Draco's eagle owl was probably the most frequent visitor at the entire Slytherin table.
Almost every few days, an owl would arrive from home bearing something from his mother -- candy, chocolate, or some small trinket Narcissa thought her precious son might enjoy.
But today, Draco, whose expression was usually cool and composed, showed an uncharacteristic hint of joy after handling the exquisite silver parcel. Inside was something he had been longing for -- an Invisibility Cloak.
After returning from Madame Malkin's last time, he had imitated his mother's handwriting and placed an order from the shop, paying a considerable sum of Galleons for it.
He had bought the Invisibility Cloak not intending to use it every day, but as a precaution. Invisibility Cloaks available on the market required many rare materials to make, and their drawback was plain -- they had a limited number of uses. With prolonged use, they gradually lost their invisibility effect and became nothing more than ordinary cloaks.
It wasn't that Draco couldn't use the Disillusionment Charm. In his previous life, he had already mastered it, but he was not especially proficient, and the spell carried a time limit.
Before one fully mastered the Disillusionment Charm, an Invisibility Cloak could save a great deal of trouble.
Draco didn't want to lose another fifty points for wandering the school at night. And some places were far safer to visit late at night, when the castle fell quiet.
The Room of Requirement on the eighth floor, for instance. Or the Astronomy Tower, to coax information out of the ghosts.
At that moment, at the Gryffindor table across the hall, Longbottom -- looking rather dazed -- had once again received his Remembrall from his grandmother, drawing a crowd of first-years. Draco had lost all interest in it and felt no desire to embarrass the clumsy boy.
But Merlin's will seemed to have other ideas. Even without Draco's interference, the reckless Potter still ignored Madam Hooch's orders -- and Professor McGonagall came striding out to deal with the situation herself.
That blasted Remembrall! When Longbottom's broom bucked and sent him tumbling out of the sky, the Remembrall flew from his pocket and lodged itself on the roof. Potter, ever the show-off, flew up after it -- then dove fifty feet as it rolled off the edge, snatching it a foot from the ground.
Every first-year in the yard stood dumbstruck. Then they all began chattering at once about the spectacle. Draco stood at the back of the crowd and watched silently as Potter's small figure disappeared into the Hogwarts entrance hall, led by Professor McGonagall.
"Harry won't be expelled, will he?" Hermione appeared beside Draco, asking worriedly. Harry had broken the rules in an undeniable way, and been caught red-handed by the strictest professor in the school.
Ever since taking Draco's flying lesson, Hermione had instinctively sought him out whenever she was uncertain about something.
To be fair -- what did it matter whether he was a Slytherin or not?
Draco knew many spells and always seemed completely in control during class. He carried a calm, collected air towards the new and unfamiliar -- something that set him well apart from the wide-eyed bewilderment of every other boy his age. Most importantly, he could always be relied upon for a sensible answer. The most prominent example had been what he said to her before the Sorting Ceremony.
Compared to him, the other boys always seemed rather silly. It had nothing to do with which house they were in, Hermione couldn't help thinking.
"I'd wager he won't be punished at all. Hogwarts is more flexible with its rules than you think," Draco said cryptically. "Look at it from another angle: Professor McGonagall is a Quidditch enthusiast. And as far as I know, the Gryffindor team is short a decent Seeker."
"Draco, I don't think you're right this time! That's impossible -- he's too young! And how can someone break the rules and go unpunished?" Hermione looked thoroughly unconvinced. How could even Draco say something so unreliable?
By dinnertime, news that Potter had become Gryffindor's new Seeker had swept through the entire school, and even the portraits on the walls were discussing it with great interest.
"I told you so," Draco murmured to Hermione as they passed each other in the corridor, a faint smile at his lips as she stood there with her mouth agape in disbelief -- plainly delighted by the stunned look on the Know-It-All's face.
Though his smile was rare and rather handsome, she always felt there was a hint of smugness tucked inside it.
Hermione sat down at the table, exasperated, feeling indignant -- for the first time -- at the plain fact that Draco had been right. She settled opposite the cheerful Harry and Ron with a stern expression.
