complimentary colours • drarry •

4: olive branch

Monday 12th October 1998

The moon was bright and the sky was clear as Harry looked up at the stars. He sat in the middle of the quidditch pitch in full gear, broom lying beside him, at 4 am. His snitch was buzzing around his head waiting to be chased, but Harry had already caught it five times.

It had been easy, sneaking past Filch and escaping the castle. He'd had years of practice and the invisibility cloak was much more effective when it was just him. He didn't have to worry about his feet poking out the bottom or tripping over someone else.

The October night was cold and Harry sat with his knees to his chest and his arms crossed over them. His jumper was just thick enough to keep him warm but as the adrenaline of being on his broom depleted, the cold started to seep through.

The idea had come to him in a half-asleep daze, dreaming about quidditch and knocking a certain Slytherin off his broom. When the dream had turned grey with dark clouds and a coldness that went to his bones, Harry had woken up. It wasn't his first nightmare while being back at Hogwarts. There had been a month of peace, and then the nightmares had come back, worse than before. Maybe it was being back in a place where every corner he turned was another place he'd seen someone die. Or maybe it was always going to get worse with time.

He was just so tired. He wanted nothing more than to go back inside, lie down on his bed and fall asleep. But he also couldn't think of anything worse. Harry felt like he'd spent years just staring up at the canopy of his bed waiting for his heart to stop racing and his eyes to slip shut.

So as sleep didn't come, night after night, Harry finally gave up. He wandered the halls at night like a ghost, finding old classrooms he'd never been in, exploring more of the grounds. He even resorted to visiting the library, but found himself unable to focus on anything long enough to do more than stare blankly at the pages.

But tonight, with his dream fresh in his mind, he'd decided to walk down to the quidditch pitch and fly around for a bit. He'd grabbed his snitch as an afterthought, thinking he might as well get some practice in while he's at it.

After hours of flying, Harry had landed on the grass and sat down. He was out of breath but it was worth it for the way his mind had cleared, intent only on the snitch as the wind rushed past his face.

Quidditch had always been an escape for Harry. Something to take his mind off of his problems. Something positive and fun. The few times that Ron had managed to drag him out of the house, they had played quidditch in the Burrow's garden.

But as Harry caught the snitch for the fifth time, he discovered that quidditch wasn't as fun as a single player game. He became acutely aware of just how alone he was, in the silence of a pitch that was usually filled with cheers or shouted instructions from team captains. He wished Ron was here. But it would be selfish to drag out of bed just because he couldn't sleep. He hadn't told Ron or Hermione about his problem. They worried about him enough as it was. Though he wouldn't be surprised if they already knew.

From where he sat, he could see the castle clearly above the stands surrounding the pitch. He watched as the flickering light of Flitch's lantern moved inside the windows, stopping occasionally to check classrooms as he made his rounds.

It was mostly dark in the castle. There was only one room that glowed with the light of a Lumos spell. The turret that sprouted from the side of the eighth year tower look much smaller than Harry knew it was from where he was sitting. Malfoy must be awake.

Harry knew that Malfoy liked to get up ridiculously early. He just hadn't realised it was this early. No sane person purposely woke up before 6am. He wondered if Malfoy had nightmares too. If he sat awake at night, haunted by the things he had done and hadn't done. When Harry thought he was completely alone, was Malfoy feeling the exact same? Just meters away, separated only by the curtains surrounding their beds.