This game began sometime in the middle of fourth year, when Draco just wouldn't shut up about Potter in the tournament and the dragons and his badges.

Pansy started it as a game just for her, to try and entertain herself while letting Draco talked about what he wanted to- Potter. Blaise quickly caught on and joined in, and soon the rest of the Slytherins did, too. Occasionally, even Snape would give prompts on how to antagonize Draco into talking more when a group of Slytherins were getting close to beating the record.

The record was recorded on a little yellow erasable post-it note, enchanted to never fall down, and was stuck on the notice board in the Slytherin common room. To Draco specifically, it was nothing more than a reminder to somebody that Quidditch practice was on Thursday; it was a rather pitifully simple concealment charm, and applied only to Draco. He could probably break it with ease if he knew it was there. So the players of the game were careful not to let slip the true contents of the note.

As Pansy stood next to Draco, admiring the newest additions to the board and seeing if Snape had added anything, she let her eyes flicker over to the Record. The eighth-year boys in Slytherin had had a sleepover last night; it wasn't a surprise that the time went up. It was a surprise that it had jumped up a full four hours from where it previously stood at 2 and a bit hours; it was now at 6 hours, 23 minutes and 18 seconds. Dear Merlin, what had they said to get Draco to talk that long about Potter non-stop? How had they managed to endure him for that long?

Pansy had been the one to set the previous record, and at half an hour she was struggling to keep concentrated and focused on her goal. "Pans, look at that. Quidditch tournament next week, us against Gryffindor. I bet I'll win against Potter this time. He hasn't even practiced since Saturday! I bet he's rubbish."

"Why do you know when he last practiced, Draco?"

"I- well- I practice every day, like a good sportsman, and I happened to see him practicing, and I haven't seen him out there since-"

But Draco was a little too flushed, and Pansy was having fun.

"Been looking for him, have you?"

"No! Of course not! He's just- hard to miss, is all, what with that mess of black hair and those bright green eyes-"

"I see you spend a lot of time admiring him, then."

"Pansy! Ugh, you're terrible. I'm going to practice Quidditch for the tournament."

"Careful not to fall off your broom while you're looking for Potter!" Draco flipped her off over his shoulder as he strode over to the boys' dormitories to get changed.

Draco rose into the air. It was calm today; the winds were slow and warm, barely a brush against his cheek or a rustle of his equipment. His broom was warm under his hands, waiting for his commands. The ground slowly got smaller and more indistinct below him as he rose higher, the air cooling a few degrees. When he was so high he couldn't see the Hogwarts courtyard well enough to distinguish it from the section of roof over the Great Hall, he stopped.

Paused for a moment.

Let the wind fly through his hair.

He'd set up cushioning charms and other net charms to catch him as he was rising; spells to slow him, lighten him, catch him. Soften the blow if he fell. Merlin knew he'd fallen so many times before. He'd told Pansy he was out here practicing every day. Yeah, he was in the air on a broom, but... He wasn't practicing the truly traditional Quidditch. (And so what if he just happened to notice when Potter was and wasn't out practicing with him? He was just eyeing up- no!- keeping an eye on the opposition. As they say; keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.)

He leant back, feeling the adrenaline pump through his body.

Let the air rush over his robes. Something brushed by him- probably just his imagination. He closed his eyes, keeping a firm hold of his broom with one hand... And dropped.

It was brilliant!

Like he was flying!

He had done this before, and the feeling never got old.

Now the wind was whipping through his hair, tearing at his robes, and he was flying, falling... Above him, he heard a strangled shout of his name. What on earth? But he wouldn't let that distract him. After all, this was where he usually went wrong. He felt the lightening charm hit his body- so he was about a third of the way down.

He twisted his body- still holding the broom, eyes still shut tight- so he was facing the ground, falling like a skydiver. He spread out his legs and arms as he passed through a layer of slowing charms, and somehow- somehow- managed, against the wind- to force his broom out from his side to underneath him.

