Draco Malfoy stormed into Dumbledore's office with ire radiating off his person in toxic waves. Professors with the intention to stop or even retard his objective were dealt a swift snarl and glower as he roughly shoved passed anyone in his way.

"Headmaster," the blond growled, eyes flashing dangerously. "For Godric's sake, do not attempt to persuade me that this is the best you can do."

"Mr Malfoy," Professor McGonagall began, but snapped her jaw shut when he whirled on her, expression feral. She glared at him with open incredulity.

He raised his brows and stared her down.

When her eyes uncertainty flickered down and away from his, Draco turned back on his primary target.

"This will not do," he hissed when it appeared the Headmaster was content to merely watch him. "This isn't a school anymore, but a base of operation for this sodding War. I will not risk my life, let alone those of my loved ones, for whatever you're hoping will magically happen. Longbottom isn't going to work."

"Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore began in that calm, antagonizing voice that set Draco's teeth grinding. "The prophecy-"

"Bullshit," Malfoy snapped, ignoring McGonagall when the old bat made a face as though to reprimand him. He wasn't bloody finished. "I'm tired of hearing about this god awful prophecy, because at this point, set me on Voldemort. Even I would stand a better chance than herbalist, pacifist, weak, meek Longbottom."

When the Headmaster merely watched him again, Draco visibly reigned in his anger to continue as calmly as possible—with his jaw clenched and his fists even moreso.

"He can't fight," Malfoy ground out, "not enough to win, anyway. He lacks killing intent. He can't use his wand for much for than defensive spells, and the darker arts disturb him to the point of illness. Not to mention that he can barely follow orders, let alone lead an army. I've been training him for months," Draco stressed, "since the start of 'school', and even before then. He's learning, admittedly, but dangerously slowly. Either he needs even more incentive than, say, the macabre death of all we hold dear in this beautiful world we barely know, or he simply cannot and will not be ready in time. The war is in a few more months, and we just have time to find another Savior, if we move swiftly."

McGonagall gaped at him openly. "What you're suggesting is absurd!" She spat the word as if it should hurt, as if her opinion should matter to him. "There's simply no time to train an entirely new Savior!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes candidly. "With the right Dark spells, the new one won't even need full training, should they prove as inept as Longbottom. They just need to be able to follow sodding orders."

"And who is they?" McGonagall quipped, pressing her thin lips together smugly. "There is simply no other-"

"There must be," Draco argued, "there must be someone-"

"And you're simply going to abandon Longbottom," McGonagall asked, voice snide.

"I'm not abandoning anyone," Draco hissed. "I've been driven to this because I won't abandon anyone. In order to save everyone, we need a new Savior. Longbottom cannot do it alone."

"Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore interrupted politely.

The blond gave the wizard his undivided attention.

"There is another."

Draco gawked.

McGonagall blanched.

"Who?" Malfoy whispered, taking an unconscious, ambitious step forward. His eyes were bright, open. All threat slipped from around the boy like armor fitted precariously to a form two sizes too small.

"Harry Potter," said the Headmaster.

"Harry Potter?" McGonagall parroted skeptically.

"Harry Potter," Draco breathed, and simply the name left sparks along his tongue, a buzzing in his ears. "Where is he? Where can I find him?"

"How old is he, you mean," McGonagall cut in primly. "War or not, I refuse to sweep some toddler away from his home-"

"There won't be a home if we don't win this War," Draco cut in snidely, though he silently agreed. As impressionable as younguns were, as easy as it would be to puppet the child into their favor, Malfoys weren't murderers.

"He's amongst the Muggles, I believe," Dumbledore said. And then he shrugged, scratching as his beard as he pursed a lip in thought.

"Muggleborn?" Draco asked, surprised.

"No," the Headmaster said.

Draco frowned. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"He was born from Lily and James Potter, of course, both of whom were wizards."

"Then why is he among Muggles-" Draco felt horror dawn on him just as understanding did.

"He doesn't know he's a wizard," McGonagall said hollowly, and her eyes, usually alive with either passion or annoyance, dulled.

She had hoped, just as Malfoy. She had dared to hope.

"Why, there is still hope, my boy," Dumbledore assured in usual, jolly way.

Draco wanted to smack him.

