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"I wonder what it's like," said Harry, "to fly."

Upon a sloping, grassy hill deep in the schoolgrounds of Hogwarts sat two polar opposites, lying down, leaning back, heads tilted towards the sky.

"Bloody loony," spat Draco, "You and I can fly already. We have magic."

Harry smiled. "That's not it."

"Eh?"

"I want to fly without magic, without the use of a wand or charm or flying automobile." Harry looked at Draco. "You know?"

The blonde Slytherin looked at Harry, his eyes narrowing. "Now you're just being stupid, Potter. You can't fly without magic. It's prepostorious."

"Oh?" Harry looked back up at the sky, and let out a deep sigh.

All his life, Harry Potter had been a dreamer. He dreamt of being normal, with parents, and a whole, loving family, and not having to worry about wizards and Voldemort anymore. It was only his second year when reality struck him like a ton of bricks. Ginny captured by Tom Riddle. Hermione petrified. Then, finding out his parents were betrayed by their best friend, Peter Pettigrew. The death of Cedric Diggory. The death of Sirius Black. Umbridge. Everything and everybody. Shame, shame, shame.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Potter?"

"Is it nice being a Malfoy?"

The question was so out-of-the-blue, it took Draco by surprise. "What the bloody hell does that mean, Potter?" he snapped.

Harry looked at Draco, their eyes connecting.

"You have Narcissa and Lucius to look after you, and even if they might not be the best, they are there for you. And you've got Crabbe and Goyle, who are always loyal to you because of your family name. Your future's been planned out for you since the day you were born. You haven't a care in the world. So, is it nice being a Malfoy?"

There was a long pause, and Harry felt he had crossed the line, and would have retracted his statement, if not at that moment Draco replied,

"It's convinent, yes, but nice, no. You'll never understand, Potter. You can do whatever you want after Hogwarts. You can hang out with whoever you want, and say anything you want. While me-my actions are restricted to what my father thinks its best. People fear me because I am a Malfoy-not because of myself, Draco Malfoy, but because I am the member of one of the most powerful wizarding families in the world.

"You are The Boy Who Lived. Everyone just adores you. You are the hero of the magical world. I am a Malfoy. My surname strikes fear in the hearts of those who have heard it, much less encountered one. What is a Malfoy? What makes a Malfoy so dangerous without even going beyond the name itself? It's not a hand, or foot, or arm or face, or any other part belonging to a person. Yet a Malfoy is treated with caution and fear before they can reveal their true nature."

Another pause followed Draco's monologue, then Harry spoke up.

"You almost seem like a nice person, Malfoy."

Draco frowned. "Draco."

Harry became confused. "What?"

"It's . . . Draco," the blonde said, exasperated.

"Then I'm Harry."

"Agreed."

At that moment, it seemed the invisible wall between them had disappeared-the invisible wall of hatred, blind, passionate hatred for one another just because of blood relations, of surnames.

"Harry," Draco said for almost the first time in years, "Harry."

"Yes, Draco?"

Draco sat up and positioned himself over Harry, clamping his legs around the young boy's torso.

"I will make you fly," he said, before pressing his lips upon Harry's. Harry, shocked at first, pressed back, and was sad when Draco pulled back. Draco's face was uncharacteristically flushed.

A smile slowly crept upon both the boys' faces.

"It was a wonderful flight," Harry said, "but I'd rather stay here on the ground than you."

Draco couldn't help but, for once, agree with Harry.