The Flight
Hey Dudley,
Hey Big D,
“That’s just wrong,” Draco says in disgust, hovering behind the chair, sliding his arms in the hem of Harry’s shirt, fingers tracing his spine absently.
Harry rereads it and snorts.
Hey Big D,
Hey buddy,
Hey Dud,
I hear you are back in Privet Drive. Do you want to meet for tea coffee sometime? I have to warn you that I live in a magical house. It’s my godfather’s. I don’t know if you remember that bit. Anyway, I bought a mobile phone. You can just call me. Or not. I am sending this letter through Muggle normal postal service to avoid giving you lot more heart attacks.
+44 XXXXXXXX
– Harry Potter
“There, done.” Harry twists around in the chair, allowing Draco more access to his skin. He quickly places a kiss on Draco’s displeased lips and watches it curl into a smile. “I’ll run to the post office quickly. Do you want to come?”
Draco’s mouth chases Harry’s and he hums against it. “No, thank you. I’d rather suffer through Kreacher’s fawning–”
“Shut it,” Harry laughs softly and Draco kisses him again. “He’s just excited.”
“Sure,” Draco murmurs. His fingers run through the sparse hair on Harry’s chest. “You know, I do have a counter offer.”
Harry bites down on a grin, covering Draco’s hands inside his shirt with his own. “Cheater.”
Draco retreats his arms and tugs Harry to his feet. Dropping down into another dining chair, he pulls Harry on his lap, feet on either side of his hips. Harry automatically cards his fingers through Draco’s white blonde hair at the nape of his neck. It’s grown out a bit.
Harry quirks an eyebrow when Draco seems content in simply cuddling, not making a move to kiss again.
“I’m utterly moved,” Harry says dryly despite the giddiness bubbling in his mind.
And then Draco, the bastard, pointedly starts rocking his hips. Their pyjama pants do absolutely nothing in hiding their growing arousals, and Harry soon loses track of the errand at hand. The chair scrapes against the stone floor squeakily as their movements become more and more sloppy, until Harry can’t hold it in anymore, and he gets off Draco’s lap in a dazed haste. Draco noises his protest immediately, trying to pull him back in, but Harry instead manoeuvres Draco to climb on the dining table, and makes his home between his legs. The angle is much better and Draco’s moans become throaty and raspy, and still, neither of them kiss.
“This would be so much better without the clothes,” Draco chokes out.
“I’m not going to traumatise my elf,” Harry says, grating his hips roughly. “Where’s my wand?”
Draco’s fingers grapple around on the table until he locates it. A few seconds later, they’re tumbling right onto Harry’s bed. Harry’s breath is knocked out of his body as he finds himself on his back. Draco is already tugging Harry’s pants down. Harry lifts his hips helpfully and then kicks them off. He straightens up right after to remove Draco’s.
They both moan at the feel of bare contact, not bothering with their T-shirts. Harry’s legs are wrapped around Draco’s lean hips, pulling and rocking and grinding, sweat collecting on his brow, mind well and truly blown.
Harry finds Draco near one of the outdoor shacks because that’s where Nuri is currently.
Her gigantic white form acts a beacon for the man Harry is seeking. Draco is in the middle of reading out one of Harry’s cookbooks to Nuri, explaining how wine enhances the flavour and aroma of the food if used properly. Harry makes a wild guess that it is not Nuri’s preferred cuisine.
Draco grins when he notices Harry approaching them. On the other hand, Nuri’s yellow slits follow Harry ominously as if she’s waiting for him to fuck things up and drag Draco into it. Harry nervously wipes his palms on his jeans as discreetly as possible.
Harry thinks he prefers the Hungarian Horntail on his arse.
“Hey, there,” Harry leans down to kiss Draco as the latter obediently tilts his chin up, lowering the book to his lap. “Fancy a meal?”
Draco hums appreciatively against Harry’s mouth. “Depends. What are you cooking?”
Harry pulls away and cranes a quick look over his shoulder at Nuri. She’s watching the exchange with what Harry assumes is a healthy amount of suspicion and warning.
“On second thought,” Harry turns to Draco once more. “I wouldn’t want to disturb your – er – quality time with Nuri. Why don’t you find me when you’re done?”
“Wait, what?” Draco calls out when Harry determinedly starts to walk away. “Harry! You don’t need to–”
“I’ll see you later!” Harry tries his best not to run.
He thinks he hears Nuri burrowing deeper in the soil with a pleased growl.