"What do you mean?" he ground out. It was a physical effort not to let any curses slip from between his lips at the barmy old coot.

"He's powerful," the Headmaster said simply, but his eyes lost their jovial twinkle. When he leaned forward, an ominous shadow fell across his startlingly humorless features. "He must know he's not normal, even if he doesn't know exactly what he is. With the correct guide, I'm sure Mr Potter could be persuaded to save the world he's always dreamt of."

Draco felt an illicit shiver travel down his spine. "You knew of this boy and never...?"

"Surely you haven't been... planning this, Albus." McGonagall chuckled nervously.

"Of course not." Dumbledore laughed, but there was something off. Something dark.

Draco took a cautionary step back from the man, and the Headmaster abruptly sobered, eyeing the blond intently.

McGonagall cleared her throat and shuffled her feet anxiously. "How old is he, Albus?"

"Eighteen, just as young Mr Malfoy, here."

"And where is he, exactly?" Draco asked slowly. "How can I find him?"

The Headmaster smiled. "Why, his High School, of course."

"This is insane," Theodore Nott hissed as he tugged his hat further down his face. "I can't believe you're actually doing this."

Draco nodded in silent agreement as he tugged at his Muggle clothes with distaste. "Either way," he began grudgingly, "it will surely be a riveting tale to go down in history when I end up winning us the War."

Nott eyed him dubiously. "You really think this will work? Malfoy, this kid won't even know what wands are."

The blond sighed solemnly. "Well, it's our best chance, isn't it?"

"Neville might-"

"Theo."

"Okay, fine," Nott huffed, "but he'll at least stand a chance. We'll at least go down fighting."

"If I have anything to say about it, we won't go down at all."

And with that prophetic declaration hanging in the air, Draco Malfoy walked into Little Whinging High School.

Theodore watched him go before shaking his head, casting a Repello Muggletum charm, and mounting his broom to return to Hogwarts, where he would remain until summoned.

Inside the school, Draco didn't know where to look, exactly, but assured himself that even Muggles must have some sort of administrative office in their educational edifices. Deciding that was the best course of action, Malfoy tapped on the shoulder of the nearest Muggle.

The boy stopped in his laughing with his friends to turn and give the blond a sneer.

"What do you want?" he spat.

Draco raised his eyebrows, alarmed by the unwarranted hostility. "Where is the nearest administrative office?" he asked as politely as he could manage.

The boy sniggered. "The office? It's in the front of the school."

"Yes, well, I seem to be a bit lost. Would you mind pointing me in the 'front' direction? Your assistance would be much appreciated."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "You're taking the piss, yeah?"

"I am, regrettably, genuinely this directionless."

With a roll of his eyes, the boy pointed him down a hallway. "S'down there. It shouldn't be hard to find."

Draco nodded at him. "Thank you." And then he was on his way.

Some Muggles stared as he strode by in characteristic, Malfoy fashion, but Draco paid them no mind. They were meaningless to him, to his objective.

When he spotted an office occupied by adults shuffling important-looking papers and sitting behind important-looking desks, he assumed he'd found the right one. He walked right in, and when the door slammed shut behind him, he was just as startled as the adults. Did they not have charms for that?

Ah, yes.

Muggles.

"I apologize for the disturbance," he began, not bothering with informalities, because he was a man on a mission. "I'm searching for one Harry Potter."

The adults shared looks with one another.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "He does attend this establishment, yes?"

"Who are you, exactly?" one woman asked.

"His cousin," Draco lied. "Good old Auntie said I ought to just stop by and pick him up from school, you see. Family emergency, and all of that."

"Uh huh," the woman intoned, doubt written across her visage. "And what is your name?"

"Draco-" Fuck. "Dursley. Draco Dursley." Merlin, that sounded disturbing.

"Harry Potter doesn't have any cousins other than Dudley Dursley listed on his file," someone from the back hollered.

"I'm a recent addition," Draco continued flawlessly.

"We weren't alerted of-"

"Very recent," Draco reiterated, narrowing his eyes.

A few of the staff shifted nervously.

"Mrs or Mr Dursley would have called-"

"It's an emergency!" Draco snapped, and a few Muggles visibly flinched back. "I don't have time to waste, so if you would be so kind as to show me to my cousin, I would not be ungrateful."

