#accidental magic

"Clear mental image," Harry muttered under his breath, sketching a quick doodle of a quill turning into a feather duster. "Firm wand movement and — "

Beside him, Malfoy gave a snort. "Planning to clean your way through the exam, Potter?"

Harry didn't look up. "At least I'll pass it."

"Oh, please," Malfoy drawled, leaning just far enough into Harry's space to be irritating. "You'll muddle through with the usual help of your friends and your ridiculous luck. Some of us actually study." Harry's quill jabbed a little too hard, leaving a blot of ink on the parchment. His jaw clenched. He wanted to hold onto the fragile thread of calm from breakfast, but Malfoy was tugging at it, fraying it, pulling it apart strand by strand.

"Enough talking," McGonagall snapped, sending both of them a glare sharp enough to slice parchment. "Potter, Malfoy — you'll practise together. No fighting or Detention for both of you. Weasley, Granger — "

Harry felt his stomach sink. Of course. Good things never stayed good around Malfoy.

They paired off, both of them sending death stares to each other the whole time. Wands drawn. "Try not to embarrass yourself, Potter," Malfoy murmured, low enough that only Harry could hear.

Harry's jaw clenched. "Worry about yourself, Malfoy."

McGonagall set the task: transform a quill into a live songbird, then back again. Simple in theory. Dangerous in practice. "Try not to blow anything up this time, Potter," Malfoy sneered, holding his wand delicately.

Ignore that git, he's not worth the trouble. Harry gritted his teeth, lifted his wand, and cast.

For a moment, it worked — the quill shimmered, sprouting wings, feathers bursting free. It chirped once before collapsing into a warped half-bird, half-quill thing that flopped pitifully on the desk. Malfoy laughed, sharp and cutting. "Brilliant. A crippled pigeon. Maybe you should take up breeding magical monstrosities — oh, wait, Hagrid's already claimed that."

Something snapped.

Harry's wand jerked in his hand. His voice came out rough, louder than he meant. "At least I try! Not everything in life is about being perfect, Malfoy." The air grew thick.

In a heartbeat, Harry's wand snapped up, pointed straight at Malfoy's chest. Malfoy took a step back, then laughed—low and sharp, the sound full of contempt. "You? Try? How touching. Do you think grit makes up for being useless, Potter?" He leaned in, eyes glittering. "Show me then. Prove you're not all talk."

"Stop it! Both of you!" McGonagall warned, sharp as a snapped twig.

They didn't.

Harry's vision blurred with anger. "Funny, you should talk about being useless—"

The rest snagged in his throat. Because suddenly, without warning, the ugliest thought came clawing up: I should've let you die in that fire. I should've left you there gasping for air while the flames took you.

His mouth snapped shut, horror burning hotter than his fury. That wasn't him. The thought tasted foul, like bile in his throat. That was Vernon's way of thinking, weighing who deserved to live, who deserved scraps. Harry hated himself for even letting it form. No one deserves that. Not Malfoy. Not anyone. He was meant to be the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Why did he think about something so... evil?

For a heartbeat his grip slackened on the wand, shame cutting deeper than anger. Then—like a lifeline— his mind snapped back to McGonagall's instructions from earlier that lesson.

Clear mental image. Firm wand movement. Steady pronunciation. Stable grip. Focus Harry.

"Potter!" McGonagall's voice cracked like thunder, but Harry barely heard it over the blood roaring in his ears.

"—because at least I don't hide behind Daddy's money and a smug grin."

That was all it took.

Gasps rippled across the classroom. Malfoy's eyes went ice-cold. His wand slashed through the air. He struck first, his arm raised high as he shouted a spell which Harry blocked, the spell shattering against his shield. Sparks flew. "You think you're untouchable?" Malfoy spat, firing again, harder, faster.

Harry's blood roared in his ears. "Better untouchable than pathetic."

The duel cracked open, ugly and raw. Chairs scraped back as their classmates scattered, spells snapping like whips between them. Tables splintered. Books toppled. Someone screamed out his name. It sounded a lot like Hermione, but Harry was too fueled with rage to listen. "Enough!" McGonagall's voice cut through, but neither heard.

"Daddy not here to help you now, Malfoy!"

"At least mine is alive!"

