Orb of Destiny - Moment by Moment Book #6 (Harry Potter, Drarry)

Ducking and Diving

They flew low over the roofs of London, sometimes a little too close in Harry's case as his exuberance at being in the air again got the better of him. After one near miss of a TV aerial too many, Draco had hauled Harry up to a couple of metres above the tiles, and the seeker had had to content himself with the dark shadows whipping past underneath his flight at the greater distance. The free flow of air around him was invigorating to Harry, and for Draco as well, or so Harry thought, given that there was the occasional near miss on his lover's part as well. For a while, it almost didn't matter why they were up in the darkness, flying above the roof line, but below the clouds: it was just wizard against sky, but the thought of the hundreds of fliers who would soon be after them never quite left Harry. He was ready when their deliberately exposed position drew attention from a gaggle of dark shapes, who descended from above them like bats, dark wings of cloth gaping out behind them.

"This way," Draco called and dove down into a rough-looking road where all the street lamps had been broken.

Harry quickly followed, skimming the tarmac with his broom's brush as he ducked away from a pretty accurate blasting hex. He'd had worse from bludgers, and he wasn't about to fall off, but that didn't mean Harry's heart didn't enter his throat as he wobbled and searched for equilibrium. People were shouting orders behind him, and without looking, with instincts honed on a safer pitch, Harry judged the positions of his pursuers. They were closing in, moving too fast if the way their voices were getting louder was anything to go by, and Harry noted with satisfaction when there was a thud, a grunt and the snapping of wood: one down. However, there was no time for self-congratulations, and, gripping his broom firmly, Harry accelerated after Draco.

The night air was damp and chilly; it cut through Harry's thin shirt, and he longed for his cloak, but it would have looked too staged to have been waiting for their visitors fully dressed. He gritted his teeth and ignored the icy tug on his body, concentrating on the breakneck speed at which he was skirting the ground. At this level the Death Eaters could not get a clear view of them, since there were cars and wheelie bins scattered all down the street. However, the obstructions down the street came looming out of the gloom with only a second's warning for Harry as well. It was a dangerous obstacle course.

There was another thud and the shattering of glass and the bending of metal this time and the groan that came from the witch who had collided with Muggle transport sounded much more serious than her companion's had moments earlier. This time Harry did glance back in morbid curiosity, but he could not make one dark shape out from another. The move would not have cost him had not a spell exploded at his shoulder simultaneously, and he swerved left. By the time Harry had righted himself and turned his attention back to his own path, he was coming up on a vehicle of his own. There was only one way out, with a cry of shock, Harry pulled back on the broom handle and headed up.

As soon as he was out of cover, Harry was a target and a swathe of spells came at him from the waiting Death Eaters. Bright lights of varying hues blinded him as they flashed past him, and some close calls threatened to unseat him, forcing him to lean over his broom and hang on, but nothing, thankfully, hit him. Harry just clung to his transport and ascended, too steeply, his aim no more than to make it clear from the attack. Spots were floating in front of his eyes, and it wasn't until he slammed into an object that he realised there was a dark-cloaked enemy in his way. Harry was hanging on to his broom so tightly that he might as well have been part of it. His unwitting target was not so lucky, and there was much flapping of wing-like cloak and yelling as the man slid sideways off his broom. Harry was rather glad he wasn't wearing his cloak this time, since it made it far more difficult for the man to grab hold of anything, and his shirt just ripped where the Death Eater dug his fingers into the shoulder.

Handling his broom with the expertise of the Quidditch pitch, Harry reared away from the desperate reaching, coming to a stop a few feet away. The Death Eater had been lucky enough to become entangled with the broom handle, and was hanging from it by one leg and half a cloak. For a moment, Harry considered kicking out and finishing his enemy: it would have been so easy. But he didn't, instead he just stared, hard, and positioned himself so that his flailing opponent was between him and the majority of the man's colleagues.