, rising and settling, again and again. Unnatural movement, magically manipulated by an entity separate from its own nature.
A student practicing their spells, most likely. Not an uncommon event to stumble to their awareness, even if this was a rather unique case of how their spells were being practiced. The magical children were fools these last few centuries, unable to recognize the most fundamental difference of air and water, expecting their enchantments and curses to behave precisely the same way within the Waves as they did on land.
There was something familiar about this one, however. Something else that tangled within the traces of their magic’s invisible strings, the strings that webbed reality into existence, ones that were twisted by the mages to shift the molds of the world to their will.
Something else was there, clinging like an epiphyte. Only by a breath, a faded touch, but a touch was more than they’ve seen in centuries. Something older, ancient. Broken, in a way it wasn’t the first time they grew to know it.
The pebble sat in the sand, waiting.
The child was getting frustrated. Very frustrated, judging by the way the tiny rock trembled, energy coalescing around it, enveloping it in manifested anger.
Without warning, in less than a blink, it was swallowed by black veins. The ‘touch’ flared with energy as tangible as festering fire, exploding against the sensitivities of the waters before vanishing like a snuffed bursting star.
The veins and the pebble were gone.
Above by the surface, a boy choked with surprise. He laughed out and whooped with glee after a beat of silence, ecstatic with success that wasn’t quite his, couldn’t be his– a child, a student, a mortal(?)– the fist that caught the materializing pebble shooting up to the air in victory. His pet purred behind him, disinterested but content.
Within the Lake, scales glittered against the faintest streaks of shaky sunlight that sank through the water, rippling fins and sharp teeth spreading words faster than the most powerful tides.
Within the Lake, the creatures grew unsettled by the sudden appearance of someone, some thing, which was thought to be gone for a long, long time.
—
As soon as classes ended for the day, Harry had surprised Hermione and Ron by shooting out of his seat and heading straight towards the library, hardly managing to pack away his books in his hurry.
“I want to know what creature Malfoy summoned,” was the lie Harry had picked when his friends inquired about his sudden passion for learning, voice a bit breathy as his quick footsteps echoed across the corridors. “It’s a bit concerning that Suzuki was so scared, don’t you think?”
It was only half of a lie, he wanted to know that too. But mostly it was the Thing he wanted to find more about.
That Shadow showed up in his sleep last night, staring in silence at the corners of his vision, melting into the shifting walls of his dream buildings like moss. Always vanishing before he got a better glance, hardly allowing him to sleep and somehow preventing him from waking up with ease. He wasn’t sure if it was simply one of those kinds of nightmares or something else. And that doubt was yet another incentive to get to the bottom of this.
He didn’t know what It was, genuinely hadn’t the foggiest clue, and the same instinct that led him to the Chamber, the same instinct that led him to Nicholas Flammel, the same instinct that both got him almost killed the past few years and kept him alive despite it all– it told him to know. To figure it out, to uncover it, to solve it.
Of course, most people would call this instinct curiosity, but Harry knew by now he was cursed to never be part of the average. But name it what you will, he was calling it now: whatever the Thing was, he had a feeling it wasn’t all that good.
And if It was stuck with Suzuki, well, then that couldn’t be good either.
“Whatever you say mate,” grumbled Ron in response, clearly not buying the half-made excuse Harry had already forgotten he gave. “But don’t expect me to read any rubbish right now, I’ve got that bloody Charms essay to finish…”
Hermione meanwhile simply accepted the company with a smile. And yes, ‘accepted the company’ because if there was one place she was going to head to after classes no matter what, it was the encyclopaedic coffin.
The library was rather empty when they arrived, an unusual sight to behold. The air was thick with the scent of parchment, and it felt as inhumanely big and ostentatious as always with its flying books and shelves taller than buildings, a ceiling hiding somewhere high up obscured by hundreds of shifting bridges connecting book aisles that were further away from the ground.
Natural sunlight– if one could call the weak grey glow that filtered through the clouds ‘sunlight’– streamed in through the cathedral windows that ran across the far walls, illuminating streaks across the floor in a dull, shooting white. The dark floorboards were smooth and clean, allowing for the shine to bounce easily and brighten the rest of the massive book-stuffed maze in a dim foggy radiance.
Harry didn’t come to the library all that often during the middle of the day, that was Hermione’s brand of insanity after all, but he had to admit that he never once regretted it whenever he did. Everything inside of Hogwarts was so magical that even after two long years (somehow about to become three, funny how time worked) inside the castle he still felt enamoured by it.
“Soooo, I reckon you’re looking for something in particular, or…?” asked Ron, curious despite his previous statement. He leisurely followed as Harry walked straight ahead, and after about ten seconds, he sighed behind him. “Or we can walk aimlessly, sure, why not.”
Hermione didn’t linger behind, keeping up the pace right beside him. “What did you say it was, Harry? A type of ghost?”
“Of a sort,” started Harry slowly. “It’s– you know how the telly shows us those cartoon ghosts on Halloween advertisements?”
“Yes.” Hermione nodded while Ron simply looked confused.
“Imagine that, but switch the colors so that everything that’s white is black, and everything that’s black is white. Oh and make it very, very spiky, and with just one eye. And about ten times more bizarre.”
Hermione made a face, concentration making her frown. Harry could practically see her rifling through every book she ever read inside her mind, trying and struggling to find any mention of something that matched his description. After a few more seconds in silence, she deflated, frown fading into a pout as she shook her head. “I can’t think of anything. Are you sure that’s what you saw?”
“Yes.” Harry paused. Considered. “Actually, no.”
(it felt like a secret)
He shoved the hesitation down. He could use this.
“Alright, this– this is going to sound odd, but have you read about anything that looks like… black veins? Black energy? Like, erm, a shadow almost, but more tangible. Yes, a tangible shadow. Good way to describe it.” The more he talked the more visibly confused Hermione became. “Or, erm, perhaps not– a wind, then? A wind that comes from someone else, connected to them in a way. Destroying things around them, protecting the person, containing their magic. A visible black wind that can become rivers and can also take the shape of a person, and can rip apart trees and break glass from windows and... and… erm. Well. I’m assuming by that look that you haven’t read anything like that, have you?”
