Tabula Rasa

Chapter 3

“Stick your right-hand over the broom and say: Up.”

“UP!”

Harry’s Firebolt flew up from the ground and into his hand.

“Wow!” Harry said in astonishment, looking wide-eyed at the broom hovering in his hand.

Draco snorted. “Still same old Potty,” he thought.

“Now mount it,” he commanded.  

He quite liked being able to boss Potter around.  And the fact that he actually complied in his commands made it even more satisfying. This little arrangement they made proved to be more amusing than he anticipated.

“...and fly one loop around the Quidditch pitch,” he instructed and watched Harry take off.

The Gryffindor seemed a little cautious at first, but quickly started gaining speed.  Perhaps it was because his body-reflexes were still used to flying (even though his mind wasn’t) or perhaps it was because he was flying on an international standard broomstick, but even though it was his ‘first try’ it seemed like Harry was born to fly.  Draco didn’t quite know if he should be proud of his ‘pupil’ or sneer at his rival. He decided to settle for a demure scowl.

“Alright Potter,” Draco said as he touched back down after his loop. “Lets see how good you are as a Beater.”

He grabbed two bats out of his bag and threw one of them at Harry, who caught it rather unceremoniously.  Draco mounted his Nimbus 2001 and kicked off the ground with Harry flying close on his tail.  When they were several feet in the air, he signalled Harry to stop and hover for a moment.  Draco flew a dozen of meters away from him and took out something that looked suspiciously a lot like a Muggle-tennis ball out of his pocket.

“The first one who stops or drops it, loses!” he announced.  Next, he threw the ball in the air and hit it with his bat into Harry’s direction.  Harry swung his bat and threw the ball back at Draco, all though it was a few feet away from him.  Draco chased the little ball and swung it back to Harry, who then threw it back to Draco.  This went on for some time and there were some close calls but neither of the two dropped the ball. This little exercise was quite straining and in no time, both of them were panting and sweating like two Hippogriffs in heat.

“This is actually quite fun,” Draco thought. “Who would have known spending time with Potter wouldn’t be such a ...”.

*BAM*

What he really should have done was to keep his mind on the game, because Harry was a little faster than Draco had anticipated.  The tennis ball had hit Draco square between the eyes and the impact had thrown him off his broom.  Luckily he happened to be fairly close to the ground and wasn’t hurt very badly when he landed flat on his back against the surface of the Quidditchpitch.  He was about to curse Potter into an oblivion, but a strange sound distracted him.   He knew what it was, but it still surprised him none the less, cause he never heard it before.  Not like this anyway. Draco painfully rubbed the space where the ball hit him and sat himself up.  He saw that Harry was still on his broomstick.  And he was laughing.  That was the unfamiliar sound: Harry’s laugh.  He had never heard Potter laugh before. Not like this anyway. So unrestrained and free of care.

“What are you laughing at Potter?” Draco glared.

“You!” Harry laughed, and the clear voice was like the ring of steel.  He touched down before Draco and offered his hand to pull him up.  Draco looked at his hand and ignored it, getting himself up.

“Yes, well. Beginners luck,” Draco huffed.  “We’d better should head back and get ourselves cleaned up for Dinner.”

“K’ay,” Harry replied as they took their stuff and headed back towards the castle.

*

During dinner, Draco was mesmerized in thought. Now that he thought of it, Potter hadn’t so much as cracked a smile since the end of last school year.

“What do I care?” he thought. “What does hero-boy have to be grumpy about?  My father was sent to Azkaban, by his doing no less. I should be the one feeling grouchy.”

The Gryffindors were excruciatingly loud and disruptive (as usual). Yelling, laughing, making each other spill their drinks though their noses, making each other choke by slapping them on the back,...

“Peasants,” Draco thought huffily.

As Draco glared at the table he saw that it was suddenly shrouded with silence and shocked looks. He immediately understood what the shock was all about as he saw what the dimwits were looking at: Harry.  He had laughed again.  Draco felt a sort of pride that he was apparently the one to hear it first and not Mudblood or the Weasel or any other Gryffindor for that matter.  He caught himself smiling at this and quickly straightened his face.  He was quite good at that; putting on a mask.  He would have make a good actor if he’d ever got the chance for it. He made sure his face was in order when he stole another glance at the other table, not really sure why.

******

End of Chapter 3