Human nature is often strange and unpredictable. When her friend is in danger, she worries and frets; but when her friend breaks the rules and goes unpunished, she finds it deeply unfair.
"So you think breaking the rules is perfectly fine?" she said to Harry, her voice sharp. "You could have broken your neck, you know."
Harry clearly didn't know how to respond; he was still caught up in the shock and joy of becoming Seeker.
"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport -- what's it got to do with you?" Ron said, waving a hand dismissively.
"This could get us all into trouble, couldn't it? Don't you care about Gryffindor at all -- do you only ever think about yourself? I don't want you throwing away all the house points I earned from Professor McGonagall with the Switching Spell!" Hermione fumed.
"But Harry wasn't expelled, and he became the youngest house team member in a century. All you ever think about is your marks! You have no idea what it means to be on the Quidditch team!" Ron glared at her -- as if she were a complete madwoman -- and dragged Harry away in a huff.
Of course she didn't understand! Hermione thought furiously. She had no intention of understanding whatever this absurd spectacle of riding a broom was supposed to be.
Even so, during Draco's second private flying lesson, she couldn't help but complain: "I really don't understand why boys become so completely unreasonable whenever brooms are involved."
By now she was quite proficient in the preparatory movements and the theory, but she still couldn't bring herself to actually fly.
Neville Longbottom's horrific crash during their last lesson seemed to have left her with a real psychological block. Draco glanced at her. "You're not afraid of heights, are you?"
Occasionally, wizards did claim to have acrophobia or even motion sickness. But Draco believed that for most wizards, fear of heights was psychological -- something that could be overcome through practice.
Besides, this was Hermione Granger. A girl who would one day ride a Ukrainian Ironbelly dragon straight out of Gringotts.
Acrophobia? You must be joking.
"I think flying is boring." Hermione stood beside the broomstick with an air of supreme disdain, head held high, looking enormously self-important -- and making no move whatsoever to take off.
She was clearly just stalling. It was starting to make Draco impatient.
This is flying. Does she have any idea what she's missing?
"Right, then." He stepped forward, mounted the broom, and quickly shifted forward to make room. "I'll give you a demonstration. Hold on tight."
"What are you--" Hermione had just grabbed his robes when the broom launched into the air. She didn't even have time to brace herself before the wind hit her like a wall.
And just like that, he swept her up into the sky. Suddenly. Without warning. Completely without mercy.
Her feet left the ground and dangled in empty air, unsteady and terrifying.
The wind rushed at her face and body. The only reason she hadn't fallen was the broomstick beneath her -- which she trusted not at all.
She gripped his robes tighter. Was it even safe for two people to ride one broomstick? She couldn't help but worry.
If Draco had known her thoughts, he would have told her that under ordinary circumstances, a broom was built for one adult wizard -- but in an emergency, it could support two adult wizards, let alone two underage ones.
But those words would have to wait. Right now, Hermione was far too frightened to ask anything. She clung to his robes, gripped in the terror of her first flight, with the dawning awareness that she had absolutely no control over what happened next.
She was like a feather adrift in the air -- carried entirely in his hands, every rise and fall beyond her own will.
Through the rushing wind, Draco shouted ahead of her, sounding for the first time as though he were experiencing something close to genuine joy: "You have to feel it for yourself -- the freedom of it! Otherwise you'll never understand!"
"No, Draco--" Hermione called out, but the wind swallowed her words. She tried to look around. The clouds seemed both near and impossibly far, and the wind came from every direction at once, making her shiver.
She had never had any faith in the broomstick. Two months ago it had been nothing but a cleaning tool to her -- and now she was expected to believe it could carry people through the air.
So she could only turn to the one person in the sky who offered any sense of security -- the one actually controlling the flight. Her face went pale; her heart hammered. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around the boy's waist and held on.
That's better, Hermione thought. He was clearly very comfortable on a broomstick and felt no fear at all. If she held on to him, she probably wouldn't fall.
"Look! Look down!" Draco shouted. "You have to see this!"
Only when he said so did she dare to look.