She frowned again, but it was a different kind of frown. One of worry rather than focus. “Harry, be honest, what are you looking for? Because you know as well as I do that that is not a ghost.”
“By the sounds of it, it better not be a bloody obscurial,” mumbled Ron, sounding a tad bored as he ran his fingers over the backs of some books they walked past.
Both Hermione and Harry stopped walking, turning to him, one with surprise and the other with curiosity.
“What’s an obscurial?” asked Harry and Hermione simultaneously.
Ron looked at them, a bit startled at the sudden attention. “Oh, erm, well… blimey, I’m not- I’m not sure how to describe them? Frankly I haven’t a clue about what they really are anyway. Fred and George used to scare me with stories about them when I was a kid. That’s the only source of knowledge I have and I would not trust it.”
“Alright, well, indulge us anyway,” said Hermione, transfixed, sounding mildly shocked that she didn’t know a term Ron spoke of so casually. “I haven’t heard of an ‘obscurial’ before.”
Ron shrugged.
“There aren’t that many books on them. Not any that we’d be assigned to read, I mean. From what I know, they’re parasites. Feed on our magic in exchange for protecting us from deadly harm, but only when we’re really close to dying. It took me a bit longer than everyone else to show signs of magic when I was a kid, so, erm, you know…”
That last part was a bit harder to hear, with Ron grumbling it under his breath.
“...Fred and George loved to tease me that an obscurial was eating up my power or something since birth. Even years later. It drove mum and dad nuts. They’ve stopped now though, thank Merlin.”
Feed on our magic.
Harry looked down to the floor, mulling the words over. Was that what the Shadow was doing? Feeding on Suzuki’s magic?
That didn’t feel quite right, though.
Suzuki’s magic wasn’t dwindling in Its presence. If anything, the more magic he expelled, the more the Shadows appeared to simply keep all that energy in one place. Not feeding or weakening it, just containing it. It was protective, he remembered that much, but there hadn’t been anything deadly around at the time. Unless he counted? No, he didn’t.
“Harry?” said Ron, his voice loud with the implication that he’d called his name more than once. “Hello? Anyone home up there?”
There was a flick on his forehead and Harry slapped Ron’s away with a half-hearted glare. “Yes, I’m just thinking.”
“Thinking of what?”
“Nothing, don’t worry about it.”
“Nothi–” Ron cut himself off, incredulous. “Okay, stop that, just what is going on with you? All those questions and then ‘nothing’? Avoiding Suzuki like the bloody plague since day one and then all of a sudden unable to think of quite literally anything else?”
Well now that was an exaggera–
“Did something happen when you found Suzuki?” asked Ron, cutting through Harry’s thoughts. “You don’t think–” He started then stopped, glancing around the library as if afraid someone was eavesdropping. He lowered his voice and his head, dropping to a whisper. “You don’t think Suzuki is an obscurial, do you?”
Harry deadpanned at that. “Obviously not, I think I’d notice if he was a creature that fed on magic.”
“No, that’s not– obscurials are both the parasite and the host. I think so, anyway.” Ron paused, glancing to the side as he scratched the side of his cheek in thought. “Or are they just the creature…? Can’t remember for the life of me, honestly.”
“I think,” started Hermione, that matter-of-fact tone already promising a minimum of two hours of future reading, “that instead of relying on half-remembered stories meant to scare children, we should actually find a book on the topic.”
“Sure,” agreed Ron with a shrug, so quickly that both Hermione and Harry sent him bewildered looks. He raised his hands and his shoulders, defensive. “What? I’m curious now, it’s been a while since I’ve thought about those things.”
“Don’t you have a Charms essay to work on?” asked Hermione, raising an eyebrow. “You know, the one you’ve been complaining about the entire day?”
“That can be dealt with later! Now go on, you know the library best, where do we find books on obscurials?”
She rolled her eyes, mumbling an exasperated “boys” under her breath. Hermione gestured over. “Can’t promise we’ll find it, but I believe I have an idea of where to start.”
And she was off, heading to some other direction that they weren’t going towards before. Ron and Harry exchanged glances, and then the former shrugged before following suit.
“Hey, will you just wait a mo’! Not all of us have this place mapped out in our heads!”
“You know Ron, you could use another visit or two here. Or three. Or four.”
“Why would I need to go when a trampling library follows us around everywhere?”
“Aw, I’m flattered. Compared to a trampling library. You truly know how to compliment a lady.”
“Was that sarcasm I heard?”
“Of course not Ron.”
Harry had stayed in his spot for a second, watching the two walk farther away before he rolled his eyes fondly. He sighed, shook his head, and then picked up his pace to rush over and catch up. “I’ll remind you both, I do have detention this evening because of what happened with Malfoy. Can’t stay too long.”
“Oh yeah,” said Ron, eyes widening slightly. He glanced back at Harry as he walked. “Why don’t you just ask him?”
Harry blinked, slowing down now that he’d reached the other two. “What?”
“Ask Suzuki during detention, about the whole… what did you call it, ‘tangible shadow’?”
“Erm, well, I don’t want to bring it up in case it upsets him. You saw how he ran away last time.” And you didn’t see how he ran away all the times before that.
Hermione was mumbling to herself in front of them, naming aisles and numbers as she oriented them around. Ron however wasn’t focusing on guiding anyone, so he had the luxury to stare at Harry with the same look he gave when the latter said he could hear voices inside the walls last year. That expectant resignation that was reserved for Harry’s stunts and all associated adventures alone.
“So instead of asking him about his personal business, you’ll just research about it behind his back.”
Harry made a face. “Don’t word it like that, you make it sound horrible.”
Ron rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he turned to look to the front again.
“I suppose this wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done something like this. At least we’re not making polyjuice potions again, those bloody things were disgusting.”
“Don’t jinx it,” teased Harry with a small growing smirk. Ron laughed.
.
..
.
..
.
The detention they would serve was assigned by Madam Hooch.
