Will was not about to fall to his death—he knew the Flying Charm, after all.
He just wanted to get Draco out of the battle, because he was about to make his move.
Once Will saw that Draco was nearly clear of the aerial combat zone, he slowed his descent. By the time Draco reached him, Will was hovering more than ten meters above the ground.
"W-W-Will, you—you—you—" Draco braked hard on his broomstick, dumbstruck. Will could fly? He had never known that.
"Don't make such a fuss, Draco." Will grabbed Draco and steadied him when he nearly overshot. "Be careful. Don't get too involved. You're your father's only son, so stay put and run if things go wrong."
"Then what are you going to do?" Draco asked, baffled.
"Keep fighting, of course." Before Will had finished speaking, he shot into the sky, his black robes whipping wildly around him.
The Death Eaters had already lost half their number without so much as touching "Harry's" clothes. Yaxley was growing anxious, but he still had not moved close to the Flying Motorcycle.
To put it bluntly, he was hanging back almost as much as Malfoy. It was not that Yaxley lacked loyalty to Voldemort; his body simply had not fully recovered.
After the injuries he had suffered in the Time Room, it was impressive that he could even stand and return to battle. Several of his organs had aged, leaving him like a machine fitted with incompatible parts.
He had volunteered for this mission to prove to his great Master that he was still capable. But things were looking grim.
Yaxley had begun to suspect that the man endlessly firing Killing Curses might not be Harry Potter at all.
Then he heard something slicing through the air below. He glanced down