Harry carried his Firebolt to the pitch and looked up at the wide expanse of blue sky bounded by a range of impossibly high, white clouds towering over the distant blue mountains. Quidditch practice wasn't for a few hours and he wanted to get some flying time in first, just to experience the utter freedom it allowed him. Up in the sky on his broom, he could be alone with his thoughts. He didn't have to be famous Harry Potter or even lonely Harry Potter. He could just be one with the sky.

As he mounted the broom, pushed off, and climbed languidly into the air, he idly wondered what on earth he would possibly have done if he had no magic, if he had been condemned to simply be with the Dursleys until he came of age and left their horrid home. He honestly didn't know. Probably become some sort of psycho-bomber or something. Become something horrible like Dudley. Despite his traumas with Voldemort and with coming to grips with his own sexuality, he was very grateful to be a wizard. He knew-however ironic it was-that it had saved his life in more ways than one.

For the first few minutes he simply circled the pitch, doing some lazy barrel rolls and some dipping and rising, just to get the feel of the wind direction and force. Though the pitch was usually windy, it wasn't so very strong today, and so he just enjoyed the wind in his face and the sun on his skin. He closed his eyes and let the broom meander higher.

He was extremely lucky that the bludger only skimmed the tail of his broom, for as it was, it suddenly sent the broom and Harry pinwheeling until Harry-startled out of his wits-could get the Firebolt under control again. Once he righted himself he scanned the field. A familiar laugh sounded to his right and he spun.

Malfoy came up along side him, the quaffle tucked under his arm. "It doesn't do to daydream, Potter. You never know what may come out of the blue."

Harry scowled. It would really be easier all around if he just went back to hating Malfoy. It shouldn't be too hard to do.

Then why didn't he? his mind cried out.

"Pretty cheap trick, Malfoy. But what else can one expect of a Slytherin?"

"Cheap tricks are the best tricks, Potter."

"You know, I think you may be right." Harry kicked up at Malfoy. Draco jerked back but Harry only punched the quaffle out of his arms and then dived for it. He grabbed it, tucked it close to his body, and headed at full speed toward the hoops at the other end of the pitch.

Malfoy reared over and went after him.

Harry had a clear shot at the center hoop and took it, hurling the quaffle in. He ducked in time for the bludger's return, and watched it make a long slow angle upward away from the ground.

Malfoy retrieved the quaffle and roared up next to Harry. "You think you're so good at this, Potter."

Harry smiled. He was out of breath but it didn't matter. "That's because I am, Malfoy." In an instant, he dipped below Draco, reached up, and snatched the quaffle again. He zoomed down the center of the field but this time Draco was right on his tail. Harry whooped into the air. It was perfect. It was just he and Draco alone with the sky, and like it or not, Draco was suddenly playing a game with Harry.

Harry aimed for the center ring again but at the last minute, dropped the broom, spun to the right, and hurled the quaffle through the far right hoop while Malfoy, falling for the ploy actually flew through the center hoop, unable to stop himself in time. He retrieved the quaffle a second time and kept a bit of distance between them.

Instead of anger, he wore a grudging smile. "That was pretty good, Potter. Worthy of a Slytherin."

"A compliment, Malfoy? You must be getting soft. As an almost-Slytherin myself, I guess that's worth something."

"What do you mean 'almost-Slytherin'?"

"Didn't you know? At the Sorting Ceremony, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin."

Malfoy almost dropped the quaffle, but recovered it at the last second. "You're lying."

"Nope. I could have been your best mate after all, Draco."

Malfoy seemed to consider this at length. "Why weren't you sorted into Slytherin, then? More special privileges for the Boy Who Lived?"

"Well, funny thing about the hat. You can ask to be put where you want. It isn't a given."

"What? Now I know you're lying."

Harry shook his head. "I just asked not to be put there. Didn't know I could. I just did."

Malfoy angled his head to look at Harry. Harry hadn't seen that expression on Draco's face before and he wondered what it meant. But then his gaze darted behind Harry and widened. Without turning around, Harry ducked, and the bludger whizzed by again and made a rather disappointed turn to the right.

Malfoy threw the quaffle up a few inches and caught it. "Tell you what, Potter. I'm going to get this quaffle through one of those hoops. If I do, you have to wear a sign all day that says 'I'd rather be in Slytherin.' That is, if you're brave enough to take a wager."

"What do I get if I stop you?"

"Dunno. Pick something. You won't win."

"All right. If I stop you, you have to have a decent conversation with me for one hour."

"What? What sort of pouf wager is that? Gone woman on me, Potter?"

Harry blinked slowly. "That's my wager. Take it or leave it."

Malfoy looked as if he was considering it. His broom floated forward and suddenly shot ahead.

Damn you, Malfoy. Although it wasn't as if Harry didn't expect it. He whipped his broom around and hurled after him. Malfoy was considerably ahead and Harry began to worry for the first time if he wouldn't be stuck with that stupid sign around his neck after all. But the Firebolt was showing what a fine broom it really was and Harry poured on the speed and finally came up beside Malfoy, though Draco tried to dodge and dip all over the field to lose him. He had the quaffle tucked before him so Harry couldn't easily knock it free. Several strategies ran through Harry's mind, none looking promising. He clutched the end of the broomstick and just kept pace. Malfoy was smiling, a fully-fledged victory smile and Harry almost thought it might be worth it to wear the sign just to admit to himself that he had put that smile on Draco's face.

But looking up, Harry saw it. The bludger was coming right at Malfoy, and he was certain Malfoy, in all his gloating, hadn't seen it. He had to think fast and the only thing he could think to do was leap off his own broomstick and pull Malfoy down. The Firebolt sailed away without him and he threw his arms around Malfoy. It was too much weight at that speed for Malfoy's broom and the two went spinning down to the earth as the bludger flew by them, barely missing Malfoy's blond locks.

Embracing one another, they hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of them. Harry lay sprawled on top of Malfoy. It would have been cozy had he had any breath in his lungs. His face was close to Draco's, his lips even closer. They both gasped for air and Harry could smell Draco's breath. It smelled of mint and lime. It was close enough to taste and he suddenly longed to move an inch closer and just press his mouth to his. In a daze from the fall and from Malfoy's being so close, he was on the verge of doing just that, when Malfoy looked at Harry. His wide bluegrey eyes seemed to awaken Harry from his daze and he moved off of Malfoy. The quaffle rolled out of Malfoy's arms.

Malfoy sat up first, gasping. He glared at Harry. "Potter! What the hell's wrong with you!"

Harry slowly sat up and breathed in short, shallow breaths. "You're welcome for saving your life."

Malfoy's eyes watched the bludger make another circle from where he had been and he grudgingly turned his face back to Harry. "A simple 'lookout, Malfoy' wouldn't have done, I suppose?"

"No time," he breathed.

Draco noticed the quaffle a few feet from him and he sneered. Harry wondered if Malfoy would call 'foul' and refuse to honor their bet. He fully expected it, in fact, and readied a retort when Draco slowly got to his feet. "All right. We'll talk, then. Sure was a stupid wager, Potter."

Harry was further surprised when Draco leaned down and offered his hand to Harry. Before Draco could change his mind, Harry took his hand and allowed Malfoy to lift him to his feet. "Thanks," said Harry, wiping uselessly at the grass stains on his Quidditch breeches.

They both limped to the stands and found a bench in the shade. Gingerly, Malfoy sat resting his hands on his thighs. He glared expectantly at Harry. "So? You wanted to talk to me. So talk."


On to Chapter Three
"A Quiet Conversation"

Back to Chapter One
"Winners and Losers"

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