Snape couldn’t take anyone into his dungeons because his evenings were already filled with the Slytherins that contributed to Suzuki’s entire situation.
Professor Flitwick was dealing with some Ravenclaws that had apparently also participated in it (Goldstein among them, Harry bitterly found out, unable to stop the stab of guilt upon hearing the news. Would things have gone differently if he said nothing about the boggart?).
So at the end they were sent to McGonagall’s office, but after she found out what happened for them to get into detention in the first place, she sent them straight to Madam Hooch.
All of this was to say that Harry and Suzuki were assigned broom care, which was the least punishing punishment in the history of all punishments in the world. Harry would know, he’d lived with the Dursleys.
They were outside on the vast Quidditch Pitch, the smell of dirt after rain lingering in the air. The moon and stars were already out, decorating the black ocean of the night sky. It was odd being there so late. It’s not that he wasn’t used to seeing the place in the dark, his practices were always early in the morning or late in the afternoon after all, but without his team or anything like that… seeing a familiar place in an unfamiliar context, it made the air feel newer, crisper. Stranger.
Madam Hooch hardly told them enough of what they were supposed to do before leaving them entirely unsupervised. Or well, mostly unsupervised– she’d thrown in about a dozen spells in the entirety of the Quidditch Pitch to keep track of numerous things (a caution, Harry suspected, that was exerted more because of Black rather than the detention itself). But other than that she left them on their own.
Yet another thing that made it clear how little the Professors cared for their ‘discipline’ over what occurred with Malfoy.
Harry couldn’t help his smile while he began working.
Two tables were set out in the middle of the field, one for him and one for Suzuki. Brooms were stacked on the wet grass in a neat pile a few yards behind them. He was sad to see that no Slytherin brooms were present– only the lesser school owned ones. That was fine, it’s not like he would’ve sabotaged them anyway had he the chance. Probably not. …maybe a little.
Suzuki worked on his right, awkwardly silent as he focused on applying the right oils and polishing everything the exact way that Madam Hooch instructed them to. He wasn’t wearing his robes, only the white long-sleeved shirt of the uniform, the typical black pants, and his badly done blue and silver tie. His hair was tied back to a short ponytail, looking as neat as it did during the summer.
Harry realized with small surprise that this was the first time he saw the boy look put together in… what, a month? Maybe more? Suzuki was quite distraught lately as far as Harry could tell, his messy clothes and hair matching the quaintness of his weird behavior.
But now he seemed to be doing much better. Almost normal, if it weren’t for the fact he seemed to be intent on not looking at anything other than the brooms.
It was difficult to not feel disappointed at that last bit, even though it was hard to tell if the motive behind the behavior was funnel focus or an actual desire to ignore him. He hoped it was the former, but probability favored the latter which was rather upsetting. Harry thought that they were past that now after his brief exchange (and first real conversation) with Suzuki yesterday.
Then again, after a whole night of time to process past events, he wouldn’t be surprised if Suzuki decided he’d rather avoid Harry after all.
“Is, uh, is something wrong?” asked a strained voice with an American accent, and it took Harry a second to realize that it was Suzuki’s.
Harry blinked, snapping out of it. Oh please don’t tell him he’d been staring. Crap. He must’ve zoned out or something. He cleared his throat, shaking his head. “No no, erm, sorry. Just lost in thought is all.”
Suzuki paused. He nodded after a second, accepting that, and turned back to the broom. He scooped up a handful of oil and then practically slobbered the thing on, spilling so much of it Harry failed to hold back a wince. Suzuki noticed the flinch immediately, and his entire body tensed so fast Harry rushed to apologize.
“Sorry! Sorry, it’s nothing, erm, you’re– you’re fine, it’s, ah, it’s just… uhm. Try to use less oil, maybe? You don’t want to overdo it. It’s bad for the brooms. And it’s a waste too.”
Silence. Suzuki could be easily mistaken for a statue.
The quiet was stifling, and Harry’s cheeks burned against the chilly night air of autumn.
“Actually nevermind! You were doing it just fine, ah, ignore me,” said Harry, biting back a you’re good at doing that after all, and turning to his own broom.
He scooped half a handful of oil, carefully pouring a thin line across the entire length of the broom before spreading it around properly in a gentle massage. His Nimbus 2000 gave him plenty of experience with this, and it was easy to let himself forget the boy beside him and focus on a comfortingly familiar task.
So concentrated he was, he didn’t notice Suzuki’s stare until he finished and went to grab another broom from behind them.
Said stare was immeasurably fixating.
Harry froze in place for no reason at all. Bloody unnerving, he thought to himself, not liking how the moonlight didn’t seem to reach the empty gaze resting on the other’s face, merely outlining his cheeks and chin the same way it would a porcelain doll.
Why was he just staring at him? Blimey, never did Harry think he’d be so intimidated by a resting face.
Suzuki blinked and turned back to his broom wordlessly.
Well.
That was that, he supposed.
Harry cleared his throat and walked over to the pile like he originally meant to do, picking up a broom before walking back.
As he returned, he could see Suzuki scoop up the oil again. A much smaller portion compared to previously. Then he poured a line across the broom’s length, and Harry’s eyes widened slightly. That wasn’t a technique Madam Hooch covered, it was just something he did, something he learned to do throughout the years.
Suzuki had been staring to learn. That– that wasn’t so bad, actually. And it explained the fixed gaze.
…hm. Honestly, at this point the evidence that Suzuki was just very horribly awkward instead of hostile was beginning to pile up too much for him to continue to contribute every interaction to some form of hatred/avoidance that the other seemingly held.
He thought back to the first day, with how Suzuki avoided everyone else as well.
Harry couldn’t help but smile, feeling himself relax a bit.
Perhaps it really wasn’t his fault.
He thought of the panicked crying by a tree, far from the only Professor that might be able to help and farther still from the other students. Other students who gave him no reason to stop avoiding them, if anything only adding more.
Harry’s smile faded, but the discomfort didn’t return, calm lingering with settled understanding.
Perhaps it wasn’t Suzuki’s fault either.