Harry's heart hammered. Every insult, every scar, every ghost of war pulsed under his skin. He wanted Malfoy gone. His grip tightened. The mantra steadied him. Clear. Firm. Steady. Stable. He had never cast like this before. Not with such focus. Not with such fury. Not with such need.

Malfoy's face was flushed, fury etched in every line. He wanted Potter broken.

Two wands rose at once.

"Stupefy!" "Expulso!"

The spells collided midair with a sound that wasn't sound at all — a crack like the world itself splitting. The air rippled, hot and cold all at once.

Not even a second later a third spell was cast.

"Finite Incantatem!"

McGonagall's voice cracked like thunder, her spell a torrent of gold sweeping toward the clashing lights. Everyone in the room froze, knowing instantly who it was.

Her magic struck the collision point — and shuddered.

The spells didn’t unravel. They buckled, folding inward on themselves, reacting to the force already tearing the air apart. What should have ended the duel only fed what was already breaking. A blinding pulse burst outward. For one endless second, Harry felt himself being ripped apart in every direction. Right, left, up, down. His body was thrown back, his neck snapping with such force it was a wonder it didn't break. Then—suddenly—he was locked in place, frozen mid-breath, as agony ripped through him, unable to writhe as his body felt like it was turning itself upside down and inside out all at once. His bones burned, then froze, then seemed to vanish altogether, each sensation colliding in the same breath. His magic screamed against the tearing, but there was no holding on.

And then — nothing.

“Brawl,” he announced when he finally found Malfoy, now wearing all yellow. “I want a brawl. You need to be punched, and I could take a few kicks, I reckon. Let’s brawl.”

“Hurray,” Malfoy smiled. “I finish at six. Meet me behind the pirate ship. And, Potter, you should probably wear something a little less nice if fisticuffs is what you’re going for.”

Not grinning (Malfoy thinks his shirt is nice?) Harry went back home, made lunch for Teddy, dreamed a little with his eyes open. Cleaned the debris of the cabinet Ted’s magic accidentally exploded, releasing candy flying everywhere, changed into joggers and a tee.

“Where are you going, again?” asked Ron, who came by to babysit. He settled down in the living room with a hand on the remote and the other around a huge bowl of popcorn.

“Nowhere special. Just a little walk in the park or something. Going to watch the new Spider-Lad?”

“Paw Patrol!” Teddy exclaimed, his whole face a toothless grin.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Paw Patrol? Again? Teddy, there’s a whole world of cinematic goodness for us to discover, and Auntie Hermione still thinks I’m full of it but there are whole films about animals who can talk!”

“Full of it,” Harry said.

“Shut up, mate, I’m serious! What do you say, Ted? A lion that can sing, or those pup detectives again?”

“Paw Patrol!”

“Okay. Paw Patrol it is.” A desolate, commiserating look to Harry: “Honestly, what is it tonight? You can’t stop smiling.”

“Nothing, nothing, I promise.” Nearly ran to the park, was there well before half-five, antsy and giddy and nervous. Walked around and around in circles, oblivious to the kids and families and shouts from the pirate ship. To anything that wasn’t—

Malfoy appeared, still in yellow, making him look slightly sallow and lanky. Coming closer. Harry’s heart was rioting in his chest, was going to deafen him.

“You came,” Malfoy said. He looked pleased. It was shaded behind the ride, a grassy area empty of trees. Malfoy dropped his backpack to the ground, pulled something out of it. Still crouched: “Do you want to count us down, or…?”

“Erm. Sure.” Harry’s never really done it like this before. Scheduled like a play-date or something. Malfoy was still on his knees near the bag. “Three… two… one?”

What attacked him was too soft and too cold to be hands—oh, Malfoy just dumped ice cream on his head, quickly melting into his hair, sticky down his throat, under his shirt. Tongue darting out to taste it: yuck, lemon.

“Bastard!” Harry cried, half-blinded with the soft substance, lunging at him with his eyes closed: “come here, you fucking, arsehole, let me,” found Malfoy’s hair and pulled. “You think this is funny?”

“Ow, ah, ha ha,” fucker, he really did, folded nearly in two in Harry’s arms, “it, gods, just too much—”

“Yeah? How would you like it if I,” scooping a dollop out of his hair and shoving it in the general area of Malfoy’s face, hopefully where the choking sounds were coming out of.