Good heavens -- they had flown so high. The Hogwarts grounds had become a vivid picture beneath her feet, an entirely different world from within them. The magnificent castle looked like a set of exquisite building blocks; Gryffindor Tower stood below them; the dense, sprawling Forbidden Forest resembled an enormous cauliflower. Everything she had only ever glimpsed from a window was now laid out before her, unobstructed, in every direction.
And further still -- rolling mountains and glassy, still waters stretched out like an oil painting, with the sky and earth as its canvas and the contours of the lakes and peaks as its brushstrokes.
They were as insignificant as specks against the vast sky, yet as free as mayflies in the boundless universe. He rode his broom and carried her through the beautiful scenery -- like two shooting stars blazing across the open cosmos.
The sight made Hermione forget to breathe. She forgot her fear. She was overwhelmed with awe, her heart pounding. In that moment, no words could have done it justice.
"So beautiful..." she said in a dreamy voice, resting her head against his shoulder. He laughed ahead of her, and a few low vibrations came through his back.
"Draco, this must be against school rules..." she thought aloud, her voice soft with wonder -- but edged with faint nervousness. "We should really go back down--"
"Give me five minutes!" Draco called out.
Merlin. He hadn't flown freely like this in far, far too long.
Flying was the only thing that could still move him. Only the rush and the height -- the realness of the cold wind and the dizzying speed -- could make him feel that he was truly alive; that everything happening to him was real and not some drawn-out dream.
"Hold on tight!" he suddenly shouted. On impulse, he banked sharply and sent them plunging almost straight down toward the Black Lake.
Hermione let out her first proper scream in the air -- small and sharp, like a fledgling bird thrown from the nest. She clung to his back and seized the only steady thing left in the whole careening sky.
The sudden rush of weightlessness brought back every scrap of fear she had managed to forget, and her heart pounded like a war drum. The fierce wind tore at her hair and cheeks. She couldn't look -- she pressed her face into the curve of his neck, away from the cold, desperately seeking his warmth.
He held steady, completely unshaken by her grip. And strangely -- inexplicably -- a clean, faintly sweet scent drifted from his collar.
Hermione thought she must be going mad. In the middle of this terrifying, stomach-dropping fall, she somehow had the presence of mind to notice that the smell was rather nice.
Her scream snapped Draco back to himself; she was petrified. With a practiced flick, he levelled the broom out and skimmed low across the mirror-smooth surface of the Black Lake, pulling out of the dive at the last possible moment.
The screaming stopped. Her heart didn't.
The wind gentled. Warm sunlight settled over them, making the whole plummet feel, suddenly, almost dreamlike.
But the faint scent against his collar reminded her it had been real. That she had genuinely just fallen straight out of the sky. And now, every last bit of her strength had been spent on the screaming and the falling.
The Black Lake lay still and glassy. At this hour it was always deserted -- which was why Draco had felt safe bringing her here.
A soft breeze moved across their faces. "Look at this lake," Draco said, his voice lit with excitement. "Isn't it beautiful?" Below them, the water shimmered, reflecting their image like a pair of birds in flight.
"Yes -- it's lovely -- but I'm worried--" Hermione's voice wavered as she clung on, terrified the broom might slip and send her into the water.
"Nothing's going to happen to you." Noticing the tension in her grip, he called out from ahead, then glanced back briefly -- and found nothing but a curtain of windswept, curly brown hair. "I promise."
His voice was clear and bright, carrying something lighter than his usual tone -- less aloof, less guarded. There was a touch of something almost childlike in it. It wasn't unpleasant. Hermione steadied herself slightly and tried to breathe, to actually feel the air and the height.
But the dive had shaken her too badly. She simply closed her eyes and held on -- like a sloth clinging to its branch -- face buried against his collar, pretending she was on solid ground. Sitting on the back of a bicycle, perhaps. Her arms stayed wrapped around him, not daring to loosen for even a moment.
Five minutes. That was all he'd said -- and that was all it was.
But it felt like she had run a marathon.
When they landed and she stepped off the broom, her legs gave way beneath her. Draco -- the little wretch -- reached out and steadied her.
"Well, then? Want to go again?" His eyes were bright, the smile on his lips both smug and triumphant. Miss Know-It-All's hair was thoroughly destroyed by the wind, which seemed to please him even further.
