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Microfic: Back In The Saddle

A random little something for @drarrymicrofic ’s prompt ‘back in the saddle’.

***

“Nerve damage, Potter,” said Malfoy, in a voice that aimed for haughty but actually landed somewhere closer to mortified. The bristles rustled gently as he spoke, and as Harry looked closely, he noticed the faint but constant tremor in Malfoy’s slim wrists.

“But – when –?”

Malfoy’s laugh was cold and jarring. “One too many Crucios, it seems. Aunt Bella could be awfully heavy handed at times.”

Harry swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He’d fancied an early evening ride to clear his head; had planned to fly over to Hogsmeade and grab a Butterbeer. The last thing he’d expected was to find Malfoy here, slumped against the back of the broom shed, eyes bloodshot, his old Nimbus clutched tightly in trembling hands.

“And you really can’t –”

“Fly? No. It’s my balance, you see, it’s – oh, don’t look so horrified, Potter, at least you’ll have free run at the Quidditch Cup this year.” He smiled weakly. “It’s stupid, really. My casting’s off; I can barely control my magic. Can’t even chop Potions ingredients. Flying should be the least of my worries.”

Harry reached over without thinking, prised Malfoy’s fingers from around his broomstick and took his hand. Malfoy’s breath caught but he didn’t object, so Harry turned it over, palm down, fascinated. Malfoy’s fingers moved of their own accord, a flickering motion which spread from his fingertips across the back of his bony hand. As Harry watched, he could see the tendons working; could feel the quiver running up his own arm. He traced his finger along the ridges and valleys of Malfoy’s knuckles; pressed it into the soft spot between his thumb and index finger, unable to look away.

“It’s irreversible,” whispered Malfoy, mouth awfully close, sharp gaze on Harry’s face. When he tried to return it, his eyes fell instead on Malfoy’s lips: bitten raw but appealing, nonetheless.

“Fly with me, then,” Harry said, his voice throaty and unfamiliar.

“What?”

“Come on.”

Malfoy looked incredulous, but Harry merely tightened his grip, tugging him up to standing. Malfoy swung his leg over the broomstick, Harry following suit behind him, leaning over to grasp the handle over Malfoy’s still-shaking hands. He tucked his chin over Malfoy’s shoulder, guiding the two of them slowly up and into the still evening sky.

Malfoy hadn’t been exaggerating; his balance was dreadful. Harry had to keep a firm hold on the broom, his arms tight against Malfoy’s sides as they wobbled through the air. They managed to loop around the grounds once before Harry’s aching shoulders began to give out and he guided them down slowly to the side of the lake. Malfoy’s entire body trembled as he dismounted, flopping down onto the grass; whether from curse damage or adrenaline, Harry wasn’t sure. He was lightheaded himself, warm where Malfoy’s back had rested against his chest, giddy in a way he couldn’t explain.

As he watched, Malfoy extended his arm, lazily, dipping his fingers into the lake. Concentric circles spread rapidly outwards, perfectly even, the water lapping at the shore with tiny splashing sounds. Malfoy was frowning, worrying at his bottom lip again, so Harry took hold of his other hand and brought it up to his face. Malfoy’s hand shivered against his mouth, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the palm, feeling them then: tiny sparks of magic, trapped beneath the skin.

***

AO3