A picture was forming of who the boy was, and for once he was beginning to make sense in Harry’s mind.
He walked back to his table and propped the broom to continue his work, his movements purposefully slower. Scoop up the oil, create a thin line, and spread the rest. This time, he didn’t miss how Suzuki paused to look, a calculating focus behind those otherwise empty eyes.
“Too much of these oils can damage the spells,” explained Harry without prompt, voice accidentally loud against the dense quiet of the empty field. Suzuki perked– or rather flinched, but with surprise not fear– tilting his head. Harry reluctantly took that as a sign to continue talking.
“The, erm, the oils are potions for the brooms?” His pitch raised with a voice crack, making it sound more like a question than a statement. Harry cleared his throat. “They help with things like stability, smoothness and health of the wood, and other things so that it doesn’t break with weight or go mad mid-flight.”
“Oh,” said Suzuki. There was a pause, and Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye, carefully not to turn around lest Suzuki feel the need to look away. “...how can they damage the spells?”
The finished broom was set aside, and a new one was quickly fetched.
“Not sure how to explain, but it’s mostly about not confusing the enchantments, I suppose? Too many spells stacked on top of one another tend to break away quickly, and the concentration, or, erm, the density of each type of magic matters.”
Or something akin to that. He couldn’t quite recall from one of Hermione’s many rambles or Flitwick’s overexcited morning lectures. He spaced out at both with equal measure.
Suzuki made a low humming noise of understanding, nodding. “Mixed intentions confuse the outcome,” he said, in a way that implied he was waiting for Harry to confirm his theory. Harry didn’t know what he was talking about but nodded back anyway, not wanting to be insulting or seen as ignorant.
They both fell quiet again, but the silence was comfortable rather than painful this time around.
About an hour passed like that. One thing that was awful about detentions at Hogwarts was how they were task-based rather than accounted for by time. Detention was over only once you’ve earned it. Sure, the professors could claim ‘one hour’ of work in theory, but they could still assign something that would take ages to complete in practice simultaneously.
Yet for the first time, Harry felt a bit grateful for the system. Cleaning brooms was a pleasant way to pass the time, his familiarity with the skill allowing him to set the pace he’d liked, and this was also the only chance he really had to talk with Suzuki one on one (something he’s wanted to do for ages now, no matter how much he’d tried to fool himself into thinking he hadn’t cared).
Suzuki wasn’t that bad a company when he wasn’t battling demons every time he glanced Harry’s way.
“Do the uh, do the oils make the brooms fly?”
It took him a second to register the question. Suzuki’s voice was a sound Harry had to get used to, something he never thought he’d think about someone else in his life. It was always quiet and just shy of a whisper, scratchy but with vowels that were sharply enunciated. Someone who didn’t speak much, he could easily gather, but spoke well when it mattered.
Harry looked over, pathetic satisfaction warming him when Suzuki met his gaze instead of running off. There was still that unnerving blankness in his face but Harry was beginning to accept that this was the other’s norm.
He shook his head as an answer. “No, those are the enchantments.”
“Is it like, uhm, an adjusted version of the Levitation Charm?”
“Now that you’ve mentioned it, I’m not sure? Hermione gave me a broom-cleaning kit and instruction book this summer for my birthday, and while it went into a fair bit of detail about it, it didn’t elaborate that much. But I imagine it could be there, yeah.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was like a mixture of stuff. How hard is it to enchant a broom anyway? Is there any big difference between normal brooms and, like, sport specific ones? Did they create new charms specifically for brooms or did they adapt old ones? Are old spells difficult to adapt? Is it counted as a ‘new’ spell or just a variation? How do people even categorize spells?”
Somewhere between the first question and the next it all spiralled into a ramble, and Harry was stuck opening and closing his mouth in a loop, about to answer a question only to be interrupted by another one.
“How can someone actually make a spell anyway? Is it usually born out of need or want? If they make enough spells are they considered revolutionary or average? Does apparation count as a spell or more like an action– I guess it’s a spell, but like, is the whole branch of Transfiguration considered to be spells or just a weird version of alchemy? And I know that it’s not, like, rare to make up a spell but what steps lead someone to actually create one successfully? Do you know how to make a spell? Or better question have you ever seen someone make a spell–”
Suzuki’s House suddenly made a lot more sense.
“ Well, ” cut in Harry before another question could be thrown his way, clearing his throat for what felt to be the millionth time that day.
He scratched the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward. And a bit fearful if he was being honest. He didn’t want to disappoint Suzuki, not when they were just starting to get along.
“I don’t, erm, know how to make one, no. Nor do I know anyone who has made spells. Other than maybe Dumbledore, but he’s, well, Dumbledore. And for the rest of your questions, I think you’ll have better luck going to the library. I have no clue how to answer them. Sorry. But yeah, uhm. Go to the library.”
Blimey Harry wished he was Hermione right about now, a sentiment he’s thought of two times now while interacting with Suzuki. She wouldn’t have any issue answering any of these questions he’d bet. The two of them would get along… he should introduce them sometime, as soon as he convinced his friends of the truth that he didn’t hate the bloke or anything ridiculous like that.
To his luck, Suzuki only nodded, not looking disappointed at all. “I guess I should, yeah.”
And that was that.
He went back to his broom, and after a pause, so did Harry.
The rest of detention went by without much notice.
.
..
…
(( A/N: PLEASE listen to music while reading the last part of this next scene, it will make things 100000x better trust me. There will be an underlined word from where I timed the music to begin, click on it to be sent to the youtube link, put that thing in a separate tab, and then go back and keep reading as normal! I timed it properly so that you’ll more or less be able to read everything on time with the music, even if it’s not perfectly on beat it’s still very very atmospheric and adds a lot to the moment :) ))
…
..
.
The next week Suzuki arrived first, clothing and hair identical to how Harry saw him the week prior.
And he arrived with books.
“I figured it out,” he announced, and if Harry imagined it hard enough, he could almost hear excitement in that dead tone of his. “There are variations of the Levitation Charm wrapped into the wood itself, but only as a foundation for more enchantments to be layered on top.”
