Wish Upon A Star

Flight to Freedom

The dragon seemed to crave cooler and fresher air. It climbed steadily until they were flying through wisps of chilly cloud. Ashlyn held onto the dragon's great scales with one hand, the other gripping the hilt of the sword as though her life depended on it.

 On and on they flew, over countryside parcelled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscape like strips of matte and glossy ribbon.

"What do you reckon it's looking for?" Ron yelled as they flew farther and farther north.

"No idea," Harry bellowed. 

The sun slipped lower in the sky, which was turning indigo; and still, the dragon flew, cities and towns gliding out of sight beneath them, its enormous shadow sliding over the earth like a great dark cloud. Every part of Harry ached with the effort of holding on to the dragon's back.

"Is it my imagination," shouted Ron after a considerable stretch of silence, "or are we losing height?"

Lower and lower the dragon flew, in great spiralling circles, honing in, it seemed, upon one of the smaller lakes.

"I say we jump when it gets low enough!" Harry called back to the others.

"Straight into the water before it realizes we're here!"

They agreed, Hermione a little faintly.

"NOW!" Harry yelled.

Welp.

Ashlyn slid over the side of the dragon and plummeted feet first towards the surface of the lake. She heard Harry and Ron hit the water with a great splash, and it sounded like physical pain. No, she was not going to let a lake beat her black and blue. 

Pointing her wand at herself, she muttered, "Impedimenta," and felt herself slow down considerably. Hermione hit the lake just like the others, and Ashlyn mentally facepalmed. The next second she sank softly into the freezing, green water.

Spluttering and gasping, she emerged from the depths of the lake. Ron, Hermione, and Harry were already swimming to the surface. The dragon flew on, its wings beating hard, and landed at last on the distant opposite shore.

 The lake did not seem to be deep: Soon it was more a question of fighting their way through reeds and mud than swimming, and at last, they flopped, sodden, panting, and exhausted, onto slippery grass.

Hermione collapsed, coughing and shuddering.

Ashlyn got up, and walked around, casting protective spells, and dripping all over.

"I've almost done every reckless thing possible," she spluttered, shivering slightly. 

Ashlyn looked around. All of them had angry red burns all over their faces and arms, and their clothing was singed away in places. 

Hermione handed them a bottle of Dittany. Wincing as the essence touched them, they dabbed away at their wounds. 

"Well, on the upside," said Ron finally, who was sitting watching the skin on his hands regrow, "we got the Horcrux. On the downside —"

"— no sword," said Harry through gritted teeth, as he dripped dittany through the singed hole in his jeans onto the angry burn beneath.

"No sword," repeated Ron. "That double-crossing little scab . . ."

"What on earth do you even mean?" Ashlyn snapped, walking over to the water. 

"I dropped it over here somewhere," she muttered wadding in the weeds and searched around.