"We can't just-"

With an impatient snarl, Draco brandished his wand and shut the blinds on the office windows with a flick, followed by a swift Obviate to the Muggles and afterwards casting an Imperio to one in particular.

Yes, he was breaking all kinds of wizarding law, but this was for the greater good, dammit.

"Show me to Harry Potter," he hissed.

When the Imperioed office member threw open the door to a seemingly random classroom, Draco trusted the balding man had made the correct choice and stepped in.

"Um," began the eloquent professor, adjusting her glasses and tucking auburn curls behind her ear. "Who is this?"

"Draco Malfoy," the blond introduced himself smoothly, stepping up to her and holding out a hand. The class giggled, and Draco turned his head to raise an eyebrow at them. When he felt a wary hand take his own, he returned his attention to the woman and smiled amiably. "I apologize for the unexpected interruption, but it seems I am to be put in this class, as of today."

The woman furrowed thin eyebrows. "Are you transferring from another English class?"

"From another school, more like," he replied while releasing her hand.

Her eyes widened, eyebrows ascending to her hairline. "Oh! Why-" She turned to the hazy-eyed man still loitering by the door. "Why wasn't I alerted of this transfer beforehand?"

"It was unexpected," the blond explained, still smiling.

"How could it be-"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," he supplied vaguely.

"I don't see how-"

Draco's smile remained, but took a decidedly dark turn.

She halted in her rebuttal at the sight of it.

"I'm sure I could discuss it with you after class, if that would be preferred, Miss."

"A-alright," she murmured, eyeing him warily before turning back to the class who had been watching the exchange with avid curiosity. "Class, please welcome Draco. Draco, dear, why don't you take the empty seat in the back."

He nodded obediently, but as he walked down the aisle, he waved his wand—disguised in the sleeve of his jacket—in the direction of the man at the door. Said man stiffened and straightened up, glancing around the classroom in a startled, frazzled manner before quickly apologizing for the interruption and fleeing.

The blond scoffed at the show before returning his attention to the class. He didn't gawk at them, as they did he, but an inconspicuous eye did regard them shallowly. He was looking for-

Draco arrived at his seat, but that wasn't why he had paused. No, it was for the boy seated directly behind him—the boy who had met his eyes, ducked his head, and glanced away, but not fast enough as to prevent Draco from registering his eye color. Green. Lily Potter green. This, this must be the boy, their Savior.

"Draco?" the professor called.

As some classmates giggled, the blond didn't show any outward signs of embarrassment for having been caught staring, and merely seated himself before turning to the window directly beside him.

He wasn't here to attend school, or humor professors, or amuse Muggle children. He was here to recruit Harry Potter.

The rest of the class passed in a blur, followed by a loud, grating noise that seemed to symbolize absolute anarchy as all the children abruptly sprung into the air, grabbed their materials, and hopped, skipped, and leapt from the room.

Draco, of course, had hung back because he'd promised to speak with the professor about his unique circumstances, not because he'd been frightened by such commotion from weak Muggles.

A few others seemed to be taking their sweet time abandoning their classroom as well, and luckily for the blond, one of which was the green-eyed boy.

Draco stiffened at that thought. Luckily enough...? Circe's tits, why hadn't he thought to brew and down some Liquid Luck before venturing on this journey of his? Surely it wouldn't be explicitly permitted, but that dumb old door would turn a blind eye if it was for the greater good of his mission.

Draco groaned to himself. He was an idiot. Merlin.

Shaking away such thoughts, he quickly grabbed his own bag—adorned by an Undetectable Extension Charm, of course—and stepped up next to the rather harried looking brunette.

"Harry Potter?" he asked, going out on a limb, but ninety percent sure he was correct. You didn't see eyes like that on just anyone.

However, Draco had pictured the great Harry Potter... differently.

Potter was a thin kid with a faint dusting of freckles across his cheeks and a bird's nest of black hair atop his head. He looked weak, in all candidness, with knobby knees and large hands which made his wrists look all the more dainty. His clothes looked worn, his posture diminutive.

He didn't look anymore like a Savior than Longbottom did, and at least Longbottom had muscle from years of training and a variety of spells at his disposal.