Suzuki set down the books– three different ones, Harry counted– on the table, and it was only then that he noticed the other had cleared out the entire desk. Harry’s was the only one that had any of the broom cleaning supplies.
He found that he didn’t mind the idea of doing all the work, so long as Suzuki kept talking to him.
“What sort of enchantments?” Harry asked, walking closer to the tables.
Detentions were held during the same time, so it naturally was night once more. Silver moonlight spilled over the flat surfaces, casting dark shadows at every moderately sized object. It was hard to see the books so he didn’t try to read their titles, heading straight to the pile to grab the first broom to work on.
Suzuki opened up one of the books with one hand, taking out his wand with the other. He cast a quiet, almost wordless Lumos and then set the wand down, and Harry couldn’t help his impressed surprise, halting his walk back to the desks abruptly.
The tip of the wand continued to glow brightly without any additional touch. And Suzuki didn’t seem to have tried that hard upon doing the spell. How did he do that so effortlessly? Especially after having only two months or so of magical education.
“It sorta depends on the broom, but mostly they’re enhancing spells,” answered Suzuki. “I think anyway. Pretty sure. The foundations set up the basic idea of what the broom’s job is, and everything else that goes on top of that is to specify and define said basic idea.”
The evening continued on with Harry working on the brooms while Suzuki went over the things he found throughout the week, even showing specific passages.
Without having to refresh the spell once, the Lumos remained glowing the entire time.
No dimming, or fading, or even so much as a flicker.
It was genuinely impressive.
When Harry finally managed to ask about it between another informational dump, Suzuki shrugged dismissively and said something about a ‘protective dome working as it should’. When he pried a little further, with that same type of uncaring shrug Suzuki mentioned ‘sometimes the dome breaks but if you add multiple layers it even makes the glow brighter’.
You know, as if that was a natural and obvious aspect of the charm.
He said it with such sincereness and nonchalance that Harry didn’t dare ask for yet another elaboration. Mostly to spare his own fragile pride regarding his skills in Charms. He didn’t need nor want to be humbled by someone who missed two years of magical education, as rude as that thought was.
In any case– Suzuki, Harry was quick to learn, enjoyed talking only when it wasn’t a normal conversation.
Harry tried to steer their chats into something less academic. He truly did. But he quickly gave up when Suzuki clammed up every time Harry asked a question like “what do you enjoy doing in your free time back home?” or “how are your friends?” or “what is your favorite food?” or “what are your favorite books?”.
Not avoidance, he reminded himself when it happened again and again. Something else.
The last one was especially surprising when Suzuki refused to answer, his face doing something so strange while he made a noise that sounded almost like a choke. And Harry had reckoned books would be the only slightly personal question the other would be willing to answer. Suppose not.
No matter what type of question he created or how he worded it, it seemed like every other topic quite literally erased Suzuki’s capability to talk. But eventually he did figure out what the ‘safe topics’ were. Or rather, safe topic, singular.
The only time Harry managed to get Suzuki speak was when he asked about magic.
“Could you explain the layering bit again? One last time?” asked Harry while he applied oil to one of the last few brooms of the night. “I’m still a bit puzzled about the foundational aspect of the spells and… everything else you said, really.”
Suzuki was quick to jump in, taking the bait hook line and sinker.
“Oh, sure. Okay, so, for example, the Levitation Charms are the foundation, the thing that sets up ‘hey this is meant to fly’, and the things that go on top of that are specifications like ‘only fly when someone commands it’, or ‘only fly in the direction the person wants to go to’ and stuff like that. But the thing that makes building good brooms so tricky is that, like you said before, the spells can’t get confused or else it all unravels or, like, gets out of control. If there’s one enchantment saying ‘when someone leans forward, move forward’ but there’s another spell that says ‘when someone leans forward, dip closer to the ground’, it’s easy for things to get muddy. Contextual keys fix that though, so all the broom needs is uh, some things to keep it more locked up and organized.”
“Contextual keys?” Harry didn’t have to fake the intrigued confusion in his voice. This wasn’t something Suzuki mentioned the first time around (or the second, the third, nor the fourth… look mate, this was the easiest topic to get him to talk).
Suzuki nodded.
“Yes, contextual keys. But that’s, uh, mostly a theory. I was trying to work out what exactly made these things work but nothing was really stated in any of the texts. A few minutes ago it just kinda hit me that this had to be it, but I have to test that theory first.”
All that talking and Suzuki didn’t even explain what the theory was.
“So?” prodded Harry, curious. “What is it? Don’t leave me hanging.”
“Well–” Suzuki began at the ‘what is it’ but then he broke into a stutter as Harry accidentally talked over him. “...w- well, uhm, it’s, uhm.”
He cleared his throat, opened his mouth to speak, and closed it. Suzuki looked away, cleared his throat, again, and took in a shuddering breath that made Harry frown a little. Was he alright?
“S-sorry, one second...” said Suzuki and that was all the warning Harry got before the other turned around and walked towards the brooms. He squatted down next to the pile, inspecting it. Well, only probably inspecting it, but it’s not like there was anything else to do there.
Harry gave him space, turning back to the broom he was still oiling.
Not avoidance, thought Harry grimly, not a reminder but a growing realisation. Fear.
The shattered tears, broken sobs. His nightmares had the Shadows last night, yes, but not just that. It would be difficult for anyone to shake off a scene like that.
Harry wasn’t sure what exactly he did just now, but he knew he must’ve said something terribly wrong. Or maybe it was because he said something at all? The Ravenclaw clearly had trouble finding enough confidence to talk, so maybe by pushing it or making it harder he took away what little confidence the other managed to scrounge up. Next time he’d speak slower then, less of a chance he’d interrupt Suzuki that way.
Frankly, talking to the bloke was like walking on a field littered with hidden landmines. But after a few hours of conversation he was starting to understand the ‘rules’ a lot better.
He was also beginning to suspect there was some sort of a Speak Stone situation, even though he never met anyone who would understand what he meant when he said that. It had been the kind of abnormality Aunt Petunia beat him out of when he was a child and too scared to speak in front of adults.
