Running On Air

Chapter 9

The headlights illuminate the endless highway and there's something mesmerising, paralysing about it. He could go anywhere. He could just keep driving, heading into that unknown journey.

He glances to the passenger seat.

Draco is there.

"You're here," Harry says quietly.

"Yes."

"I can hear you this time."

Draco stares ahead at the road disappearing beneath the car wheels, the white lines flashing past as if the world is turning beneath them and they are standing still.

"I've come to say goodbye," Draco says.

"No." The word is out before Harry can stop it.

"I've got something for you." Draco looks away. "A memory. But it will cost a lot to give you."

"Don't." Perhaps it's the potion, perhaps it's because the realisation is hitting Harry like a wave against a cliff: this might be the last time he ever sees Draco. He doesn't know if he can ever find him. "I'd rather have you than a memory."

Draco looks back at the road. "After I've given you the memory," he says, "I won't be able to come back again."

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you."

Harry drives in silence for a long time. He keeps his eyes trained on the road ahead, but he can feel the weight of Draco's gaze upon him. Then, Draco speaks quietly.

"Pull over."

"What, now?"

"Yes."

They're passing through some small village in Hampshire. There's a playground nearby, the night dew gathering on the empty swings. Harry pulls into the parking lot next to it. He turns the engine off and waits. Draco is silent for a long time and Harry thinks he's collecting his thoughts. Draco's methodical like that. Everything has to be in its correct order.

"What do you think happened to me?" Draco asks at last. Harry frowns.

"What do you mean?"

"How I disappeared."

"Well — a forced disappearance, of course —"

"No."

Harry waits a long moment, concentrating on the feeling of the steering wheel beneath his hands. Something solid, something real. He exhales slowly.

"No?" he repeats at last, trying to hide the betrayal in his voice, but it comes through anyway.

"No. I chose to disappear. Originally, at least."

Harry is silent for a long time. He glances at the playground, staring at the empty swings, the worn tracks from where people made shortcuts across the grass. Desire paths, he thinks they're called. When people create their own paths as opposed to using the set footpaths.

"You're angry," Draco says, and Harry tries to laugh, but the sound comes out as little more than a choked cry.

"You left people behind, Draco. God, do you ever think about other people? Your wife, Astoria — and your mother, she never stopped searching — damn it! Damn you, and your selfish — " Harry cuts himself off, hating Draco, hating himself. He tries laughing bitterly but he can't even do that, and he reaches for the door handle, feeling claustrophobic suddenly, needing to escape.

"Are you leaving?" Draco asks.

Harry pauses.

"I'll understand," Draco says after a moment. "It's easy to leave."