fic: deliverance
Title: Deliverance
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: G
Prompt: 'Flying' for 100quills; table here
Word Count: 1,950
Summary: Post-war, Draco's on probation and forbidden from anything that might take him out of the country, which includes broom travel. He feels tied down, and needs some way to escape.
It was a fixation.
The blond slid into his box seat just moments before the game began and started focusing his Omnioculars fervently. Soon, the Wasps shot out from one end of the stadium, looking every inch the oversized wasps that their uniforms seemed to indicate, and clashed magnificently with the Canons' orange uniform as they shot out from the other end. Each team glided effortlessly into formation and the young man eagerly gleaned every movement. He gripped his Omnioculars so tightly that a rose blush flushed through his translucently pale fingers and he would have circular marks around his eyes afterwards, but he didn't care.
The game started with deafening roars from all around the stadium, but they didn't matter to Draco Malfoy. The Wimbourne Wasps were indeed from his neighbouring county and therefore his local team, but to support them wasn't the reason that he was here. He watched the players' hair ripple in the wind, their uniform-clad limbs shift slightly to accommodate some movement or other, the determination on their faces in executing a difficult move. The Wasps scored their ninth goal (to the Canons' one goal), and half of the box screamed in exultation whilst the other half hurled abuse. Draco stayed fixed on the players, as if he hadn't even noticed the goal. He didn't even realise that his mouth was longingly dropped half-open as he watched the scorer throw his arms up and perform a double loop until an unknown finger reached over and tipped it back up for him.
Wrenching himself away from the Omnioculars, Draco flashed angry grey eyes towards whoever it was whom had done such a patronising act to him. The anger faded quickly into surprise as he found himself staring into the face of Harry Potter, who was in turn staring back at him with a slightly bemused expression. "You like watching Quidditch a lot then?" The comment seemed inane, but Draco started to blush in annoyance anyway. It didn't seem right that someone so distant to him had witnessed such a personal expression, and it was himself that he was annoyed with, for betraying his eagerness to watch the game.
"No, Potter, if I liked watching Quidditch, I wouldn't be watching the Canons," Draco retreated into his drawl, itching to turn away from this verbal exchange and Permanently Stick himself to his Omnioculars. "I like flying. Especially since I can't do it anymore. So if you'll excuse me, I wish to go back to doing the closest thing I can to it." The lingering self-deprecation was almost an art form when it came to Draco nowadays. He turned back towards the game, not that it was the game he was interested in. His pulse sped up just watching the players accelerate.
In turning his attention back to the pitch, the young man missed the look of puzzlement on the other man's face. He broke through Draco's attention again, "What do you mean, 'you can't fly'? There's nothing wrong with you." The words buzzed through Draco's mind until he realised that he wasn't focused on the flying anymore, but concentrating on childishly not looking at the other man.
Jerking his head so fast back at Potter that thin strands of white hair whipped across his face, the man emanated a glare that could have levelled the stadium. "Are you gloating, Potter, or are you just plain thick?" The answer wasn't needed: the confusion across Potter's face betrayed that he really didn't know. Potter's face was always far too open, Draco had thought. There was no semblance of control over it at all. "I'm on probation, remember? Our family might have saved you, but that still doesn’t mean that anyone trusts me. I've got an anti-Apparition strap around my ankle and I'm not allowed to purchase or use a broom, in case I try to flee the country." He had tried to say this all neutrally, but his sibilants were far too pronounced, his ends of words too sharply clipped, giving away his clenched jaw.
Again, emotion flooded quite freely over Potter's face. Draco thought that it was immensely foolish of him, and yet also wished that he could do that too. He had never been able to afford to. "You're not allowed to fly then?" Then question only emphasised his punishment to Draco, who ignored it and fumbled for the Omnioculars' focus dial. "At all?"
Draco put the Omnioculars down on his lap for fear that he might just hit Harry Potter with them. That would certainly not help his probation. "No, Potter. I am not allowed to fly. Are you happy? Finished needling me? I paid for this seat and I want to watch this game, thank you very much." He squared his thin shoulders and was about to determinedly start watching again, when Potter reached over and plucked the Omnioculars out of his hands. "Potter!"
"I'll fly you." The words dropped so suddenly that Draco froze halfway through his intended burst of abuse and blinked uncomprehending at him. "I'll give you a ride," Harry reiterated. "Around the pitch, or home, or whatever. The guys in the stadium won't mind if I do it after the game." Draco's face slid into a suspicious expression, and it was Harry who found himself blushing slightly this time, quickly adding to justify his sudden offer, "I've got my broom with me, the canons let me put it in their changing room. I like coming to Quidditch pitches and getting some time in the air, since there's not much space where I live."
