Bound to collide
Bound to clash
Bound to strike
Bound to crash
Bound to shatter
Bound to sever
Bound to burn
Bound to simmer down
Bound to unravel
Bound to heal
Bound to grow
Bound to circle
Bound to spark
Bound to collide once more
Bound to be bound forever
500 words (exactly!) for @drarrymicrofic's wheel of drarry. Huge thanks to the mods for running this exchange!
A gift for the lovely El, @the-invisibility-bloke, who prompted 'lumos' 💡
"It's not Expelliarmus," Harry says.
They're in bed, legs coiled together like twine, and Draco's started it up again. A game of guess the spell.
"You said you're thinking of your favourite," Draco says.
Harry elbows Draco in the ribs. "And you know that's not my favourite."
"Hm," Draco glances down, "Engorgio, then?"
"Sod off!" Harry laughs, flipping over. He takes a hold of Draco's waist, and pins him down at the hips.
Draco's resplendent like this, pink and mussed up. Familiar, but forever novel.
"You're too easy," Draco says.
"You're a pain."
"Throw me away, then."
"Maybe later." Harry grins. "But fuck me again first."
✶
Draco knows Harry's favourite spell.
Of course he does. How could he not, when in its casting Harry's magic shines so bright with affection, as crystalline as a river? Flowing through that simple motion, it's a small thing held and shared in the knowing space between them.
Again and again.
✶
"Lumos." Draco watches Harry pour light into little spheres of frosted glass, richly coloured like church windows. When each one is lit he ushers it to float about the garden, illuminating the solstice-dark sky. Draco approaches, bearing twin mugs of mulled wine. Harry turns, and within Draco, the kindling's struck.
✶
"Lumos." Visibility is poor, everything smothered by fog and unshed rain, but they've made the decision, and they're determined to play. Mounting their brooms, they kick off in unison. Harry lets loose the Snitch, charmed to glowing, and then they're off, racing after a bolt of golden lightning, fingers outstretched.
✶
"Lumos." Ginny and Blaise's wedding. Draco and Harry abandon the reception after the fourth round of teary speeches. In the gardens, under the ivy-draped gazebo, Harry's spell is their only light. At the first touch of Draco's tongue to Harry's that point of light flares, rushing over them like dawn.
✶
"Lumos." Clearing out the Manor's a Herculean task. The attic spawns artefacts and spiders, an unending museum of cursed novelties. In the midst of it all, Draco's struck down by grief. Harry picks his way through the chaos to him, wand and care extended like a hearth in the hand.
✶
"Lumos." It's Harry's idea, to try camping the Muggle way. No spells whatsoever! Of course, when Harry goes to fetch water, Draco uses magic to assemble their dismal little tent. And when, waking before sunrise, Draco shifts in his sleeping bag, he finds Harry, wand alight, infusing their clothes with conjured warmth.
✶
"Lumos." Their first night in the house, there's a blackout. No electricity, and the Floo's a sputtering choke of ash. On a whim they throw open all the windows, beckoning to the rain. Sprawled on a picnic blanket in their unfurnished living room, among towers of cardboard boxes, Harry's lights dance around them like will-o'-the-wisps.
✶
Again and again.
The castings are vivid in Draco's mind, shining lanterns in a procession of memories.
Threaded together by that beloved spell, they're points on a star map.
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