The boy looked up at him in surprise. "Um, yes?"

"So, that's you? Your name is Harry Potter?"

The boy nodded slowly.

Draco stifled a moan of despair. "Are you sure?"

The boy frowned at him. "You just called it, didn't you? What do you want? Do I know you?"

Draco sighed. Another wimpy kid. This wasn't going to be easy, but he'd be damned if he didn't at least try. "No, but, see, I have to talk to you."

"We are talking."

"No, you tit, I mean-"

"Draco?" the professor beckoned. "Come here, if you will?"

"Damn Muggle," he grumbled before returning his attention to the skeptical boy. "Wait for me, will you?"

"I'll be late to my next class."

"This will be worth it."

"I don't even know you."

"I'll make it worth your while, yeah?"

"No, not 'yeah'. I have to get to my class."

Draco glared at him. "Don't you get it? None of this even matters."

"What?" Potter asked, narrowing his eyes. "Are you high?"

"Draco?" the professor repeated.

The blond, frustrated, ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I know, alright? I know you're special."

"Okay, you're on some kind of drug I don't want anything to do with-"

"No, you—Salazar, must you make things so difficult? I'm trying to help. Surely strange phenomena have been occurring around you, likely since you were young."

Peculiarly enough, that didn't seem to ground Potter, but made him frightened, instead. The boy had a hunted look about him, as though Draco had ill intent. He appeared prepared to attack, or bolt.

The blond, confident in his own ability, placed a hand on the other boy's shoulder. Potter jumped at the contact, and made a move to shove his hand off, but Draco gripped him hard, and looked him in the eye. Gone was the facade for the Muggle professor, and what replaced it was the war-hardened, determined boy who was going to get what he wanted.

"I'm here to help," he promised, and it was fierce.

Endless green eyes widened. Potter's lips parted, as if to speak, and Draco waited with baited breath until-

"Draco?" the woman called again, sounding faintly irritated.

Potter, as if breaking from his reverie, flushed and stepped away from him, jerkily yanking the strap of his knapsack over his shoulder. He looked just as unsure as before, and Draco was vexed. So close, he'd been so close-

"Mr Malfoy, I don't have time-"

Draco, with a snarl, stepped away from Potter and lifted his arm. His sleeve fell away, revealing ten inches of hawthorn wood with a unicorn hair core. With a flick, the door to the classroom slammed shut. "Colloportus," he cast.

The Muggle woman leapt in her seat, head whipping towards the door, and Potter looked from the door to Draco's wand with a pale face and shaky hands.

"Professor," the blond drawled, and when she glanced at him, "Obliviate." She slumped in her chair, and with that, Draco took Potter's hand.

Potter stiffened, and Draco yanked his arm until the boy looked at him, eyes wide.

"I know this is bizarre and extremely intrusive of me, but you're going to have to trust me."

"I—You—What?"

"I didn't transfer to this school or any such nonsense, I came for you, and only you. This is important. Will you follow my lead?"

"I—I don't-"

"Potter," Draco repeated, focused and annoyed. "I need you to trust me."

Potter, after gaping for a few more moments and staring him directly in the eyes, as if gauging the validity of his words, hesitantly closed his mouth and nodded. Still pale, still trembling, but when he gulped and gripped Draco's hand fiercely, it seemed he had hardened his resolve.

The professor moaned, beginning to shift as though regaining lucidity, and children were beginning to make a ruckus at the locked door.

"Repello Muggletum," the blond cast, and when the faint shimmering subsided, "Alohomora."

The door opened, students piled in, and Potter pressed against him nervously.

"How-" he began, but Draco ignored him, confidently striding into the throng of students who piled in, pulling Potter behind him like a crup on a leash. They parted for him like rivulets of water in wake of something forceful, something regal and important.

Out of the classroom and down the halls, to the building exit they went.

"We can't just walk out," Potter insisted nervously.

Draco ignored that, too. "I can do what I please."

"Hey!" an authority figure, Draco assumed, called after them. "Just where do you two think you're going?"

Draco spun, "Confundus," and then continued on their way, but this time, sprinting. "Come on," he urged when Potter's lagging began to tug on him.