Kreacher nearly explodes the large bowl of Stifado he had gone out of his way to painstakingly prepare when Harry returns sans Draco, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He does not serve Harry his treacle tart that night.
“She left.”
Draco looks up. He’s reading a thick tome, perched in the middle of Regulus’ bed. Harry enters the room carefully, trying to keep a struggling Teddy from toppling to the floor. Admittedly, Teddy’s enthusiasm is not helping matters.
Today, he’s in a Pink Hair, Brown Eyes, and Pointy Nose mood.
As soon as he sees Draco, he gargles spit. Draco snorts, holding out his arms. Teddy wriggles immediately, hands stretched. Harry tries not to feel offended. One of his parenting books said that children find shimmering objects captivating. Draco is – well, quite bright, aesthetically speaking.
“I was wondering,” Draco begins in a tone that puts Harry on edge within a second. “How safe is it to bring a human child near a full-grown dragon?”
“Draco!” Harry exclaims, horrified. “Are you mental?”
“What?” Draco says defensively. “Nuri is smart! She wouldn’t – you know. Do anything.”
“No, absolutely not,” Harry declares firmly.
Draco spends a good hour trying to convince Harry, he might like it, how many kids receive such an opportunity, Nuri might even show him her fire, in a SAFE way of course! In the meantime, Teddy is content with babbling nonsense whenever Draco pauses to catch his breath as if determined to fill in the silence by reciprocating.
In the end, Draco settles on having the nursery painted with moving dragons.
“When you’re five,” he says to Teddy seriously, eyes locked.
“No.”
“Ten.”
“No.”
“Twelve.”
“No.”
“Fifteen?”
“Not happening.”
“That’s not fair. You fought against one when you were fourteen!”
“Yeah, well. He’s not going to be participating in the Triwizard, is he?”
“Technically, neither did you. Not by choice.”
The vein in Harry’s forehead pops. He speaks slowly, dangerously. “What … is that … supposed … to mean?”
Draco coughs, busying himself with entertaining Teddy with more wand tricks. The absolute picture of innocence and domesticity. “Nothing? Seventeen? He’ll be of age.”
“We’ll see.”
“Favourite colour?”
“White. Yours?”
“Blue.”
“Of course. Half of your wardrobe is blue. Favourite season?”
“Ironically, summer. Yours?”
“Good for Quidditch, isn’t it? Yeah, I thought so. Mine is … autumn?”
“The most dramatic season, of course.”
“Favourite spell? Please do not say Expelliarmus. I will choke you.”
“Hmm? I don’t know why you’d do that.”
“Motherfucking Merlin–”
Harry gasps, almost choking on his own laughter. Draco tickles him mercilessly, pinning him against the bathroom wall, the shower splashing erratically.
“Cheater, cheater, cheater,” Harry chants breathlessly.
Draco drinks it up with a kiss.
Ron comes through the front door.
Harry and Draco are in the Sitting Room, stretched out on the sofa in front of the fire. Draco’s nose is tucked under Harry’s chin, their limbs entangled deliciously, bare chests warming each other.
“This stops today,” Ron declares, sagging into the armchair. He fixes them both with a glare.
“What stops today?” Harry mumbles.
“This!” Ron waves his hand over their forms. “Mum is on my arse over you two. I’m using tactics from How To Survive Your Auror Training to save your hides more than at my work! You two are going to wear your clothes and we’re going to The Burrow for dinner like civilised adults.”
“Absolutely, Ronald,” Draco murmurs in Harry’s throat sleepily, making no attempt to move.
Harry snorts, tightening his arms around Draco’s warm body, wanting to bring him even impossibly closer.
“We’ll be there tomorrow,” Harry promises.
Ron quirks up an eyebrow. “Sure. I believe you.”
Just to prove Ron wrong, Harry drags Draco to The Burrow the next evening. Molly’s gaze zeros in on their intertwined fingers instantly. She wraps them both in a tight hug and promptly bursts into loud sobs.
“I didn’t think … this is so … you boys!” she’s saying incoherently. “I’m so happy you found happiness again!”
Turns out, that is the general theme of Arthur’s reaction, too. On the other hand, Percy looks absolutely betrayed that Harry jumped into a romantic entanglement with another so soon after he’d advised Harry in great detail on How Relationships Suck. When Fred and George arrive, they force Harry and Draco to sit through The Talk in the backyard when there is no Molly and Arthur present, and they go into explicit detail on How Things Work In Gay Couples.