Draco looked about ready to explode. "What do you think you're doing, Potter? Offering charity to me? Besides, I'm not allowed to fly, so how do I know that this isn't just you trying to get me into trouble?" His pale skin was ashen with rage, and Harry again cut him off.
"Malfoy! I lived on charity for the better part of eleven years and then some. You have no idea. This isn't charity!" He breathed deeply and continued, "This is... passion. Passion for flying. I've loved it since I started." He kept his gaze steady on the other young man; somewhere around them, people were cheering, or screaming, and he ignored them. "I couldn't imagine living without being able to do it. You're not technically flying anyway. You'll just be riding. I'll be doing all the flying, and I can take the responsibility for it afterwards. No one's going to get mad at me for doing that." He smiled thinly. "They all owe me too much for that." He paused, but Draco made no reply. "I'll fly you." He said this firmly, not as if it was an offer but as if it was already decided.
"Fine." The word came out sullen, but no control that Draco possessed could hide the glow in the usually pale, sunken cheeks or the gleam in his normally flat, cool eyes. Harry handed the Omnioculars back, but Draco wasn't so very bothered about them anymore. The game ceased to interest him now, and all he wanted was for it to end, when two minutes ago he was wishing that Potter would just leave him alone with his Omnioculars and the game.
-
Trying to look casual whilst he was actually hovering anxiously near the changing rooms as Potter went to get his broom was making Draco incredibly twitchy. Not only was he afraid that someone was going to whisk him away for being out of bounds or some such thing soon, but people walking past were evidently recognising him, and tossing barely-veiled glares and half-whispered insults at him. He was just debating as to whether he should just barge into the Canons' changing room and hope that Potter was actually in there when the other man pushed out, looking slightly hassled and his hair slightly more messed up than before. "Sorry about that," Potter vainly tried to sweep his hair back into place, "Forgot that they'd have the kid mascots in there afterwards, and they all wanted autographs. Ready?"
Was he ready? What did Potter think that Draco was still standing there for? He nodded tersely, not quite managing to contain his jitters and eagerness to be flying again. Harry mounted up, and the blond swung his leg over the broom too, feeling that familiar rush of giddiness at having only a thin strip of wood between him and the ground as they rose slowly. The young man adjusted himself into place, body remembering how to adjust to small things like shifts in direction and wind pressure. He bundled his thin hands into the folds of cloth around Potter's waist as they accelerated, his breath whisked away to the wind.
A few laps around the pitch were enough to ease Draco's initial nervousness. He felt the wind whistle through his fine hair, felt his cheeks being scraped by the cutting pressure, felt the cloth around him ripple. To him, flying was freedom. Flying was an escape from responsibility, everything that lay below on the ground that he was supposed to remember to do, all that fell away. Flying was a refuge from the world, and when he had been younger, he had dreamed that if he flew high enough, he might not have to come back. Flying made him immune to anything else, and he could feel his troubles rolling off his shoulders. He straightened his posture and clutched Potter's waist tighter, so that he could lean in and yell enthusiastically, "Barrel roll!"
Sure enough, Potter flung them sideways, then under, and Draco whooped as he felt the blood rush to his head before they righted again. The other man had caught on though, and started doing more complicated moves as opposed to simple flying. Draco clung to the dark-haired man and felt a grin spread easily over his face as he was flown this way and that. Flying was one of the few things that could make him ease off control over his emotions.
The moment of pleasure lasted both a lifetime, and not nearly long enough.
As they slowly started spiralling downwards to land softly on the grass, Draco spilled himself off the broom and on to the grass, lying flat. His adrenaline was still pumping; he found himself giggling most uncharacteristically and also found that he didn't care. He rolled his eyes upwards to see Harry Potter standing over him, a hand outstretched. Draco grasped it and pulled himself up, combing bits of grass out of his hair. His legs wobbled a little as he tried to get used to solid ground beneath them again. "Merlin," he breathed out.
Potter grinned at him, trying to settle his own wind-ruffled hair. "I know. That was the best ride I've had in ages. And I'm not just saying that either, Malfoy, because you made me pull out all of my best moves." He laughed, clearly at ease. Draco suddenly found that he couldn't hate this man. That did not mean that he instantly liked him, of course, but there was something between them, a grudging respect, a slow peeling off of years of hate.
"Thanks, Potter," He nodded, trying to play it down, but he couldn't; not after he had been wrapped around the back of Potter for a good hour or so laughing, grinning and demanding 'again!' like a child. He swept himself down and started to leave.
Harry grabbed the blond by the shoulder quickly. "Hey, Malfoy. Anytime." He weighted down his gaze with a promise that he was serious about the offer. A slight smile curled over Draco's lips.