A ‘speech disorder’, the Dursleys called it with disgust, the term sounding wrong to a seven year old who never understood why a rock would sometimes lodge between his voice box and his mouth. It wasn’t his speech that was wrong, he could talk just fine when he wanted to, but it was something else that stopped him. A cold claw in his chest, that stone in his throat.
The rock was promptly broken by the belt and then picked away by his own hands. He always loved to speak– to tease, to quip, to outsmart, the only things nobody could ever take away from him. Nobody except himself.
All he needed back then was a little more courage to break out of this shell he’d somehow made inside his throat. And he learned, eventually. Learned to use his words like shields, weapons, the only ones he was allowed to have, learned and learned until it became so natural he forgot those earlier years.
Suzuki didn’t seem to know how to use his words at all.
But that was fine. It didn't matter. Harry could be patient when he wanted to be.
A few minutes passed since Suzuki walked off and Harry pretended to be unfinished with a broom he’d completed a lifetime ago. He hadn’t moved from the pile yet, and Harry was beginning to worry he broke him when he heard the sound of toppling wood and crunched grass.
“Here,” said Suzuki from behind, and Harry turned around to see him holding a broom. He raised an eyebrow in question, and Suzuki answered by pushing his hand out further. “Take it.”
“We’re in detention right now,” started Harry, but he took the broom without much of a fuss. It’s not like Madam Hooch didn’t suspect they were messing around the entire time, she looked pleasantly surprised last week when she saw the oiled brooms, complimenting their work a tad too much for someone who was supposed to be supervising their punishment. “Does this have to do with this theory of yours?”
“Yes,” said Suzuki, and left it at that.
Laconic.
Alright, Harry could work with that, even if it felt strange. Everything about Suzuki was a little strange regardless so he was getting used to it by now. Slowly. Or perhaps not so slowly, considering he’s only ever had three real conversations in just as many months. Best not think about that for now.
He looked down at the broom, and cautiously mounted it. He didn’t jump to fly or anything, simply holding on. It didn’t feel like it could fly right then, there wasn’t that potential-lightweight feeling he usually had whenever he sat or held his Nimbus, there wasn't that itch to allow his feet to lift from the grass, no sense of knowing he’d be supported by something that broke every law of gravity he once learned in primary school.
Most likely some other enchantment locking the magic down.
Harry looked back at Suzuki. “What now?”
“Fly.”
Bollocks.
“Erm, well, about that…”
Suzuki tilted his head, curious.
“You can’t fly?”
“I c-can, usually, I’m good at it too– really good, it’s just…” Harry shrugged, gesturing down. “It’s locked.”
“Locked?”
“Something’s blocking the magic. I think it’s to prevent unauthorized use.” Like what you’re suggesting I do, Harry didn’t say, because he’s done worse and that would spoil what little fun he was managing to recover. “We can check the other brooms, if you’d like? Perhaps not all of them are locked.”
Suzuki didn’t answer for a moment, tapping his chin as he looked at the broom. He extended an empty hand, and Harry interpreted that as a request to return it. He unmounted it and handed it over, only to blink in curiosity-turned-amusement as he watched the Ravenclaw awkwardly copy his movements and mount on the broom himself.
He stood there, back straight and grip white-knuckle tight, for a solid fifteen seconds before Harry couldn’t stop himself from interfering.
“Do you want to try another–”
“Alohomora,” said Suzuki, brows furrowed in focus.
Harry couldn’t help it. He snorted. “I don’t think that’s…” The Ravenclaw looked up, and somehow his blank, already deadpan expression emptied into further dryness. Harry snickered, trying to talk between his unsuccessfully stifled chuckles. “E-erm, Suzuki, that’s not– that’s not quite what I meant by ‘locked’.”
Suzuki promptly ignored him, turning back to his broom with fixed determination, and for the first time Harry found that humorous rather than hurtful.
“Alohomora,” said Suzuki again, more forcefully this time.
“You know what, I think I’ve read about this somewhere,” lied Harry with a grin, wanting to try and be at least a little supportive. He’d be an utter twat otherwise, with all the laughter he let escape. “It’s like chains, isn’t it? Metaphorical ones in any case. Perhaps you really can unlock the chained magic in there.”
Suzuki paused, humming as he mulled over the words, taking them so seriously Harry was starting to feel bad. He opened his mouth again, but Suzuki beat him to it with another, somehow even stronger, “Alohomora!”
Harry made a grave mistake here. He burst into more laughter, shaking his head as he took a step closer.
“Alright, come on, we’ve got to finish oiling these–” he grabbed the broom, and suddenly felt light. “...things.”
Harry stopped dead.
He stared at the broom, holding it unconsciously tighter. He felt the feeling of lessened gravity at the touch, the low bubbling electricity of the potential of a flight. All he needed was to will it, and they’d be able to fly to the skies right now.
“What,” he breathed out, glancing up from the broom to a very smug looking Suzuki. ‘Smug’ was an overstatement considering the lack of expression, but he could see it in that sudden glimmer inside his eyes, the relaxed posture, the unsurprised aura. “You– you unlocked it? You actually unlocked it?!”
“Contextual keys,” said Suzuki, and yeah, he bloody well sounded smug too. “My theory. The rider’s magic is what guides the other enchantments to know when to function.” There was a beat. “I’m, uh, also too good at finding keys to locked things.”
Mildly ominous last phrase or not, Harry didn’t realize he was grinning at this achievement until his cheeks began to hurt. “Suzuki that’s– that’s genius! Can you do it to another broom?! Hold on!”
He let go, about to rush to grab one of his oiled brooms when Suzuki grabbed him by the sleeve. He looked back to see the boy mounting off, and the confusion must’ve shown on his face for Suzuki shook his head, handing the broom to Harry.
“I’m not a flier,” he said.
Harry stared a moment, blinked, and then he understood. “You’ve never flown before?”
Suzuki shook his head no.
“Well then I’ve got to show you how!”
A beat passed and Suzuki’s eyes widened, and he shook his head harder.