"Where will we go?" Potter asked, panting faintly as they leapt through the doors and down the path of the schoolyard. "They'll call—they'll call my house if I ditch school."

"None of this matters," Draco assured as they deserted the path and skipped around to the back of the building, into a group of trees.

"No, my Aunt'll throw a fit—they might call the cops-"

"Then I will speak to them."

"No, look, um, Draco-"

Draco ceased running. He ceased moving at all, in fact, causing Potter to slam into him. While the other boy cussed and regained his composure, Draco stared him down.

"I will handle it. I'll handle anything, Potter, because this is important. I need you for this, and frankly, no one else will do. Whatever it is, tell me, and I'll deal with it."

Potter blinked at him. "What do you need me for, exactly?"

"That is a question with too many answers, and there's a preface before even that. First, brief me on anything that may be connecting you to this place. Friends, family, loved ones, and other such responsibilities."

Potter stared at him. "Are we going somewhere?"

"Ideally, yes, but ultimately it will be your choice, in the end. Of course, if you decide not to join me, I'll have to erase your memory of me ever being here, but, well, that's your perogative."

Potter gulped. "Where are we going?"

"That's in the preface. First things first, however. You mentioned your guardians possibly being an issue?"

"Uh, yeah. They might... have a word or two on me leaving school, let alone going somewhere with you."

Draco waved a hand. "Never bother. Consider it handled."

"Draco..." Potter shuffled his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. "My guardians aren't... They won't like me leaving. They won't like you. Hell, they don't even like me." Potter stared at him. "Why are you smirking like that?"

Draco couldn't help himself. "Forgive me for any insensitivity on my part, Potter, but it almost sounds as though you dislike your home life."

"...One could say that," he conceded, eyes narrowed.

"Again, apologies, but that delights me merely because it heightens the possibility of you coming with me. You will be able to see your Muggle relatives eventually, of course, but the majority of your time will be spent with others of our kind."

"Our kind?" Potter asked, falling into step behind the blond as Draco continued their trek into the woods behind the school.

The blond felt little more than contempt for the gangly boy, but as they ambled down the path, Draco felt Potter seemed to belong bobbing along beside him, limbs swinging with unexplored life and motion.

"Wizards. You're a wizard, Harry."

Potter scoffed, and then paused. Then, he scrambled to catch up with the blond who hadn't bothered stopping for him. "You're kidding."

"Not in the least. All that business before? That was me, Draco Malfoy, pureblood heir of the Malfoy family, casting spells with my wand. Because I'm a wizard. You are as well, you simply haven't a wand because no one bothered to give you one, because no one bothered to come and find you, I suppose. Which is bizarre in it's own right, considering Hogwarts should have owled you at the age of eleven-"

"Hog warts? What the hell?"

"My school, you troglodyte. It far suprasses this one. Besides, I don't want to hear it from a boy who grew up in a town by the name of 'Little Whinging'."

"Your school was supposed to send me an owl?"

"No, owled you. That's how we have our mail delivered; by owl."

"Like carrier pigeons?"

"Pigeons are idiots. Owls are magical beings."

"So not, like, dragons."

Draco stopped to stare at him. "Why on earth would you want a dragon delivering mail? Where would it land? Can you imagine a dragon in Wizarding London? Or, I suppose there are a smaller ones," he conceded, "though I don't think they take well to domestication or training of any sorts. That's why teacup dragons make such poor pets, you see."

Potter stared right back at him. "You're trying to tell me dragons exist?"

"Of course."

"And where is wizarding London?"

"Where I want to take you. Where all the Wizards are, obviously."

"Except me, if I'm to believe you."

"Well," Draco conceded as they continued walking. "Some wizards are Muggleborn, meaning they're conceived by completely non-magical parents. They, naturally, are not born in Wizarding London, but even they, usually, receive a Hogwarts letter."

"Does Hogwarts have all the wizarding students?"

Draco barked out a laugh. "Of course not! Just the ones from Britain. Beauxbatons is for French wizards, for example."

Potter was quiet for a while, and then, "If I'm Muggleborn, why didn't they mail—or—owl me?"

