Chapter 4
THREE MONTHS LATER
Harry's animagus form is a sparrow.
It's fucking brilliant.
He looks at himself in the reflection of a puddle of water; brown-winged, tiny. It's far simpler and more bearable these days to see himself as a bird rather than as himself.
Harry transforms himself back into human form and meets Malfoy's eyes.
"Oh my God," he whispers, breathless and excited.
Malfoy does that half-smirk, half-smile thing he does. It makes him bright-eyed with pleasure. "Spectacular, isn't it? See, where would you be without me?"
Harry hasn't felt so elated since he dreamed his first memory two months ago, but that was short-lived when he found out the fates of everyone he's ever loved. He has had many more memories of Ronald and Hermione return to him after that, and a lot of awful ones about the Dursleys, but not much else beyond that. If someone asked him his life story, he wouldn't be able to tell much besides a vague gist of the first eleven years, and about his friends.
Right now, it's all pure, floating joy, the kind that makes him want to do something wild and free.
"Race with me," he says, grinning. He does not wait for Malfoy to say yes, already turning around into a bird and flying away.
"Careful!" Malfoy commands loudly, sharply, understandably since Harry has only just learned. He can still lose grip on his form any time if he doesn't maintain focus, but Occlumency has helped him improve decently at that. "Oh for goodness — "
Maybe he will follow. Maybe he won't. But Harry finds himself hoping he will.
The rush and exhilaration fills him up as he swoops fluidly through the vast openness of the space all around him. He can move in every direction and there is nothing to stop him anywhere. He has flown on an old broom of Malfoy's here in this backyard, because Malfoy told him he loves it and he does, but this is a different kind of flight altogether. The world is so large like this, and so alive, and he feels everything far more vividly against his small form. The sun sets high and far in the distance, casting a buttery-yellow glow all over, stunning and enormous.
Right as he is wondering if Malfoy has left behind him, there's a slice across the air next to him, a blur of white zooming past. A feeling wells up in him, like laughter, delight, coming out as birdsong, and he follows after the white dove. They stay there for a long time, flying together, chasing after each other in play.
And only when they grow satisfyingly, achingly tired that they come to a permanent landing.
They sit on the balustrade with their legs hanging off the edge and watch the sun lower into the horizon the rest of the way. Harry is so contented, serene, his eyes closed to feel the cool air, his shoulders a little high as his hands press into the parapet.
"Bit of a natural, aren't you?" Malfoy says.
"I suppose it's the innate skill I have when it comes to flying," Harry says, which is what Malfoy once told him regarding his love for flying on a broom. Now though, he just rolls his eyes. Harry grins. "Your words, not mine."
When he chances a glance at Malfoy next, he is held still by the sight.
He looks so different in that moment.
He looks as young as he is, in the light of the evening that coloured him in its haze; the rise and fall of his chest steadying soft and slow, his wind-swept hair playing up even more, the splotch of pink high in his cheeks and the slight hollow beneath its bone. All sharp, refined structure. He has a maddening kind of mouth, squinched slightly in a faint, serene smile as he looks out into the sunset.
Harry realises that he will miss him.
There are still all these gaps in his understanding of Malfoy, but he has grown on Harry these last months. He has been patient with him, kind even, trying all he can to win his trust. He's seemed honest about most things Harry's asked about that had to do with him. He's helping his friends. He's taught him all these wonderful things. Harry's better in Legilimency and Occlumency than he may have ever been (or so he assumes), knows animagi now.
Malfoy is clever, intelligent and skilled. There is so much more he can teach Harry if he stays.
But these last few months, ever since he's learned of what's been happening with his friends, have been a kind of hell. Harry can't stay cooped up and protected here as his friends fight for their lives every day. He wants to be there to fight with them, help them out with whatever they are planning, be proactive. Even if he doesn't know them right now, he feels certain he would die for them.
The only thing Harry fears is putting Malfoy at risk.
He does not want him hurt, or worse.