Harry wasn’t going to take refusal as an answer though, practically shoving the broom into Suzuki’s arms. “No you must learn! You must! And you deserve it too, after all your research– it’ll be fun, you’ll see!”
The Ravenclaw shook his head again, and then practically stabbed the broom into Harry’s arms with so much force it almost hurt. “ No. I– I can’t. Heights bad– heights are bad, I– I hate heights, I can’t…”
All he needed was a little more courage to break out of his shell.
“Come on, please? I’ll fly with you then, how about that? You won’t fall that way, I promise you,” said Harry, trying to keep his voice gentle and soothing. Suzuki seemed the type to be receptive to that.
He allowed the broom to stay with him, mounting it in one smooth movement and extending out a hand.
“Really. It’s not as scary as you think.”
Suzuki stared at his hand, and then looked back up at him, something in his face twitching. He remained silent, dead silent, body going so still and frozen Harry was already feeling resigned dread sinking his stomach, a part of him already prepared to watch Suzuki spin around and bolt away in a blink.
But then, to his surprise, a slender pale hand reached out and took his, the wrist and curve of the thumb bathed by the silver moonlight glow.
“Okay,” he said, voice so quiet Harry almost missed it.
But he didn’t, and the agreement made him grin harder.
He tugged him closer to the broom.
“Alright, brilliant! Do you want to sit in the front or the back?”
“Uhhh…”
“If you go to the back, I’ll be the one flying and you’ll be safe and sound, no worries there, and if you go to the front I can teach you how to steer. Either way, it’s all great! Really! Very safe, I swear.”
“Okay,” repeated Suzuki with a swallow. His grip on Harry’s hand was getting tighter to a painful amount, but he dared not make a comment. “I’ll…” He cleared his throat. “Front. Should learn if I’m.” A pause. “If I’m gonna fly.”
“Awesome,” agreed Harry with way too much enthusiasm and he tried not to wince at himself. Was this how his school counselor felt way back when? “Alright, brilliant, yeah. Erm, let me give you some space, hold on…”
He shuffled back, straightening out the broom so it’d be easier for Suzuki to mount and sit. It was a little awkward since this broom wasn’t quite made to have two people on it, but with some more shuffling around and too much bumping into one another they managed to work it out.
Harry was at the very back, almost touching the bristles. He was careful to keep his hands to himself now that Suzuki had let go, something in his gut warning that any form of touch, guiding or not, wouldn’t be too welcome right then. Suzuki was at the front, with about a foot of space between him and the edge of the broom. Harry could make himself more comfortable by pushing the bloke over a bit more, but he wouldn’t do that, it’d only make steering harder.
“Alright! Shall we go? All you need to do is let go of the floor,” said Harry, already lifting his feet and locking his legs in a familiar motion. Suzuki didn’t even notice at the front, but that was the point. “It might feel unnerving at first, but I promise you it’s not all bad.”
“It’s not as scary as you think,” murmured Suzuki, and Harry nodded.
The air shifted. Harry was about to say some more encouraging words but he shut his mouth with an almost audible clank. That buzz, the electricity, the Energy. It was soft and light but it was there, already feeling tangible thanks to his proximity to the source. Growing.
Harry swallowed, and tried hard not to panic.
The third time, he could recognize it with much more clarity. This Energy was entirely Suzuki’s, he was sure of it. None of that– that ‘oddness’ was there, none of that off feeling. It emanated off of the boy and then pulsed, pushing out in waves, vibrating in an invisible orbit around them.
It felt different this time. Less aggressive, less hostile. He could almost describe it as apprehensive, but that would be wrong too. More like… cautious? Yes. Cautious. In a calm, almost deliberate way if it weren’t for the fact that Suzuki clearly had no idea he was doing this.
A revolving buzz wrapped around every inch of their bodies like a blanket. No, no. Not a blanket. It was liquid in a way he couldn’t quite understand– like water. Veiling them with a humming vibrancy that swam and drowned the surface of their skin with the same artistry as running rivers. Safety, it spoke with a wordless voice, one he didn’t hear but only felt.
Harry’s eyes widened slightly, and the flattened grass suddenly made much more sense. That was it. Consciously or not, Suzuki had created a cushion for them. A protective blanket or pillow or something of the sort, he wasn’t quite sure but he knew it would stop them from getting hurt should they fall. Did this still count as accidental magic, he wondered? It was unintentional, yet so terribly meticulous.
“All…” he cleared his throat and brought his focus back to the boy, finding his voice. “All you need to do is let go of the floor. You don’t even have to jump or anything. But if you, erm, if you don’t want to do this, we can just stop, alright? No pressure.”
Below them, the grass moved, its blades being brushed back by the same untouchable ‘wind’.
“It’s not as scary as you think,” said Suzuki in a dead voice, again, almost like a broken radio.
Harry felt his anxiety spike a bit.
“Yeah, but, well, it’s still scary, right?” His voice didn't sound like a squeak. It absolutely didn’t. “Things don’t– erm, they d-don’t have to stop being scary, you just have to realize that even if it’s a little hard, you can do it anyway. The only thing that’s stopping you from doing something is you, and, erm, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
He couldn’t count with both his hands all the times his courage got him into things he would’ve preferred to avoid. Frankly, a bit more fear would’ve gone a long, long way.
“It’s alright to be scared, is what I’m trying to say. But trust me, I won’t let you fall.”
Suzuki went quiet for a second, but then he nodded. “...o-okay… okay.”
The rippling energy lowered further to the ground, spreading the grass entirely flat.
With a sudden lift they bounded off the floor and Harry yelped out a small laugh. Suzuki startled with a flinch. He glanced back, brows furrowed, his eyes wide with anxiety.
“W-what? Did– did I do something wrong, or–?”
“No, no, the opposite! You’re doing so great! Go ahead, at your pace.”
Suzuki stared with a frown for a beat, visibly swallowing down his fear. He nodded and turned to look forward again. Another shaky breath in, another shaky breath out. Harry could relate.
There was a boost as they lifted higher, and higher, and higher. The push and pull only became stronger as the safety of the ground quickly spiraled into a distant memory. Nothing except air embraced them and Harry was both heavier and lighter than before, thrilling vertigo welcoming with its familiarity.