“This is the absolute worst,” Draco hisses once they return to the Manor. He starts tugging on his clothes with more poison than the task requires. “Not only do you come with a child, you come with a bunch of redheads who have never heard of the word privacy.”
Harry is already under the covers, hands linked behind his head, staring up at the Draco constellation. He glances at the corporeal Draco, the long scar on unapologetic display, and remembers last night when he’d traced it with his hot, wet tongue and Draco had trembled underneath his arms.
“It’s not like you weren’t warned,” he teases mildly.
Draco narrows his eyes and then jerkily gets under the covers, too. Harry gravitates towards him, flushing the length of their bodies together. Draco invites it with a contented hum.
“I want to try it,” Harry announces randomly, nose pressed behind Draco’s ear.
“Try what?”
“What they said. Penetrative sex.” He complements his words by licking the shell of Draco’s ear.
Draco shivers. His arms around Harry tighten painfully, one ankle looping around Harry’s shin and pulling him in. “Now?”
“Maybe. If you want. Have you ever done it?”
“No,” Draco admits quietly.
Harry licks his way down the column of his throat. He snakes one arm up to pinch Draco’s nipple. “Not even with Pansy?”
Draco lines up their hips together. “No. It’s difficult to think about sex when you’re a pawn in mass murder. Have you?”
“No,” Harry says honestly, openly. “It’s difficult to think about sex when you’re walking to your death match. Besides, I always worried about what Ron might do. Gin is a year younger and – I don’t know. Maybe eventually, we would have.”
Draco starts to rock, painfully slowly. “Makes sense. There’s nothing holding us back now, is there?”
“No,” Harry agrees.
He tilts his head around to catch Draco’s lips, tongue sliding in to make home. Draco responds instantly, gripping Harry’s hip, and Harry palms Draco’s arse with abandonment.
“We – uh – need to–” Harry gasps between searing hot kisses. “Decide. Who – who will–”
“Yeah,” Draco concedes. “But we are doing this? You want to?”
“We are. I do,” Harry confirms, already feeling his arousal rubbing against Draco’s through the thin fabric of their pants. “This makes me really happy, by the way. We should do this more often.”
“Duly noted and agreement quilled.”
Hullo, Harry. Dis iz Dudley. Dad got me new mobile phone itz the latest model.
Yea v r back in Priv8 Drive. D funny lookin’ bloke told us u saved d world. Datz sumthin’.
Hey, Dud. Yes, the war is over. Things are going back to normal, or as normal as they are in the magical world. Sorry you had to get involved but there was no other way.
Datz gr8. Ver do u stay?
“Why is he speaking like a troll?” Draco asks in disgust. He snatches the phone from Harry’s fingers to peer at the screen closely.
Harry can’t bring himself to neither defend nor agree with that assessment. “Just type in the address.”
Draco fiddles, figuring out how to do that. He snarls at Harry every time Harry extends an arm helpfully, hissing that he doesn’t need help, Muggles are barely competent humans.
Harry rolls his eyes. If Dudley ends up at the wrong address, it’s on Draco. He decides to go through his Career List once more instead.
Career List
Harry James Potter
- Pet shop (learn about magical creatures and trade)
- DADA professor (that’ll kill Riddle all over again)
- Chef (Draco might be into them)
- Quidditch player (life under spotlight)
- Investigative Auror (less duelling, more puzzles)
- Driver
- Broom-maker
None of them feel right yet. Sighing loudly, he pushes the parchment away. Perhaps he can take up a menial job in a Muggle company. As much as he enjoys Draco’s company, he’s getting bored out of his fucking mind. He needs a challenge. Soon.
“Aha!” Draco smirks smugly, dramatically hitting the ‘Send’ button with a flourish. He tosses the phone to Harry.
It beeps immediately. Harry opens up the text message.
Thnks. Will swing by soon. License in process.
When Harry tells Draco about the Deathly Hallows, Draco paces a hole in the Star Room, fingers carding through his freshly wet white blonde hair. Harry watches from his seat on the soft throw pillows, legs crossed, waiting, waiting, waiting.
“You’re – you’re telling me,” Draco says in a strangled voice, “that I can see my parents again? You saw yours. You spoke with them. They – they advised you?”
Harry gulps. “I wouldn’t…” he mumbles.
“What?”
“I wouldn’t – er – call it advice,” Harry says loudly, clearing his throat.
Draco pauses long enough to stare at him incredulously. “Are we going to argue over semantics?”
