Chapter 3
Draco woke not with a start or a scream but a flutter of eyelashes. He yawned.
The soft light of daybreak shone weakly through the window that had appeared behind the bed, casting the room in subtle fern greens.
He sat up and scooted back to rest against the backboard. He checked the watch on his wrist- one had to learn to make do when one couldn’t use magic- and smiled, relieved.
6:10am.
He had at least an hour before anyone else would be awake.
He left the room, not bothering to change out of the clothes he had arrived in, crumpled as they were. The Slytherin- for no matter what, he would always be a sly Snake at heart- inspected all the door seals and was surprised to find all the crescents still there- was no one sleeping in one? His own doorknob had reappeared after he left the room but with a cluster of stars beside it, supposedly marking it as taken.
He shrugged and left the hallway, pushing open the black-green door.
The distinctly green door.
Something small withered within him as a thought occurred. Had they chosen not to sleep in the rooms because...?
He sighed. It wasn’t so far-fetched. But the more likely assumption was that they had probably chosen to sleep together because a simple muffliato did just fine when you didn’t have to worry about what you yelled out of terror in the night. Because they were among friends here and wouldn’t be jinxed to high heaven for a slip up.
His hand rested on the door lightly for a moment longer.
Then he broke away.
Draco made for the stairs and continued the previous day’s climb.
He found a pair of large oaken doors and poked his head through- a library- he mused.
It was clearly split into five sections- one in red and gold, one in black and yellow, one in silver and green, one in blue and bronze, and a central area in the middle.
He would have to come back here later.
He put a hand to the wall as he ascended another flight of stairs, coming to a stop at the top as he saw what lay before him.
It was another pair of doors.
They were a rich red wood- mahogany- and they were bolted with a golden latch.
Gryffindor .
He felt an odd sort of feeling settle in his chest- apprehension perhaps?- and looked behind him.
There were no further stairs to climb.
He turned back to the doors.
What kind of amenity could possibly satisfy the bold-hearted Gryffindors?
Draco reached out, touching the gold hesitantly as if expecting it to spit names and burn him-
Deatheatercowardtraitordeatheatergoodfornothingunloyalselfservingslytherin-
It didn’t.
Slowly, looking down at his shoes, he undid the latch. Then he gently pushed open one of the doors. Finally, finally he looked up- he gasped.
It was beautiful.
His eyes were transfixed on the view, the miles that stretched beyond him, green and grey and glorious. Harsh mountains and deep valleys, thick woodland and tumbling green hills with a river winding in between. Tiny strips of cloud stretching across the sky. He could even see the quidditch pitch in the distance if he squinted. The whole world was glowing in the soft light of the sunrise and he ached to soar amongst the birds flying there, to loop and dive and twist on a broom, to skim the water of the Black Lake with his fingertips.
He eventually tore his eyes from the scenery and forced himself to inspect the rest of the room.
It practically screamed steampunk, he mused, admiring the soft copper and gold tones that seemed to coat every surface. His eyes followed the gentle curve of the walls- the room was shaped rather like an orange segment- and his complex machinery that seemed to work to open and close the enormous gap he saw the landscape through. The floor was hard stone brick but in the centre of the room, a steel runway had been set into it, level with the rest of the floor. The runway stretched right to the edge of the tower before it expanded into a wide, semi-circle platform that jutted out beyond the tower. Whether it was held up by magic or supports he didn’t know.
He looked around him, eyes falling on an oddly shaped structure protruding from the wall- it was wide and tall with a strangely curved front. Draco walked towards it and when his fingers brushed the surface he heard a quiet click .
He jumped back immediately, arms flying to shield his face, but after a few moments of silence and no pain he lowered them to peek from behind his hands.
Brooms- beautiful, sleek brooms with polished handles and carefully clipped twigs. The odd structure had been some kind of futuristic broom shed...
“Clearly the Hogwarts staff have been watching too many muggle dystopian movies over the summer” , the Slytherin mused with a small smirk.
He stepped forwards to inspect the brooms and his eyes landed on something silver, glinting at the back of the shed. He reached for it curiously, fingers settling in years-old divots, eyes caressing gleaming ebony. Something leapt in his chest.
It was his childhood broom.
Draco carefully extracted it from the others and pulled it close, marvelling at the extension, preservation, anti-jinx, and fireproofing charms that only his shrewd, sneaky mother would’ve thought to apply to it. He still remembered the day his father had (well-meaningly) declared the broom unfit for a Malfoy heir with all the fancy new brooms on the shelves to choose from and had it tossed onto the compost and set aflame.
Draco had thought it lost.
He tossed it in his palms and cast a quick eye over the broom. No shimmers.
He felt an ache in his bones that he hadn’t realised was there until now. He felt the sky call to him, the wind nip at his uncovered skin and whisper to him, calling him to join it in its dance.
He couldn’t.
He glanced at the beautiful and wild landscape.
He shouldn’t.
There could be any number of untraceable hexes and jinxes on that broom and the chances of someone seeing you fall- the chances of someone actually helping if they do see you fall is so small that-
“To hell with it.”
The Slytherin’s fingers tightened around the broom and he ran, feet pounding on the steel walkway, wind rushing in his hair as he charged towards the great open sky- towards the edge-
And he leapt.
The Slytherin leapt into oblivion and his heart soared.
Slowly, as he arched through the air, he pulled the broom up beneath him and allowed the motion to pull him into a tight spin before he began to plummet towards the ground.
He grinned and let out a giddy laugh, high and carefree.
The wind whipped his hair against his face and goggles formed to shield his watering eyes.
He whooped as he soared through the air, trying death-defying stunts he hadn’t been able to do in years.
He was free.
There were no rules up here, amongst the clouds and the birds. There were no rivalries in this wild landscape, no death eaters or war or grudges.
There was only the rush of the wind against his skin.
There was only freedom.