“Potter, stop, stop, I can’t,” laughing like a maniac, not even trying to kick Harry off. “Potter!”

Harry somehow managed to shove them both to the grass, where they’d started rolling, sticky and covered in horrible melting cream, both of them swimming in it, both of them laughing. “You’re such a git,” smearing as much as he could on Malfoy’s face, on his uniform, on his neck. Climbed atop him and pinned him down, laughing, laughing.

“You,” Malfoy sputtered, “P-otter, ha, I can’t, ow, ah—”

“Am I hurting you?” asked Harry, who only earlier today planned on punching him. Slid on top of Malfoy’s slimy clothes until he had one sticky cheek in his hand. “Malfoy, are you okay?”

He was still laughing. “Is this,” his chest heaving, “is this what you, ha, wanted?”

“No,” empathetically, laughing too. “You’re a lunatic. It’s—grand.”

“Honestly, when you came and, haha, brawl, I couldn’t—” wiping his eyes, it must sting, all this melted ice cream where it really shouldn’t be. “Ow, this was a terrible idea.”

Harry didn’t know if he agreed. Sticking his pinkie finger in the welling of liquid gathered under Malfoy’s collarbone, bringing it to his lips: “It’s actually not that bad.”

“Hmm?” looking up at Harry, those bright eyes. “Yes?”

“Here, have some.” It was half surprising, how gentle his finger was, tracing Malfoy’s bottom lip till it opened. How carefully he fed Malfoy his own ice cream. Half a surprise and half… not.

Malfoy licked his lips, made Harry’s whole body shiver. “Mm. Not the best. Come back tomorrow and I’d give you something really nice.”

“Can it maybe come in a cone?” this hopeful thing igniting in his belly. “You know, like normal ice cream?”

Malfoy was still laughing. Harry could feel it between his knees, where Malfoy’s ribs were shaking. “Sure. In a cone. You chicken.”

“I’m the—” incensed, Harry leaned down to swipe a big lick from Malfoy’s neckline all the way to his jaw. It tasted awful and slightly electrifying. Forgetting all about the rebuke, Harry did it again.

“Po—Potter,” a moan, when Harry sucked the salty-sweet skin. “Potter!”

“Sweet,” Harry said nonsensically. “You—it’s sweet.”

His smile, when it stretched in yucky, sticky lines on his face. Made Harry’s chest sort of spark. “I can be sweet, too. Just you wait.”

When he kissed him, he tasted like lemons.

*

The next day Teddy accidentally grew a tail and two ears while arguing another rewatch of Paw Patrol. The nice witch from Mungo’s said it was no issue, that they would probably spell off in a day or two. Gave them a very odd-looking hat and advised them to go out and enjoy this brilliant, sunny day.

What else could they do, then, but go to the park?

Walked around and around, rode the pirate ship three times, searched in every ice cream stand until, by total accident: “Potter,” with a tilt of his head. All in blue, a truly unfair sight. “And his little monkey, too.”

“I’m a pup!” Teddy shouted, running towards him. “Paw Patrol!”

“Indeed,” Malfoy agreed with a strange smile. “It’s good to meet you, Edward. I’m—”

“Draco Malfoy!” Teddy already knew? Somehow? “Uncle Harry talks about you all the—”

“Ha ha,” covering the whole little face with his hand, “he’s joking, of course. No, I, erm, probably told him a thing or two about the—ice cream, or something. Teddy, do you want some ice cream?”

“Mm-hmm!” from behind Harry’s hand. Pointing at a flavour that didn’t look much like anything, a blue blurb. 

Malfoy nodded, considering. “Excellent choice, young pup sir. Blueberry bubble-gum, coming right up. And for the gentleman?”

Teddy pointed at something that looked even less like it should be edible. Malfoy’s devilish grin told him he was correct in that assessment. “Hmm. Naturally, naturally. In fact, and if I might add—sprinkles?”

Ted started jumping up and down. His hat shifted slightly, showing what now were—

“Oh my,” Malfoy covered his own mouth, and what turned out to be laughter, “blue ears, Edward? That’s not something you see every day.”