“I don’t – I just.” Harry sucks in a sharp breath. “They were … comforting me.”
Draco nods jerkily. “I can ask mine where their bodies are. I can give them a proper burial. A funeral. Something. We could go back to the forest. Search for it.”
A sick, cold feeling settles into Harry’s gut. “What?”
“We could search for it, Harry!” Draco resumes his pacing. The horror is slowly being replaced by blatant hope. “We could go under the Cloak, if you want. Merlin, the Cloak. Holy fuck. Well, that’s another matter. Let’s do it. I’ll ask them what they need me to do. I’ll ask them what I should do with the castle, too. This is perfect! Isn’t it, Harry?”
Harry’s throat is closing. “It’s … Draco. You need to listen to me. The stone – it’s lost. Even if we manage to find it, those who return are not happy about it. They really hate it–”
“But that’s for the people who stay, isn’t it? I need ten minutes.”
“You really think you’ll be able to let them go?”
That stops Draco once more. He looks at Harry sharply.
“When I saw them,” Harry continues quietly, “it didn’t feel as bad because I thought I’ll be joining them soon. It didn’t matter.”
Draco kneels down. His grey eyes are bright, shining in their sockets. “I need to try. I just – ten minutes, I promise. Please. I didn’t – they just … Every time I begged them to escape, to leave the madness behind, they told me how they couldn’t. That Riddle would punish us sooner rather than later. That’s exactly what happened. Harry … I know not to blame myself but … sometimes, it’s – hard. On really bad days, it’s hard.”
Harry holds his gaze steadily. “Is that what you really want?”
Draco presses closer, fingers gripping Harry’s in a deathly hold, nose inches apart. “Yes. Please?”
Harry dredges up a shaky smile. Whispers. “Goddamn cheater.”
Draco kisses him. Soft and gentle. Grateful.
Nuri makes herself visible when they touch upon the floor of the Forbidden Forest. Harry and Draco drop down and remove the Disillusionment Charm. Entering the forest from the other end had been a surprisingly neat trick; Harry had not expected for it to actually work. He thinks the enchantments are probably not necessary since the creatures provide plenty of threat by themselves.
Draco has urged Nuri to fly as close to the edge as possible, near Hagrid’s hut. It’s a risk but they have no option. Draco’s fingers clutch at Harry’s jacket in a visceral grip. Harry is practically holding his breath as they begin their trek, as though he is expecting Voldemort’s cruel, smiling face waiting for him on the other side.
Everything is quiet. The night provides sufficient cover. Harry tugs Draco forward, remembering his fear of the forest from years ago. It doesn’t make any sense, they’ve both faced the real Riddle since then, and yet, yet, Harry holds his hand anyway.
And then, all of a sudden – Harry is gasping.
Every inhale shudders through him violently. His entire body just gives up and he staggers blindly. The world is spinning or maybe it’s his head, he doesn’t know anymore, just needs to fucking breathe. The last time he’d come here, he had been prepared for the alternative possibility.
This time – Harry wants to live.
This time he is terrified of dying. He doesn’t even need to die anymore, not for the greater good, not for any moral duty, not to defeat Voldemort because Voldemort is already dead, his body decaying in the Department of Mysteries, undergoing some sick magical autopsy, and Harry can live now, Jesus fucking Merlin –
Draco is shouting his name in the distance. Harry can barely register the words.
After a while, seconds or hours or years later, things are swimming back into focus, and his senses are picking up the surrounding bit by bit –
Harry shifts slightly, feels his back rubbing against the rough bark of a tree. Draco is kneeling in front of him on the Forest floor, terrified and sickly pale. He’s murmuring something …
It takes Harry a few seconds to realise what Draco is repeating like a mantra.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m a fucking idiot, I shouldn’t have rushed you here, fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, Harry, I just panicked and I didn’t realise, I’m so fucking sorry, can you hear me, hey, are you okay, shit, Harry, can you talk, can you sit up, I’m freaking out–”
“Draco,” Harry croaks out and Draco’s saucer eyes widen impossibly. He clambers forward to put his ear closer to Harry’s mouth. “Shut it.”
Draco huffs, still visibly shaken. He helps Harry up to his feet and pulls him in a fierce hug. His arms wind around Harry tightly, head buried in Harry’s shoulder, and Harry breathes in –
It’s easier when he detects Draco’s expensive shampoo and cologne, wildflowers and roses, of thick sweaters and crisp shirts. Every breath comes easier and easier until Harry is no longer trembling with the force of his panic attack.