"I'll remember to take you up on that one."
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: G
Prompt: 'Flying' for 100quills; table here
Word Count: 1,950
Summary: Post-war, Draco's on probation and forbidden from anything that might take him out of the country, which includes broom travel. He feels tied down, and needs some way to escape.
It was a fixation.
The blond slid into his box seat just moments before the game began and started focusing his Omnioculars fervently. Soon, the Wasps shot out from one end of the stadium, looking every inch the oversized wasps that their uniforms seemed to indicate, and clashed magnificently with the Canons' orange uniform as they shot out from the other end. Each team glided effortlessly into formation and the young man eagerly gleaned every movement. He gripped his Omnioculars so tightly that a rose blush flushed through his translucently pale fingers and he would have circular marks around his eyes afterwards, but he didn't care.
The game started with deafening roars from all around the stadium, but they didn't matter to Draco Malfoy. The Wimbourne Wasps were indeed from his neighbouring county and therefore his local team, but to support them wasn't the reason that he was here. He watched the players' hair ripple in the wind, their uniform-clad limbs shift slightly to accommodate some movement or other, the determination on their faces in executing a difficult move. The Wasps scored their ninth goal (to the Canons' one goal), and half of the box screamed in exultation whilst the other half hurled abuse. Draco stayed fixed on the players, as if he hadn't even noticed the goal. He didn't even realise that his mouth was longingly dropped half-open as he watched the scorer throw his arms up and perform a double loop until an unknown finger reached over and tipped it back up for him.
Wrenching himself away from the Omnioculars, Draco flashed angry grey eyes towards whoever it was whom had done such a patronising act to him. The anger faded quickly into surprise as he found himself staring into the face of Harry Potter, who was in turn staring back at him with a slightly bemused expression. "You like watching Quidditch a lot then?" The comment seemed inane, but Draco started to blush in annoyance anyway. It didn't seem right that someone so distant to him had witnessed such a personal expression, and it was himself that he was annoyed with, for betraying his eagerness to watch the game.
"No, Potter, if I liked watching Quidditch, I wouldn't be watching the Canons," Draco retreated into his drawl, itching to turn away from this verbal exchange and Permanently Stick himself to his Omnioculars. "I like flying. Especially since I can't do it anymore. So if you'll excuse me, I wish to go back to doing the closest thing I can to it." The lingering self-deprecation was almost an art form when it came to Draco nowadays. He turned back towards the game, not that it was the game he was interested in. His pulse sped up just watching the players accelerate.
In turning his attention back to the pitch, the young man missed the look of puzzlement on the other man's face. He broke through Draco's attention again, "What do you mean, 'you can't fly'? There's nothing wrong with you." The words buzzed through Draco's mind until he realised that he wasn't focused on the flying anymore, but concentrating on childishly not looking at the other man.
Jerking his head so fast back at Potter that thin strands of white hair whipped across his face, the man emanated a glare that could have levelled the stadium. "Are you gloating, Potter, or are you just plain thick?" The answer wasn't needed: the confusion across Potter's face betrayed that he really didn't know. Potter's face was always far too open, Draco had thought. There was no semblance of control over it at all. "I'm on probation, remember? Our family might have saved you, but that still doesn’t mean that anyone trusts me. I've got an anti-Apparition strap around my ankle and I'm not allowed to purchase or use a broom, in case I try to flee the country." He had tried to say this all neutrally, but his sibilants were far too pronounced, his ends of words too sharply clipped, giving away his clenched jaw.
Again, emotion flooded quite freely over Potter's face. Draco thought that it was immensely foolish of him, and yet also wished that he could do that too. He had never been able to afford to. "You're not allowed to fly then?" Then question only emphasised his punishment to Draco, who ignored it and fumbled for the Omnioculars' focus dial. "At all?"
Draco put the Omnioculars down on his lap for fear that he might just hit Harry Potter with them. That would certainly not help his probation. "No, Potter. I am not allowed to fly. Are you happy? Finished needling me? I paid for this seat and I want to watch this game, thank you very much." He squared his thin shoulders and was about to determinedly start watching again, when Potter reached over and plucked the Omnioculars out of his hands. "Potter!"
"I'll fly you." The words dropped so suddenly that Draco froze halfway through his intended burst of abuse and blinked uncomprehending at him. "I'll give you a ride," Harry reiterated. "Around the pitch, or home, or whatever. The guys in the stadium won't mind if I do it after the game." Draco's face slid into a suspicious expression, and it was Harry who found himself blushing slightly this time, quickly adding to justify his sudden offer, "I've got my broom with me, the canons let me put it in their changing room. I like coming to Quidditch pitches and getting some time in the air, since there's not much space where I live."
