Scotland
Hogwarts
Draco

Time slowed every moment Draco Malfoy was a hundred feet above the ground. The sky held an unimaginable temptation against his self-control. The allure of flying had never failed to catch his attention, heighten his senses, and exhilarate his soul. The height of the skies was an odd place for anyone to feel received and yet, here he was, flying with limitless speed, grinning in pleasure as he grabbed hold of the Snitch.

"Four minutes and twenty-eight seconds," Montague shouted as Draco flew swiftly towards the ground. "Bloody hell, Malfoy. You're in an incredible momentum lately."

"What are you on about?" Malfoy shot him a glare. "I've always been in an incredible momentum."

Montague sighed in defeat. "I meant, you're in an even more incredible momentum lately," he said.

"I reckon I could catch it faster," Draco said, earning another sigh from Montague. The rest of the team had already left the pitch. Draco insisted he needed more training and had forced Montague to stay. An hour has passed since then, and Draco has not shown any signs of weariness, much to Montague's dismay. "Release it again."

"Malfoy, it's nearly nightfall."

"And?"

"Students are only allowed to train during the day," Montague explained, nonplussed by Draco's disregard for rules. "Night practices are prohibited."

"Since when have you followed the rules and it's barely nightfall." Draco heaved as he has begun to feel his muscles ache in fatigue.

"I've always followed the rules. Besides, we still have next week." Montague responded, carefully placing the snitch inside the trunk. "Let's postpone your greatness until then. Meanwhile, I have N.E.W.T. classes to pass."

"That I'd like to see," Draco said with a smirk.

Montague kicked the trunk into a close, patting Draco in the shoulder before he trudged back into the castle.

Montague was right — it was nearly nightfall, however, Draco couldn't brush his absolute hunger for perfection. The pain he felt all over his body only renewed his resolution. Surprisingly, Draco valued hard work and discipline more than anybody. In his family, worth was earned and not sought. Defeat was not an option, it was a result of poor upbringing.

As soon as Montague was out of sight, Draco dropped his broomstick and laid himself on the ground, allowing the rich scent of the grass envelope his senses. Four minutes and twenty-eight seconds, he thought. It was a good record but he was certain he could do better. It wasn't enough.

Draco had always struggled on defining what was enough. He could always find faults in everything, and everyone, including himself; most especially himself. This constant search for perfection had once led him to question if it was even real. Can a person truly embody perfection? Was it even possible?

These questions were then answered in the most specific of ways, by means of a person, a beautiful dark-haired girl — Belinda Gaunt.

It was early in the summer when Belinda first visited the Malfoy Manor. She wore a pale, blue dress and had flowers tucked in the socks of her shoes. It took days for him to talk to her, she seemed so quiet and peculiar, always lost in her thoughts. Their first conversation wasn't even initiated by him, Belinda had asked him if he could help her organize pebbles by color, a curious request in which he skeptically agreed.

After that summer, Belinda visited the Malfoy Manor twice a year, and every year Draco watched her answer his questions about perfection without effort.

"Hello, Seeker," Draco snapped his eyes open. Belinda was in-front of him, her face hovering dangerously close to his. "Mind if I join you?"

"Belle?" he said, smiling rather too broad.

He pulled himself up as Belinda found a spot next to him. As she pushed her hair back, he caught a whiff of Belinda's perfume — green tea and black currant — her favorite, and his favorite.

"What are you doing here?" asked Draco as he watched her slowly, lay down on the ground.

"Because I wanted to see you," she said, her eyes closed. "You're as cozy as ice."

He shook his head, overjoyed that he chose to stay in the pitch for a few more minutes. Belinda wasn't wearing her uniform, instead, she wore a black and white collared dress that flowed just below her knees. Draco remembered how appalled Belinda was when she first saw the uniforms; she described them as comfortable but stale.

"You're not in your robes," he said as he laid down next to her.

"I have the entire afternoon, free."

"Say that to Montague and he will slap you across the face," Belinda chuckled.

"Why?" she asked.

Draco leaned on his side to look at her. "Just in case you're still unaware, N.E.W.T. is an abbreviation for Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test. It's designed to be nastily exhaustive. No seventh year would bluntly admit that they're free, at least, except you," he said.

Belinda turned to her side. "If I'm not wrong, it's supposed to decide our future careers and incase you're still unaware, I already have a career," she said, looking up at him with an elfin grin.

"Show-off," he said, smiling as he returned to face the sky.

"Four minutes and twenty-eight seconds," she said, leaving Draco stupefied in embarrassment.

"How'd you know?"

"I could hear Graham's voice up to London," she said, "The man's a walking Amplifying Charm."

Draco cursed Montague under his breath. "It wasn't the best," he said.

Belinda shot up from the ground and slapped Draco, softly on his shoulder. "There you go again, saying blasphemous things. Do you think I could catch that thing in a matter of four minutes? It would take me a lifetime to even spot it. The bloody thing is practically invisible," she said, her eyebrows furrowed.

"It's four minutes and twenty-eight seconds," he corrected.

"Oh shut up, Draco," she said, as he earned another gentle slap on the shoulder. "You know what I meant."

Draco sat up. He wanted to look deep into her eyes. Heavens, she was beautiful. Draco could write novels of how her beauty drove him mad — the fullness of her lips, the curve of her dimples, the mystery in her eyes, but it was her kindness, her patience, and her empathy that made him surrender. Belinda Gaunt was a dangerous cliff and he's falling, hard and fast.

"I know what you mean," he said, locking his eyes into hers. "How could I not when you say it a million times."

"Because you always forget it every time and you never listen," she argued. "We live in a similar world, Draco. If there's anyone this world who could understand you, it's me."

Time slowed every moment Draco Malfoy was a hundred feet above the ground, and time moved even slower in every moment he spent with Belinda Gaunt.

"I'd say you're perfect but your hair is ridiculous," she said, making him laugh. "Why is it so blonde?"

"Is there ever a time you don't give me a compliment without a matching insult?"

"Is there ever a time Draco Malfoy has given me a compliment?" she retorted back.

Draco grabbed his broomstick and picked himself up from the ground before helping Belinda on her feet. She brushed off the grass from his shoulders as he plucked the leaves from her hair.

"I always give you compliments," he said, defensively. His voice loud as a whisper.

Belinda looked up, "The flowers do not count."

Draco and Belinda slowly walked back to the castle together, constantly exchanging smiles and laughter every step of their way. They passed by the Clock Tower, the Quad, and through the Entrance hall, both equally heedless to the copious eyes that were watching them.

- end of chapter five -