Trick or treat! 🎃🍂🍁
(I wanted to do a cauldron emoji because I was myself a cauldron of potions to my daughter's witch this year, but alas, none available)
Oh my god you went as a CAULDRON! That's too cool! Here's a treat just for you. Unfortunately we ran out of cauldrons in the AU making too.
Step... up
It’s a series of steps, meticulously calculated to a rhythm: somehow meant to look graceful and effortless when it’s anything but. Step, twirl. Step, jump. Stiffen in his arms, force yourself to un-wind, to loosen up: step, step, stop.
He’s panting, but he’s grinning, and he’s looking at you. “Better, Potter.” Coming closer. “That was at least a passable attempt.”
How does he make it seem so—you feel your own cheeks grow warm and telling. It’s like he was made with this in mind, the elegant curve of his legs and the jut of his hip, the way he walks is half-dance. His smile is something else, is like music, distant and alarming, makes your blood boil. Makes your heart jump. Twirl. You think you’d be able to memorise the steps a lot better if he weren’t so—ugh.
“Come on, we’ll run it again.” His hand is right under your nose. How does even his sweat smell good? You might be losing your mind. “Potter? Still with us?”
Unclear. You clear your throat and the answer’s still not there. “I’ll get it eventually,” you spit, a promise and a plea. A threat. You think. But Malfoy’s still smiling.
“Of course you will,” and you don’t even think he’s being an arse. “I never bet on a losing horse.”
That’s what you are to him, you remind yourself, and harden around it. A horse, a bet. You bet he does smile at horses just like that, before he uses them. Rides—you think you wouldn’t much mind to be used. You think, stop it, and also, ugh, just, enough. If only he weren’t so bloody beautiful.
“Come,” with a hint in his voice you can’t decipher, a touch of maybe uncertainty. “You do want this, don’t you? I’m not wasting my time?”
You don’t have to think about it. “Of course I do.” The whole thing, the lights and the focus, the trophy and the prize money you need too badly. Want… that smile on Malfoy’s face that you think might be coming more and more often, that you think might be a secret. A treasure, something too valuable for the old centre with the foggy mirrors, with the stained mats and the bad lighting.
“Good,” he grins. “If you want it, come and get it.”
It’s always the challenge that draws you to him. This dance, this routine, this—excuse—this whole thing is between you two right now. A series of steps, and a future you can almost-see, so clearly it’s nearly touchable, sharp on the tip of your tongue. Step, twirl, step, jump. You finish the set, and Malfoy’s smiling.