This was the first time Hermione had seen him smile like that. It was as radiant as sunlight, as warm as a clear sky. She was struck silent for a moment, entirely disarmed by it.
A strange thought rose unbidden in her still-racing heart: he should smile more.
Of course -- now was not the time for that! She came to her senses at once and rallied herself into proper indignation: "You... I am absolutely certain this was against school rules!"
"Nobody saw," Draco said, with an easy shrug. "If you follow every rule to the letter, you'll miss all the best things."
"Draco Malfoy, you absolute madman! All boys go completely unhinged the moment a broomstick is involved!" she snapped, still trembling -- from residual fear, from the fall, from something she couldn't quite name.
This impossible boy. She no longer considered him any kind of gentleman. When he went wild, he was worse than Harry and Ron put together.
What made it worse was that she couldn't properly explain what flying had felt like.
She had hated it. The height, the helplessness, the terrifying sense of having no control. At moments she'd felt positively ill.
But she hadn't hated holding on to him. She hadn't hated the scent of his collar. She hadn't hated the way he'd smiled at her.
And when he'd said he wanted to go up again -- for just a moment, she had actually thought about saying yes.
Which made absolutely no sense. Because she hated flying. The out-of-control feeling, the emptiness, the freefall -- she hated all of it.
So why on earth would she even consider going back up?
What a complete, chaotic mess of feelings.
She marched away with her face hot -- pretending to be angry at Draco, perhaps a little flustered by the wind, but probably most of all frightened by her own thoroughly confused emotions.
Good heavens. She hated flying. She hated this ridiculous internal muddle. And it all came back to boys and their utterly senseless obsession with broomsticks.
It's just a broom.
Who in their right mind believes it can fly?
For the next few days, Hermione was stiffly formal and didn't approach Draco on her own. Draco felt a small twinge of regret; perhaps he shouldn't have impulsively taken her flying -- and now one of his few genuine pleasures at Hogwarts had vanished.
He had been out of control in that moment. He probably hadn't properly touched a broomstick in a very long time. He'd felt a sudden, strange rush -- a desire to fly, and to share it with her.
And, he admitted to himself, he had selfishly wanted to see her be less of a Know-It-All for once. Less composed. Less rigidly contained within the safe, comfortable limits she drew around herself -- oblivious to things that might be frightening but could also be wonderful.
He always wanted to provoke her.
That is not a good habit.
It had clearly been the wrong approach. Too blunt, too thoughtless. And she was still only a young girl -- not yet the brave, fearless Hermione Granger who could withstand his teasing.
He should have been gentler. More patient. Draco glanced at her ruefully; she was preparing potion ingredients alongside the round-faced Longbottom, her expression blank, lost in thought.
So Draco had no choice but to pair up temporarily with the dull -- if not entirely unintelligent -- Theodore Nott.
He did notice, at least, that she was ignoring Potter and Weasley too.
It seemed she didn't particularly want to talk to anyone.
Draco knew this mood well. In his previous life, she had always been guarded and resentful towards him -- often glaring at him as though he were something she'd found under a rock.
At least this wasn't as severe. She was simply quiet -- wouldn't look at him, wouldn't engage. That was manageable. Draco told himself as much.
Hermione Granger was, in fact, in a thoroughly foul mood. And when Harry's broomstick package arrived brazenly at the Gryffindor table, her resentment seemed to peak.
It reminded her of everything -- the unsettling stir that broomsticks had caused: the boys queuing up to break school rules because of them, and the particular emotional upheaval that a certain Slytherin had set off in her.
Boys and their flying broomsticks were all exactly the same, Gryffindor or Slytherin.
"Thank you, Neville!" Harry and Ron raised their pumpkin juice to him. Neville blushed and said quietly, "You're welcome."
"And you think this is a reward for breaking school rules?" an indignant voice came from behind them. Hermione walked past, eyeing the package in Harry's hands with visible disapproval.
"I thought you weren't speaking to us anymore," Harry said.
"Yes, do keep it up -- we were quite comfortable," Ron said.
That landed like a stone. Hermione felt a sharp pang, held her chin up, and strode away.