![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
who_livedIt's nearly midnight when Harry walks out of Candlewood Apartments, Hedwig hooting cheerfully above him. She flies in circles above his head, as bright and wonderfully alive as the moon that shines above them both. The night seeps through to his bones, even as the temperature proves warmer than in months past. Casually draped over his shoulder and transfigured into a cricket bat, Harry carries his beloved Firebolt as his wand rests, also hidden by magic, in his pocket.
He's promised Sirius to be careful; to not do anything reckless when it comes to making use of his broomstick. But there is only so much Harry can do when the endless skies beckon to him outside and his skin itches from remaining indoors for so long.
After all he's lived through, Harry thinks he rather deserves a night out with his Firebolt. He grins, glancing up to catch sight of Hedwig again. The idea that this plan would meet with disapproval reminds him of the countless occasions he has sneaked out of Hogwarts over the years; he thrills at such a reminder, feeling young and alive himself, in the moment.
There is no aftermath of Voldemort and the wizarding war here; there are no reminders of everyone he's just lost.
Harry walks until he reaches Petros Park, now nearly abandoned at such a late hour. He ignores the couples trying to be subtle behind park benches, and dealers not giving a damn either way. Hedwig soars above him and a little ahead of him, issuing her own challenge.
"Is that so then?" He grins, uncaring as to whether anyone can see him or not. Tonight, he is going to take flight again. Tonight, he is going to leave caution behind. Sirius has his Animagus form; Harry has his broomstick.
When he reaches an enclosed field snuggled between several thick trees, Harry stops. Now, he has no one but himself and his owl to consider. He grins, pulling the Firebolt from behind him and his wand out to reverse the transformation magic. Within moments, he has his broomstick again, and he perches on it, a bird about to seek out the skies.
Hedwig circles back around, flying toward him with another impatient hoot.
"Alright, I'm coming," Harry says, laughing, as he kicks off from the ground.
Merlin, but he's missed this. He's missed the wind ruffling his hair; he's missed the chill piercing through his clothes. He's missed the beauty of lacking solid footing beneath him. He's missed the sheer, utter magic of flying.
Hedwig hoots again, and Harry gives chase.
He whoops and he shouts; he indulges in all the glee denied to him in his childhood. He preforms loop de loops and somersaults; he twists and turns as though the air were made out of ribbons attempting to ensnare him. He dives to the ground and pulls up just in time before he hits it. He laughs in sheer delight, and he throws his arms, and caution, to the wind.
Like the moonlight, Harry is so bright and so very alive.
He's promised Sirius to be careful; to not do anything reckless when it comes to making use of his broomstick. But there is only so much Harry can do when the endless skies beckon to him outside and his skin itches from remaining indoors for so long.
After all he's lived through, Harry thinks he rather deserves a night out with his Firebolt. He grins, glancing up to catch sight of Hedwig again. The idea that this plan would meet with disapproval reminds him of the countless occasions he has sneaked out of Hogwarts over the years; he thrills at such a reminder, feeling young and alive himself, in the moment.
There is no aftermath of Voldemort and the wizarding war here; there are no reminders of everyone he's just lost.
Harry walks until he reaches Petros Park, now nearly abandoned at such a late hour. He ignores the couples trying to be subtle behind park benches, and dealers not giving a damn either way. Hedwig soars above him and a little ahead of him, issuing her own challenge.
"Is that so then?" He grins, uncaring as to whether anyone can see him or not. Tonight, he is going to take flight again. Tonight, he is going to leave caution behind. Sirius has his Animagus form; Harry has his broomstick.
When he reaches an enclosed field snuggled between several thick trees, Harry stops. Now, he has no one but himself and his owl to consider. He grins, pulling the Firebolt from behind him and his wand out to reverse the transformation magic. Within moments, he has his broomstick again, and he perches on it, a bird about to seek out the skies.
Hedwig circles back around, flying toward him with another impatient hoot.
"Alright, I'm coming," Harry says, laughing, as he kicks off from the ground.
Merlin, but he's missed this. He's missed the wind ruffling his hair; he's missed the chill piercing through his clothes. He's missed the beauty of lacking solid footing beneath him. He's missed the sheer, utter magic of flying.
Hedwig hoots again, and Harry gives chase.
He whoops and he shouts; he indulges in all the glee denied to him in his childhood. He preforms loop de loops and somersaults; he twists and turns as though the air were made out of ribbons attempting to ensnare him. He dives to the ground and pulls up just in time before he hits it. He laughs in sheer delight, and he throws his arms, and caution, to the wind.
Like the moonlight, Harry is so bright and so very alive.