Teddy came forward to watch how Malfoy scooped up the ice cream with the big spoon, eyes round. “Can I do that?” he turned to Harry. “Please, please, can I—”

“Why not? Hop in. I’ll show you how to do it so even your Uncle Harry is impressed.” And he guided Teddy’s hand to scoop up Harry’s ice cream, in what had to be at least twenty different health-code violations. “Do you want to do the sprinkles too?”

Was how they all ended up covered in sprinkles, and Malfoy closed off the stand (“smoking break, something, whatever,”) and they took a walk around the park till they found a slightly shaded area.

It really was a brilliant day. Teddy was happy enough even with the weird, itchy hat, and Malfoy was—bright blue. This thing melting in Harry’s chest felt uncomfortably close to ice cream.

*

On his lunch break the next day, Malfoy was wearing orange. He wondered if it was his ice-cream business, and he’s the one who changed colour every day; or if there truly were so many rivalling stands, each with their own theme. It didn’t matter. None of it did, besides for Malfoy’s lips, which stretched into a smile, and his eyes, crinkling with it too, and his hands, reaching out for Harry.

“So?” he asked when Harry was close enough to take one. “Did I pass. The test. The—dogged deliberation.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry laughed, pulled him closer.

“Teddy, of course! You brought him as your expert judge, I expect. What did he say? Am I allowed to do this?” brought Harry’s hand to his mouth, kissed it. “And, this?” pinched his side painfully.

“Ow! Bastard! I didn’t—Teddy was just off because of the whole, ear thing. I didn’t bring him to judge you or whatever.”

“So why did you come here?” eyebrow rising, rising. With that piercing that made Harry want to lick it. “I mean, there are many other things you could do on a day off, but you keep coming—here.”

“This is my park,” Harry reminded him gently. Malfoy scoffed, turned his face away. “Hey—”

“No, no, you’re right. Your park. I suppose that makes me your employee? Kinky shit, Sir.”

“Malfoy.” Tugged his chin up, made him look. “I keep coming here because I like you. Because you’re deranged and I don’t get you half the time and I like you. Is that enough, or do you want the whole song and dance?”

This half-smile he kept chewing on springing loose. “Ooh, there’s a dance?”

Harry kissed him, helpless with it. “You’re such an arsehole,” into his neck, and today Malfoy smelled like orange blossom and like mango, something addictive and crushing, unbearable. “How do you even,” inhaling deep, deep, “do this?”

“Magic, of course,” Malfoy laughed, and kissed him back.

The problem was it was magic. The problem was Harry couldn’t get enough. The main problem was, he couldn’t remember why that was a problem.

*

The next day he couldn’t go to the park again (something about staying an hour past his lunch break? Something about barely showing up to work in a week. Something about being an adult and having responsibilities, something silly). Harry texted the number Malfoy gave him, which might have been a joke, or a hoax, didn’t hope for much.

Got a reply a little too quickly. A photo of an ice cream stand, all in pink. Then an emoji with the tongue sticking out. Harry thought: this man is mad, and I might be head over heels for him. Smiled into his coffee cup and thought about what to cook for Teddy tonight. Maybe he’d invite Malfoy over? Maybe it could be a thing. God, could he make it a thing, could he build something out of it, this colourful whirlwind of a spark?

Closed his eyes: everything was pink, like a mouth puckered for a kiss, like cartoon hearts. Decided, and it was even fairly easy.

*

“You have to try the lavender.”

“Yes, Uncle Harry, try it, try it!”

Harry rolled his eyes, prayed for mercy. “Awfully suspicious, the two of you are being.”

“What! Teddington, I think your uncle just insulted us. Show him how we feel about that.” Teddy tried to pout, but he was smiling too much. “Very good. Now, come on, Harry, we made it especially for you!”

It was purple. The whole cart, the whole world, behind his eyelids and the silly suit Malfoy was wearing. Harry opened his mouth and let them stick a spoon in. Swallowed: lavender. Oddly nice, just a little sweet, just the way he liked it.

“You both are,” Harry tried, couldn’t find the word. Mad and brilliant and purple. “Ach, come here.” Wrapping his arms around all the sticky limbs he could find, this rumbling in his chest still, to this day, close to toppling him over.

It was very colourful, being alive.

In the distance Ted’s bubbles were distinctly purple, too.