He opened his eyes, to make sure he wasn't sat backwards on it or anything, saw the ground hurtling towards him at an alarming rate (this was why he fell with his eyes closed for the majority of the time; when you saw the ground coming at you, you were liable to freeze up in fear. Draco knew this from experience. Madame Pomfrey hadn't been at all happy.) and swung his body down over the broom fully, tilting upwards back towards the sky, but still falling, still sinking-

He pushed his weight towards the nose of the broom, saw something flash out of the air a few metres above him- a hand, coming out of thin air? Reaching towards him?- felt the very tail bristles of his broom sweep the ground- and he was off!

He hurtled away at the ground, such a quick contrast from hurtling towards it he felt dizzy. As he rose again, his leg brushed past something sort of scaly and rough- when he looked back, nothing was there.

He lowered himself to the ground. He kept up the glamours, the concealment charms that hid the little cylinder of space he used to practice this stunt, but added some silencing charms, around his little bubble of space as his feet touched solid ground.

And burst out laughing.

He was nearly crying; whooping with joy, grinning for all the world like he'd won his heart's desire, though there was no one there to see. He threw his hands in the air, pumped his fists, beaming all the while.

He sat there, hovering on his broom, half-stood up, celebrating, for a good ten minutes. He deserved it; he'd spent months mastering that trick! Ever since he returned to Hogwarts for eighth year and had been allowed to play Quidditch and own a broom again.

When he stepped off the broom, he fell face-first in a heap on the ground. The adrenaline had been a bit much; and his head was dizzy with victory. He could've sworn he heard a quiet snort, but, in his victory-clouded mind, he brushed it off as his own. Still smiling, he tried to get up and take a wobbly step; when he fell again, he resorted to just crawling back to the castle. Who cared if someone saw him? He'd just- he'd just performed that stunt! Ooh, he could bet he was the first person to master that trick. He'd have to tell Pansy, and she could help him name it. But- he was just so dizzy with happiness! He felt so, so, happy. He made his way down to the dungeons, grinning all the way.

Meanwhile, a dark head of hair popped out from under a scaly-feeling blanket of fabric. Harry waited a minute before following Malfoy back into the castle. His nerves were still high as a Hufflepuff, after watching Malfoy drop all that way. He'd nearly had a heart attack- he had even thrown off the invisibility cloak for a short while in a burst of desperation to stop Malfoy from falling. He had saved Malfoy's life last year; that effort wasn't going to be put to waste now! That didn't fully explain the rush of- what was it, worry?- he'd felt when he saw Malfoy let go of the broom.

Harry brushed it off.

He headed back up to the castle, up to Gryffindor tower, through the Fat Lady's portrait, and found Ron relaxing by the fire, Hermione resting her head on his lap. They really were cute together; Harry was glad they'd finally noticed each other's feelings after all this time. Upon closer inspection, the two were asleep. Harry decided he could wake them up and tell them about Malfoy's stupid stunt later.

Ginny, however, was very awake, sat talking with Luna in the corner of the common room. How she'd managed to sneak her girlfriend in- again- without McGonagall knowing, Harry really couldn't say.

But he had to tell someone about Malfoy's stunt, or he might just explode. It'd been a really good trick- even he had to admit that. Ginny could make up lost time with Luna later. As Harry was explaining what had happened to Ginny, her nodding along, he didn't notice Seamus and Dean behind him, holding a timer and a little yellow post-it note.

If Harry had happened to look over, for him the post-it note would've read, "Quidditch practice on Wednesday!" For everyone else, however, it read, "How long can you get Harry to talk about DM?" and underneath that, "Record: Over 7 hours".

Down in the Slytherin dungeons, Draco was nearing the portrait. When he saw the camera next to it, a little red flashing light, he stopped to give it an exasperated look. He sighed, and said, "I love Harry Potter." The portrait swung open, and with a shake of his head, Draco went to tell Pansy about his trick, excitement building once again. He didn't notice the second camera, hidden slightly to the left of the first one, in a little crook of the wall. He didn't notice that it was painted an obnoxiously Gryffindor red, either.

Or that it was recording him, too. Harry, up in the Gryffindor dormitory, didn't hear a group of Gryffindors gasp in disbelief moments later, too absorbed in telling Ginny what had happened. Ignorance was bliss.