Harry Steps Closer To The Field, His Shoes Crunching Over Gravel Before He Steps Onto Soft Grass.

Harry steps closer to the field, his shoes crunching over gravel before he steps onto soft grass.

"These fields," he repeats, slowly reaching out and brushing a hand over the tall canola flowers. Still green and young, they haven't yet reached the brightness of Cornwall's canola fields. Harry stares intensely across the field, his eyes narrowed with focus. As though, if he looks hard enough, he might see the ghost of a young Draco racing between the canola plants.

Harry grins and takes a step forward.

Harry Steps Closer To The Field, His Shoes Crunching Over Gravel Before He Steps Onto Soft Grass.

"Where are you going?" Draco asks, sounding slightly startled.

"Away from you," Harry says, and takes off.

It's one thing he and Draco have in common: a lonely childhood. The only time Harry ever got close to playing games like tag was when he found himself running for his life as a jeering Dudley waddled after him, or Aunt Marge's bulldogs snapped at his heels. It's a very different experience to be racing through a field, the night sky clear and crisp above him, listening to the sound of light footsteps behind him. Draco's voice cuts across the field.

"You're insane, Potter! Are you seriously playing games — "

"We're playing games, you mean," he calls over his shoulder. "You're chasing me, after all."

"I am not chasing you! Get back here!"

"Make me!" Harry laughs and picks up speed; behind him, the footsteps quicken. Harry takes a sharp left, feeling the thin stalks of the canola plants feather through his fingers. He zig-zags his way across the field, running faster and faster until all he can hear is the blood thumping in his ears, the effort of breathing in his throat, and then he pauses. He can't hear footsteps behind him anymore.

Harry turns around. The field seems empty, the canola plants swaying gently in the night air. He frowns, his brow creasing, and drops his hands to his side, his fingers slowly uncurling. The silent night gives nothing away; not the slightest footstep nor the faintest draw of breath. Harry takes a step backwards.

Someone grabs him; he shouts out and nearly jumps out of his skin. Behind him, Draco starts laughing, his arms still around Harry.

"You shrieked," Draco manages between fits of laughter, his voice unnervingly close to Harry's ear. Harry reddens.

"I did not! I — I shouted, that's all. You startled me," he adds accusingly.

"You shrieked, admit it. For a moment, I thought I'd grabbed Astoria."