Draco seems to be calming down, as well, which is a relief. Harry did not need Nuri frying his bollocks off for upsetting Draco or by Draco’s less-than-perfect well-being.
“I’m sorry,” Draco presses the words in the nook where Harry’s shoulders meets his neck. “I didn’t realise.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says, hand rubbing soothing circles on Draco’s back. “I didn’t think it would affect me so much. I guess it was just sudden.”
“Panic attacks usually are,” Draco tells him.
Reluctantly, Harry lets go and steps back. He cards a hand through his fingers, peering around his surroundings. He has absolutely no idea where they are anymore.
“Let’s just … go back,” Draco whispers, voice small and scared. “Harry. Let’s go back.”
Harry shakes his head. “No, no. I’m fine. Really. I think I recognize that tree? It’s hard to be sure, honestly. Everything looks the same.”
He starts to make his way towards said tree, but Draco stops him.
“Harry, I’m serious. I never should have insisted.”
“I’m telling you, it’s fine!” Harry insists. He really wants to find the stone for Draco now. He sounds absolutely terrified. If Harry can help him talk with his parents, Draco will feel better.
“Hey,” Draco’s fingers dig into Harry’s elbow when Harry makes another attempt to move away. “Look at me.”
Harry does. Draco’s white blonde hair is gleaming in the darkness, pale skin glistening with sweat. He’s stiff as a board, staring at Harry through wide, saucer-sized grey eyes. He looks so, so beautiful even in his frightened state, it’s painful.
He cradles Harry’s neck affectionately between his palms. “Let’s go back, okay?”
“But – you wanted to meet them,” Harry grapples at sense.
“I did–”
“Then let’s keep looking–”
“Harry, you’re such an idiot–”
“How?” Harry protests heatedly. “I want to give you what you want, Draco–”
“What I want is for you to feel safe,” Draco counters. “Being traumatised does not fall under that category–”
“I’m not traumatised–”
“You had a panic attack! I spent minutes trying to get through to you–”
“Okay, yes. But I’m fine now–”
Draco crowds him, chests flushed. “Harry, stop it. I don’t – you’re not – Merlin, you’re not expendable! What you want matters to me. What’s good for you matters to me. Your safety matters to me. You matter to me.”
Harry’s throat clicks. “This is not going to kill me.”
“We’re not at war, anymore,” Draco reminds him softly, earnestly. “We don’t need to think in terms of life and death anymore. This was a stupid, stupid idea. I never should have suggested it. My parents are gone and that’s all there is to it. You’re here, you’re alive. I don’t … Harry, I want to – I want to stop chasing ghosts. It’s not worth it. And if it comes at the cost of your suffering … I – it’s not worth it.”
Harry blinks rapidly, chin trembling. “Draco…”
“Let’s go home. Please? I’m sorry. I really want to go home.”
Turns out, Adam hates his sales job.
He tells them how he graduated his high school and only took the job because he wasn’t interested in higher education. He says it’s easy money if you’re good at it. He’s highly impressed when he asks Ron what he does, and Harry is quick to cut in.
“He’s a cop in training.”
“Cheers to that,” Adam holds up his beer bottle. “Any exciting stories to share?”
Ron glances at Harry quickly. “I catch bad wiz – people. We’re tracking some criminals who’ve gone in hiding after the war–”
Adam blanches. “War? What war?”
“He means gang war,” Harry says, grimacing. “Underground stuff.”
Adam looks at Ron with newfound respect. “Shit, wow.”
When Adam notices Draco’s Dark Mark, he whistles. “Nice tat. Very badass.”
Draco stares. “Thank … you.”
It doesn’t take long for Adam to figure out there’s something strange about the three of them. Ron doesn’t know how to use the remote for the television. Draco forgets that Muggles don’t play Exploding Snap. Harry’s scar garners quite some questioning and when Adam says he tried to visit Harry’s house, he couldn’t locate it. He says even the neighbours aren’t aware of the existence of it.
“There have been rumours,” Adam shrugs one day, fiddling with the DVD player. “Since ages. That some people vanish into thin air at certain points on the street.”
“Oh,” Harry says, exchanging an alarmed glance with Ron and Draco.
“I don’t really care,” Adam continues. He presses play. On the screen, a group of American friends is sitting in a coffee shop. “As long as you blokes don’t murder me in my sleep.”
“Never,” Ron promises, laughing.
“Good enough for me. Hey, Draco. I think you’ll like Rachel.”