"You're not Muggleborn, for one. Your parents were both wizards, even though the relatives currently housing you are not. For another, I've no idea. Dumbledore, our Headmaster, has apparently been aware of your existence, but simply, for reasons unbeknownst by myself, failed to act on it. It puzzles me as well, but I suppose we may simply ask him after we arrive. That is, if you're prepared for a long winded explanation that will inevitably leave you satisfied up until about two the next morning when you realize he didn't, actually, answer your question."

Potter seemed lost in thought, so Draco continued rambling.

"I suspect he's a natural legilimens in that way, but he would never admit to such a thing, of course, or there would be lawsuits flying left and right. You're not supposed to go mucking around in one's minds without their permission, after all. And most of the time, people can sense that sort of probing, anyway. However, Dumbledore is a powerful wizard, grudging as I may be to admit it. Not powerful enough to win us this war, but powerful enough that none of us soldiers are quaking in our boots quite yet. And, well, there's you."

When Draco glanced over, mildly worried he'd revealed too much, it was to see perceptive eyes already on him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco opened his mouth, ready to let the kneazle out of the coin purse, but hesitated. As cocksure and charming as he knew himself to be, Draco could acknowledge the fact that people often found his candidness off-putting. He didn't like to sugarcoat things, especially things that left his loved ones' lives on the line.

But in this circumstance, he couldn't afford to offend, or worse, frighten Potter with his own grim outlook. His determination was strong, but it seemed more a Slytherin trait to go out and do something. Gryffindors wanted, and Ravenclaw's could, and Hufflepuffs tried, but Slytherins were.

Perhaps he should wait until Potter was sorted, first. Until he was introduced to a little wizarding culture. Until he fell in love with the world he didn't know and had a reason to fight for it.

Or, better yet, get someone else to inspire Potter. Draco was good at giving orders, but he wasn't the most sympathetic guy.

"Let's put that on hold," the blond offered.

"What?"

"I can't explain that yet, is all."

"What?" Potter repeated, affronted. At Draco's unimpressed glance, he looked away and mumbled, "I don't like secrets."

"It's not, really. I'm sure the second I introduce you to everyone, they'll be climbing down your throat in attempts to be the first ones to demand things of you. You'll know, and very soon, but I don't want to be the first one to tell you, because I don't want to demand things of you, either, and I know that's how it will sound, because, in a way, you're the one we need—and, that, Potter, was me already guilting you into something you're ignorant of." Draco sighed. "Enough of this. I'm depressing myself, and this is my day off."

"Day off from what?" Potter asked, wisely dropping the subject for know.

"School and training," Draco explained, distracted. "I think it's around here."

"What is?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"Because you're not telling me anything!"

Draco found the other boy's frustration amusing. "My broom," he said.

"Your what?" But Potter's exclamation fell on deaf ears as Draco abruptly gripped at his hair and began cussing.

"Shite, I'm an idiot. I could have just—Merlin, and we've done so much walking—Godric, I know, Pansy, this is why we can't have nice things."

Potter stared, eyes wide. "What's wrong?"

"Accio broom!" Draco hollered, extending an arm while he swished his wand in his other hand. In but a moment, a beautifully crafted broom zipped through the trees and into the blond's awaiting hand.

Potter looked duly impressed.

Draco swiftly mounted it.

Potter looked duly horrified.

"What?"

"You're serious."

Draco raised an eyebrow, and when understanding dawned on him, smirked. He kicked off, just barely above the ground, and leaned forward, floating dangerously into Potter's personal space. "Scared, Potter?"

Potter scowled, but his flaming cheeks gave him away as he swatted at the snickering blond like a fly.

"No, do be wary," Draco agreed, "wouldn't want me to sweep you off your feet or anything." After a wink and flip of his hair, Draco released a choked noise before throwing back his head and laughing. "Your face! Y-you should see your face—I c-can't-"

Potter growled. "You're an arse, you know that? I've never—A broom? How is that even holding your weight? I'm not used to magic, you ponce, let alone flying."

Draco, calming down, wiped a tear from his eye. "I won't drop you," he assured, lowering the broom and scooting forward. "Hop on. You're practically a stick, anyway. My bag likely weighs more than you do. Why are you still wavering? Come on, Potter, I don't have all day, and I promised, didn't didn't I? You've trusted me so far."

"And all that's gotten me is detention, likely."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'll handle it. Didn't I say I'd handle it? It's covered. I'm a wizard, I can do that."

