desire .

Chapter 3: Soaring

title: The Journal

summary: While Harry wants to be left alone, he stumbles upon a fair blonde, while Ron makes nice with a certain blonde as well.

Chapter Three

Soaring

After a long while in silence, Ron and Hermione decided they needed to let Harry be, because more than anything they knew Harry wanted to be left alone and they understood completely. So they left him alone in the silence of the room where he slowly ate his sandwiches that his freckled friend left on the bedside table. He really appreciated that Ron brought them for him to eat, it was so satisfying to eat for the first time that day. He loved sandwiches, he often had to eat them back in his Dursley days. Honestly he probably should hate them since they never really gave him much real food, but nonetheless he still enjoyed simple sandwiches. After an hour passed by Harry finally got up from the bed, feeling so frustrated that the emotions were just lingering the surface and he needed to find a way to push everything back, to clear his head. So Harry got dressed for the first time that day, in some of his regular casual clothes which were ripped up jeans with double layered up red flannel. He pulled out his firebolt, and snuck out of his window, and flew out on his broom. Flying was still one of the few activities that he still enjoyed after the war. It brought him serenity, peace and was an excellent way of clearing his head. So he closed his eyes, and gilded around in the cool crisp air that cut into his cheeks like knives. First he flew high up in the sky, enjoying the the scenery before lowering himself down to glide by the waters, then zooming by the Quidditch field, then close by where he faced the dragon his fourth year, and through the forest. Being back hadn’t quite hit until tonight, it had been too hard for Harry to face and he still hadn’t shed a single tear. He wouldn’t, and for so long Harry wanted to feel something, but as time went on, he liked feeling numb. He grew to love the numbing feeling, and he was not ready to let it go, he lost so much since he was a baby. It never ended. Harry sighed, breathing in the fresh cool air, closing in on the school. Slowing down his pace, when noticing a figure leaning against the wall of the castle. They were wearing a long black coat, white boots, hair that as pale as salt, and skin so fair Snow White would be getting a run for her money. Draco. Harry stopped his broom abruptly, and steadily gliding down, making his way toward the fair blonde. He now noticed that Draco was holding a coffin nail, and was fighting the wind, trying to light it up. He was obviously having some difficulty, and why? Why wasn’t he using magic to light it up?

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Draco leaned against the castle wall, attempting to light his Dunhill menthol while trying to fight of the crisp wind. He could easily have done this a different way, with magic. However Draco was fighting off the urge to use magic, even though he was back at Hogwarts, that didn’t mean he wanted to rely on magic for the rest of his life. It always seemed to come with consequences, and ruined many lives that he knew, such as Vincent who couldn’t even control his own use of it. So along with his change, he wanted to get used to the muggle way of doing things if he could. Maybe later down the road he would change his mind, but for now he wanted to do things this way. “Draco?” A voice called out to him, it was familiar and gentle while at the same time vacant and cold. The fair skinned boy knew immediately who it belonged to, snapping his gaze in different directions, trying to find the whereabouts of the sound, hoping he hadn’t imagined it. He relaxed his stance, his shoulders still staying straight but slightly tilted as Potter glided down from the sky. Of course he was here, it had to be him of all people, but deep down he felt his heart squeeze.

“What do you want Potter?” His tone was sharp and hostile, with a twinge of warmth for he wasn’t sure how to act toward Potter. Especially with the war now being over, and what his true feelings meant. At that moment Potter finally touched the ground, the rocks and grass crunched under his red converse and then set his firebolt broom aside on the castle wall. Draco studied as Potter ran a hand through his dark curls, watching his glasses fog up within moments, blocking the fair blonde from seeing his bright green eyes. He was a bloody mess, but a beautiful one at that, Potter had soft cheekbones instead of sharp angles like himself. Draco had to stop himself from brushing his fingers across Potters dark rosey cheeks. He averted his gaze back to the dunhill, which was still unlit.