Draco adores Phoebe. Harry roots for Rachel, instead. Ron decides Chandler is his new god.
October brings about windy evenings, red leaves, and Harry spends a lot of his time taking long walks. Often enough, he and Draco fly to nearby peaks if the stars are out.
Dudley arrives wearing a business suit. He takes small, cautious steps down the hallway and Harry leads him to the Sitting Room. Draco is occupying the armchair near the fire so Dudley takes the couch. Harry hovers uncertainly.
“Listen,” he begins. “Don’t – scream, okay?”
Dudley’s eyes widen immediately. He shoots up to his feet. “What? What are you planning to do with me?”
Draco snorts. Harry ignores him.
“Nothing,” Harry waves his hand dismissively. “Do you remember Kreacher?”
“No.”
“Well, this might refresh your memory. Kreacher!”
Kreacher appears with a resounding crack and Dudley screams. Draco is doubled over in laughter.
When Dudley calms down, Harry introduces Draco, rolling his eyes. Dudley merely grunts in acknowledgment and doesn’t even blink when Harry kisses Draco out of pure habit at one point for no reason whatsoever.
What surprises Harry is when Dudley says he’s seeing a girl. Since Dudley began working at Uncle Vernon’s drill company, he’s been going out for social drinks. Emma is one of his colleagues who works in the accounts department. She loves playing computer games, challenging Dudley to arm wrestle and loses every time, and Dudley says she’s the smartest woman he’s ever met.
Draco takes his leave after dinner. “I have to check on Nuri.”
“Who’s Nuri?” Dudley enquires, albeit distractedly. Kreacher has made caramel cheesecake for dessert.
“His dragon,” Harry tells him.
“She’s not mine, Merlin,” Draco expectedly protests, annoyed.
A fork clatters to the table. Dudley is staring at the two as though waiting for the punch line to the most horrible joke he’s ever heard.
When no one laughs, he looks at Draco in a whole new light.
Draco smirks. He leans forward, palms on the table, and locks eyes with a frozen Dudley. “Nuri is a dragon. A vicious female white dragon who is currently staying with me at the Manor.”
Dudley audibly swallows.
Draco lowers further with a predatory glint. “And yes, Harry has been very forthcoming regarding his childhood. If I were you, I’d better be careful.”
When Harry escorts Draco to the Floo, it’s only a few feet away, he slides their noses against each other, murmuring, “Who’s defending whose honour now?”
Draco chuckles, stealing the breath as Harry exhales sharply. “Learned from the best.”
Hermione says they should begin packing. She’s already spoken with the Ministry and set up a Portkey. Ron takes an entire week off of work. Harry packs his Firebolt and Draco announces he’s not leaving Nuri behind.
“Portkeys aren’t meant for dragons, mate,” Ron informs him, leaning back in his chair.
“Honestly, Draco,” Hermione adds in exasperation.
“Does that mean you’re not coming?” Harry says in disappointment.
He’d made so many plans already – in his head, of course. Moreover, it’s not like Harry can wait behind with Draco. He doesn’t want to, either. Hermione has been looking forward to this moment for months and there’s no way Harry will consider not being there.
But Draco simply says, “I’ll fly to Australia. Babe, you want to come with?”
Harry almost stumbles in his haste to shake Draco’s shoulders roughly. “Are you serious?”
Draco grins. “Of course. Nuri wouldn’t mind stretching her wings. Besides, we could make a few pit stops on our way back. How does that sound?”
“I’ll pack more clothes,” Harry nods excitedly.
Harry shoots off on his Firebolt.
Nuri steadily appears beside him; first her large head, then her long neck, and then Draco is whooping and hollering on her back, the lashing, cold wind carrying his voice to the ends of the world, and Harry leans forward, almost flattening himself on the broom, but Nuri keeps up with the pace easily, flapping her large, leathery white wings to create tiny gusts above the sea.
“THAT’S CHEATING AND YOU KNOW IT!” Harry laughs, his insides lifting outside his body, his ribcage expanding painfully, and Nuri’s answering, thunderous roar shoves him away a good twenty feet.
“IF YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED,” Draco bellows back, happy and breathless and oh-so-pleased, “CHEATING IS MY MIDDLE NAME!”
Harry steadies the broom, feeling fond despite himself, falls back in his place beside the dragon. And then slowly, very slowly, leaves his grip to straighten up, spread his arms, wide and inviting, eyes fluttering close against the breeze, toes skimming the top of the Pacific Ocean.