But Harry thinks all he really has to do is make it safely to Ronald and Hermione, find the Blood Traitors. There are surely things they can do to keep Harry from being found out. He can take on a new identity, change enough of his appearance that it makes a difference; dye his hair, modify a feature. No one will suspect it's him, because it's been years since he died to the rest of the world, and so word might never reach Voldemort. As far as he knows, Voldemort never checks in on Malfoy by visitation. It's likely he uses other means to, but Harry assumes Malfoy usually reports by going to Voldemort himself.
Harry knows he will have to be careful. If Malfoy's life depends on it, he has no choice but to be.
"I had fun," Harry finds himself saying, when he does not know how to say goodbye. "Today."
Malfoy hums, quirks a half-smile and glance at him. "Good."
The glance lingers on him, a second, two, for the small smile Harry reciprocates. And yes. He will miss him.
Under any other circumstances, he may not have been so pleased about his animagus being a little bird. Now he can only think of how easy it will be to travel unnoticed in this form.
Malfoy has spilled where they are hiding out right now, supposedly because he is certain Harry can't go after them. He knows a bit about where to go.
All he needs to do is get through the barrier.
Malfoy does not keep a floo system, presumably for higher security and invisibility, so he always leaves the house by the iron doors, and when he goes through the barrier, it flickers for a split-second all throughout.
Harry will just have to time it and fly through it right as Malfoy moves through it. He risks injury and getting splinched. It's a terrible idea. It's the best chance he has.
*
His sparrow self waits perched on the iron doors. He knows as Malfoy is stalking towards it, fitting his skull mask onto his face one-handed, he will smooth through it without a hitch, as if he does not have to think about it at all.
Harry can never get used to it. Seeing him in that mask.
Right as Malfoy is a few steps away from passing through, Harry takes off and propels his body forward at a great speed for the barrier.
His pulse is quickening as he nears it, and hardly processes the last few seconds of the distance. He hurtles into the barrier, expecting to be slammed back, to violently drop to the ground, to be ripped in two by the splinching, to get stuck half in and out.
And then he is out.
He is out.
He is free.
He swoops towards the left and keeps on flying. There is a part of him that wants to turn back. There is a part of him that is terrified that something will happen to Malfoy if he does not stay, and it will be all his fault, that Harry will not make it there safely, that it will all go wrong.
He presses down on the fears.
And he does not stop.
*
It is a bleak and terrible world.
Pinpoints of people are moving lazily through the streets. Rubbles of destruction have burnt up certain areas, felled its architecture in others. Black-cloaked Death-Eaters in skull masks are patrolling the streets with their wands. Somewhere else is a decaying corpse hung up for the world to see.
It's a different level of sickening to see it all with his own eyes.
He wants it all to end, with a nauseating, fierce desperation. He wants it to end.
It is what begins to ruin his focus enough that he has to find a hiding spot to stop at, where he curls up against the brick wall of a backalley and tries not to heave, the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes as he tries to stay quiet.
But he has to go on. He can't stop too many times or for too long.
By the time he reaches somewhere around his destination, his body is aching and strung horribly tight and he is drained of all energy.
And his destination turns out to be an obscure place. A kind of deadend. He does not know anymore where to go or what to do.
There is a line of posters along the walls.
There are posters everywhere, in fact.
Harry moves closer to look, following along them, the bounty prices varying based on severity of threat.
He stops when he gets to:
UNDESIRABLE NO. 1: Hermione Granger. Bounty: 10000 Galleons
UNDESIRABLE NO. 2: Neville Longbottom. Bounty: 10000 Galleons
UNDESIRABLE NO. 3: Ronald Weasley. Bounty: 10000 Galleons
If you have any information, please immediately contact the Ministry.
In these sepia pictures, Harry could have recognised their faces even without their names, from the childhood picture he had seen. They look different and the same all at once. Older. He's seeing Neville for the first time; long face, hollow-cheeked.
Harry is stood there for a very long time, just taking their faces in, something sad and something warm in his chest altogether.
A foot scuffs somewhere very near by. Harry stills, his heart jolting before it begins to race.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a pair of arms wound around him and abruptly haul him into what seems like nothing.