Potter still looked wary, but after some more goading from the annoying 'pureblood heir of the Malfoy family,' he clambered on.

"Hold on tight," Draco directed half-heartedly as he kicked off the ground with more purpose.

Potter slid forward, pressing against him—though from fear or obedience, the blond wasn't sure—his faintly freckled hands fisting the back of Draco's muggle sweatshirt.

"Comfy?" Draco asked. Not sarcastically, not to call him out on their close proximity, but because he cared.

Potter didn't reply, but Draco could feel something tickling his nape. Potter's hair? He must have been nodding.

"Don't like heights?" Draco asked.

"Something like that," Potter replied, voice tight.

When they broke above the treeline, witnessed only by the bright sky and the very tops of buildings, Potter seemed to relax.

"This is brilliant," the brunette breathed.

"Yeah?" Draco hadn't invented brooms, or even flying, but in that moment, with how smug and proud he felt, he might as well have. "Our school sport is Quidditch," he boasted.

"Quidditch?" Potter asked, sounding out the word on his tongue. "Does that have to do with brooms?"

"Does it have to do with brooms," Draco repeated, shaking his head. "Potter, a year from now, let me remind you that you said that. You'll think it's hilarious."

Potter nudged him a bit. "Tit. How do you play?" Ah, it hadn't been intended as a nudge, but an indignant punch. Draco dutifully treated it as such and theatrically clutched his arm, swerving the broom dangerously and forcing novice flyer Potter to screech and smack the blond repeatedly until he got into under control once more.

Draco was still snickering when he replied, "The object of the game is to score more points than your opponents."

"So, pretty much every sport, ever," Potter deadpanned. "Except for, like, tag."

"Will you calm down? I'm getting to that. In Quidditch, there's this smaller ball called a Snitch, and catching that is worth one-hundred fifty points, while normal goals are only worth ten. The game ends when the Snitch is caught. Obviously, the real point of the game is to snatch the Snitch before your opponent. That's me, the Seeker. My role is to catch it."

"Are you any good?"

"The bloody best."

"Are you really?"

Draco turned his head to scowl at him. Potter's wayward hair was flung about in such a way that, for a moment, the black strands reminded the blond of the petals from a spider chrysanthemum—long, wild, and curled at the ends.

"I just said I was, didn't I? Anyone who disagrees is either a sore loser, hasn't seen me play, or needs to get their eyes checked. Simple as that. Anyway, where was I? The game ends when the Snitch is caught, or an agreement is reached between the captains of both teams. Some games can go on for many days if the Snitch is not caught."

"What was the longest?"

"According to Quidditch Through the Ages, the longest game lasted three months."

"You're joking."

"It intrigues me how many different ways you can verify that I am, indeed, being sincere."

"Sorry, I just... This is all a lot to take in."

"Speaking of things that are a lot to take in-"

"If you say yourself, I'm going to push you off this broom."

"One, that would inevitably lead to your untimely death as I still have my wand, and two, that's vulgar." The tips of pale ears were a rosy hue, and seeing that, Potter smiled. "I was trying to segway into discussing your guardians and where they may reside, so that I won't have to continue flying aimlessly into the distance—we'll reach America eventually, I'm sure."

"Could be fun," Potter chirped, teasing.

"After receiving permission to abduct you from your Muggle relatives, and after we visit Wizarding London. Then you can fly all the way to Canada, if you'd like."

"That could be nice, too. Would you come with me?"

"With the right amount of bribery, sure. That, and as long as we travel by floo. The cushioning charm on a broom only does so much, after all. That many hours and I think I can speak for the both of us when I say that we would rather dive headfirst into the ocean than enduring it long enough to reach land."

"Are charms different than spells?" Potter inquired, leaning on the blond a bit more. The wind had picked up, so he was probably having trouble hearing.

Draco suddenly remembered Potter's ratty clothes, all the holes and thinned fabric, and realized Potter must be cold.

"Where did you say your Aunt and Uncle live, again?"

"4 Privet drive."

"Ah, yes, of course, and where might that be?"

Potter snickered. "See that building down there with the big apple painted on the side? That's the restaurant closest to my house. We could walk from there."

And they did.