“You did it, Suzuki!” cried Harry with a laugh.
There was a tug forward from the broom, like a suggestion, a promise, and Suzuki followed it, at first flying very slowly across the field. They began to pick up speed, pulling forward faster. An excited sort of electricity flooded through the Energy, meshing with the whipping wind.
What was it Suzuki said? ‘Contextual keys’, the rider’s magic telling the broom what to do?
Harry believed him now.
They flew higher, and higher, and higher, his gut falling and rising with the wave-like movements of the broom, they flew until the tables and brooms below became mere specks of dots amidst a green carpet. Wind whipped their faces and the world tilted around them, Harry whooped in joy and threw his hands up to the air, his fingers chilled by the cold ferocious stream.
They suddenly twisted and then shot up straight to the stars.
Harry let out a yelp-turned-laugh and grabbed Suzuki’s shoulders, clutching for dear life and grinning madly as the wind dragged tears out of his drying eyes.
“Fly faster, Suzuki!”
Clouds parted around them and humidity slid across his cheeks in sharp bladed droplets.
He almost thought he was delirious when instead of wincing from his shout or flinching from the touch, Suzuki looked back at him with the brightest smile. It was the first Harry ever saw from him, and he couldn’t help but stare in surprise at how the edges of his eyes crinkled, couldn’t help but wonder at the sight of such a relaxed and lighthearted expression finally replacing the typical blankness or glower.
And then, Sunny closed his eyes and laughed.
Such a lighthearted sound, so loud and full of life in a way his speech never was.
It echoed and echoed and echoed, somehow not lost to the blowing wind.
The flight was a rollercoaster– they lifted and then pulled back down, turning to the side and twisting into half-done spins. Harry was weightless and floating and then falling again and again, his body switching from light to heavy over and over in that same thrilling pattern of always.
Cloud after cloud parted around them as they dipped under and flew back up, both screaming, laughing, their childish joyful unheard of to anyone but the moon. They were bathed in all shades of white light, shadows mere gradients of dark purple and blue that cupped lower around their shapes like gentle hands.
With the sea of those rolling faded hills below them, gravity a shattered shackle and responsibility a distant concept, Harry never felt more at home.
A tug backwards dragged them into a decelerated pace, and lingering ecstasy made Harry giggle at nothing at all. The air slowed into a gentle breeze, his cheeks cold and the tip of his nose frozen, and Harry let go of Suzuki’s shoulders.
“That was brilliant! I told you it’d be fun!” he laughed out.
There was silence, and although Harry couldn’t see the boy’s face any longer, he had a feeling Suzuki was not wearing a dead expression for once.
It took a few seconds, but eventually Harry could hear three whispered words.
“...yeah, you did.”
He grinned, satisfied, and turned to look down and admire the view.
.
..
.
A few minutes passed like that, the two flying without much conversation. They were still in the general area of the Quidditch Pitch he suspected, but he could no longer see stands or the loops. Only clouds that ever so often parted to allow glimpses of the grass and trees below, but never quite a better view.
“Harry,” said Suzuki in that quiet voice of his, the break in silence feeling sudden.
Harry jolted a little upon hearing his first name, but he wouldn’t say anything about that . He looked up from the ground and stared at the back of Suzuki’s head, watching the loose strands of hair flutter slightly with the wind, a few looking like silver strings thanks to the moon’s glow at the edge of the sky.
“Yeah?”
A pause.
Then,
“Why are you being nice to me?”
…That.
That was not what Harry thought he’d say. It wasn’t a type of question anyone asked to anyone. What on earth was he supposed to say to that?!
He swallowed, glancing to the side.
Because you made me feel like I had to prove I could be, he thought.
“Because you’re someone who could use a bit of kindness,” he said, and it was equally as truthful.
Silence. The wind’s gentle blow against his ear the only sound.
Then,
“...You’re very kind.”
Suzuki said that as a matter-of-fact statement, in that deadpan tone he usually had. But there was a hint of sincere honesty in there, it was easy to tell.
Harry did not clam up at such a simple comment (compliment?). He absolutely didn’t. And if he had to blink a few times in a hurried procession, that was because of the breeze.
“Erm, thanks Suzuki,” said Harry, his voice a bit too thin for his liking.
Suzuki shook his head. “It wasn’t a compliment.”
That sounded mildly insulting out of context, but Harry knew what he meant. “Well, thanks anyway.”
“It’s Sunny.”
Harry blinked, caught off guard.
“What?”
Suzuki looked back, and for the first time, the moonlight reached his eyes, glassing around the irises. Their glimmer was almost a twinkle, and Harry was reminded of Dumbledore’s kind gaze.
“My name. It’s Sunny.”
Oh.
Harry grinned again. His cheeks would fall off by the end of tonight, he could tell.
“Well, thanks then, Sunny.”
And to his delighted surprise, Sunny returned the smile in kind. It was smaller, but just as genuine.
“Anytime, Harry.”
They continued their flight in comfortable silence.
—
When the kids finally landed an hour later, twenty minutes before curfew, they began to rush to pack their things and run to the castle. It would be difficult to make it in time, but if Harry was anything like his father he would be able to sneak past the professors just fine. Perhaps he even had his invisibility cloak– James would’ve wanted him to have it. The thought came with a familiar pang, but he bit the claws of grief away with practiced ease.
A massive black dog prepared himself to break his observing posture, watching the two boys leave for another long, arduous minute. Children, he thought fondly, but the warm joy was chilled quickly by the biting cold he’d have to bear through until morning.
His bones cracked in those sickeningly satisfying pops as he stretched, shaking off the tingle of sleeping muscles, his fur rustling with the motion.
Sirius stood and slipped back into the Forest, where nobody had found him yet.
Halloween was in a week.
One week.
Then, most of the children would be off to enjoy their Hogsmeade weekend. The castle would be emptier than ever. And most importantly, the Gryffindor common room would be vacant of almost all its inhabitants.
One week.
He would kill Peter in one week.