Draco looked about ready to explode. "What do you think you're doing, Potter? Offering charity to me? Besides, I'm not allowed to fly, so how do I know that this isn't just you trying to get me into trouble?" His pale skin was ashen with rage, and Harry again cut him off.
"Malfoy! I lived on charity for the better part of eleven years and then some. You have no idea. This isn't charity!" He breathed deeply and continued, "This is... passion. Passion for flying. I've loved it since I started." He kept his gaze steady on the other young man; somewhere around them, people were cheering, or screaming, and he ignored them. "I couldn't imagine living without being able to do it. You're not technically flying anyway. You'll just be riding. I'll be doing all the flying, and I can take the responsibility for it afterwards. No one's going to get mad at me for doing that." He smiled thinly. "They all owe me too much for that." He paused, but Draco made no reply. "I'll fly you." He said this firmly, not as if it was an offer but as if it was already decided.
"Fine." The word came out sullen, but no control that Draco possessed could hide the glow in the usually pale, sunken cheeks or the gleam in his normally flat, cool eyes. Harry handed the Omnioculars back, but Draco wasn't so very bothered about them anymore. The game ceased to interest him now, and all he wanted was for it to end, when two minutes ago he was wishing that Potter would just leave him alone with his Omnioculars and the game.
-
Trying to look casual whilst he was actually hovering anxiously near the changing rooms as Potter went to get his broom was making Draco incredibly twitchy. Not only was he afraid that someone was going to whisk him away for being out of bounds or some such thing soon, but people walking past were evidently recognising him, and tossing barely-veiled glares and half-whispered insults at him. He was just debating as to whether he should just barge into the Canons' changing room and hope that Potter was actually in there when the other man pushed out, looking slightly hassled and his hair slightly more messed up than before. "Sorry about that," Potter vainly tried to sweep his hair back into place, "Forgot that they'd have the kid mascots in there afterwards, and they all wanted autographs. Ready?"
Was he ready? What did Potter think that Draco was still standing there for? He nodded tersely, not quite managing to contain his jitters and eagerness to be flying again. Harry mounted up, and the blond swung his leg over the broom too, feeling that familiar rush of giddiness at having only a thin strip of wood between him and the ground as they rose slowly. The young man adjusted himself into place, body remembering how to adjust to small things like shifts in direction and wind pressure. He bundled his thin hands into the folds of cloth around Potter's waist as they accelerated, his breath whisked away to the wind.
A few laps around the pitch were enough to ease Draco's initial nervousness. He felt the wind whistle through his fine hair, felt his cheeks being scraped by the cutting pressure, felt the cloth around him ripple. To him, flying was freedom. Flying was an escape from responsibility, everything that lay below on the ground that he was supposed to remember to do, all that fell away. Flying was a refuge from the world, and when he had been younger, he had dreamed that if he flew high enough, he might not have to come back. Flying made him immune to anything else, and he could feel his troubles rolling off his shoulders. He straightened his posture and clutched Potter's waist tighter, so that he could lean in and yell enthusiastically, "Barrel roll!"
Sure enough, Potter flung them sideways, then under, and Draco whooped as he felt the blood rush to his head before they righted again. The other man had caught on though, and started doing more complicated moves as opposed to simple flying. Draco clung to the dark-haired man and felt a grin spread easily over his face as he was flown this way and that. Flying was one of the few things that could make him ease off control over his emotions.
The moment of pleasure lasted both a lifetime, and not nearly long enough.
As they slowly started spiralling downwards to land softly on the grass, Draco spilled himself off the broom and on to the grass, lying flat. His adrenaline was still pumping; he found himself giggling most uncharacteristically and also found that he didn't care. He rolled his eyes upwards to see Harry Potter standing over him, a hand outstretched. Draco grasped it and pulled himself up, combing bits of grass out of his hair. His legs wobbled a little as he tried to get used to solid ground beneath them again. "Merlin," he breathed out.
Potter grinned at him, trying to settle his own wind-ruffled hair. "I know. That was the best ride I've had in ages. And I'm not just saying that either, Malfoy, because you made me pull out all of my best moves." He laughed, clearly at ease. Draco suddenly found that he couldn't hate this man. That did not mean that he instantly liked him, of course, but there was something between them, a grudging respect, a slow peeling off of years of hate.
"Thanks, Potter," He nodded, trying to play it down, but he couldn't; not after he had been wrapped around the back of Potter for a good hour or so laughing, grinning and demanding 'again!' like a child. He swept himself down and started to leave.
Harry grabbed the blond by the shoulder quickly. "Hey, Malfoy. Anytime." He weighted down his gaze with a promise that he was serious about the offer. A slight smile curled over Draco's lips.
"I'll remember to take you up on that one."