Splinters
by zahra








Harry Potter is a like a splinter, and Draco hasn’t felt one of those in a very long time. Not, as it turns out, since he was small and his dad used to let him play Quidditch in the back by the deserted dragon stalls.

Draco’s last splinter came from a beleaguered Starjammer, and no one should ever experience a splinter in the thigh. Except that all Draco really remembers about the incident are chocolate oranges and crashing into a fence and his mother smiting a house elf.

Something about inferior maintenance.

The owner of the broom that Draco’s riding now could never be accused of a sin such as that. A panoply of others, certainly.

The broom is in spectacular shape, even for a new model, and the circumference of the handle is just right for Draco’s hand, so if Potter honestly didn’t mean for Draco to take his broom for a flight then he never should’ve left it lying about. Not that it was technically lying about, what with it being next to the door of the Gryffindor changing room. Still, Draco’s not big on technicalities what with it technically being time for Arithmancy and him skiving off today’s lesson as well.

Spare broom free to good owner.

Spare owner free to good home.

Draco takes good care of his brooms. He takes good care of most things in his possession - not because he has to, but because he can. Draco can be extraordinarily simplistic when he chooses to be; and Potter can’t possibly appreciate this precious instrument in his keeping. If he did, he’d never have let Weasley take it for a ride. Oh yes, Draco definitely caught sight of that disgrace last week, and if nothing else Draco needs to ride the broom to rid it of whatever damage Weasley did.

Sullied by touch alone. Just like Potter.

Besides, brooms are an expensive business, and what sort of idiot just leaves his broom lying about while he goes off to do whatever it is that Potter is doing? Actually, Draco knows exactly what Potter’s doing as he’s gone off to the loo, but that’s incidental to the matter at hand.

Potter has the new Nimbus 2000 Plus and Draco wants a ride. Point in fact, Draco is riding it, and the maneuverability is amazing. The wood has clearly been sanded to silk-like perfection, and the handle at the tip itself seems to be coated in some sort of metallic paint with a gold overlay. It’s almost too good for Potter.

Almost definitely.

Not that Draco ever thinks about such things.

Of course not. Draco would never deliberately take Harry Potter’s broom for a ride simply because he wants to feel that close to Potter, to touch the same wood that he has, that he rides.

Draco is not attracted to Harry Potter in any way. The thought of Harry Potter doesn’t raise the bristles on his neck either, and he certainly isn’t showing himself up by doing a double loop when he knows that Potter is watching him from the pitch.

He’ll bring the broom down, directly, give or take a minute or two.

~ * ~

It takes a great amount of energy to fight with someone.

Draco’s mum once told him that disagreements were petty and simple, and were purely for the lower ranks who couldn’t control their emotions properly. Curses and smiting were the inferred high road. Brains over brawn. Manners over uncouth behaviour, and Draco never fights with anyone, except Harry Potter.

He finds it tiresome, and yet he could never do without it. Fighting with Potter makes Draco feel alive in some way he suspects is not common in his parents’ circles. How else to explain the fact that Draco is still holding onto Potter’s broom like he has ownership rights?

Ownership rights in addition to the ones Draco holds inherently by being who he is and breathing at all.

“Obviously the idea of ‘possession’ doesn’t mean anything to you, Malfoy.”

“Oh, it means a lot I assure you. However, as I understood it possession involves a physical hold on the object in question.” This is the part where Draco is meant to toss the broom at Potter and stalk off towards the castle. How odd then that he’s still clinging onto the broom now that Potter has grabbed hold of the handle as well.

“My broom, if you don’t mind.” No, Draco doesn’t mind, certainly not when Potter is glaring at him in a way that’s all heat and very little else. Anger is truly becoming when it has broken specs and flushes cheeks.

“I never mind; it is yours as I understand it.”

“It *is* mine – which is exactly why you should be letting it go.”

“Of course, my apologies.” A line which should cue Draco’s release of the broom, and yet, he doesn’t seem to be able to let it go. It’s as though there is a treacle-like spell on the broom and all Draco can do is continue to grip the handle and rub his thumb back and forth along the tip.

The metallic paint makes it extraordinarily smooth. A protective varnish against splinters, how novel.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Draco? Someone else to torment?”

Draco is it? Potter must be getting desperate, and Draco finds himself a bit put out. Normally their arguments are much more enjoyable. Unless Potter can’t even be bothered to try and get rid of him because there’s someone else and that’s unacceptable.

“But it’s not really torment, is it, Potter? Somehow I think you enjoy our little tete-a-tete’s.”

“You would be very much mistaken.”

“Perhaps.” Or perhaps not. If Draco was mistaken then Potter wouldn’t still be holding onto his broom like he’s convinced Draco is going to fly to Hogsmede on it. If Potter couldn’t be arsed to care about Draco then he wouldn’t be stepping that much closer to the broom, and by extension Draco.

There’s a small pain in Draco’s thumb which he ignores in favour of staring back at Potter. Draco remembers when Harry started getting stubble on his face back in their third year; in their sixth year Potter looks like he needs to shave twice daily.

He has stubble, and it’s not even teatime.

“It’s a… passable broom.”

“I know.”

“It steers well.”

“I know.”

“I like the handle. It’s very smooth. Nice etchings.”

“I’m sure your father would buy the squad a whole set if you were interested.” Merlin only knows what Lucius would buy if Draco were interested, but that’s not the point being made. The only thing that Draco is picking up here is that Potter doesn’t sound as malicious as he normally does, but maybe that’s because he’s so close that the sound is being muffled.

“Oh, I am interested. Very interested.” Draco would say that his voice isn’t nearly as breathless and husky as it appears to his own ears, but he suspects he would be wrong. The fact that Harry Potter just blinked at him wouldn’t be a good sign.

“Then buy your own.”

“I’m much more interested in yours, Potter.”

“It’s not for sale.”

“Yes, I find that much isn’t with you. Seems to be a shame as far as I can tell.” On more levels than the ones they’re discussing on the pitch. Draco suspects that even Potter understands that.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

“I want a lot of things, Harry. What makes you think I want anything from you?”

As though using his name isn’t a big enough hint.

“If you didn’t want anything then I would have my broom back by now.”

“That’s a good point.” It’s also the perfect time for Draco to let go of the broom and watch as Potter simply lets his arm drop with the broom in hand, as though it were superfluous to the conversation. Which ever conversation they were having.

“Just a small suggestion that you trim your bristles, Potter. I suspect you’re catching too much wind. Trimming them might make you faster.” The last thing that Draco says to Potter has nothing to do with flying, and as he wanders off towards the castle, Draco can’t help but notice that something has become embedded in his thumb. Despite whatever Anti-Splinter spells there may be on Potter’s broom, Draco’s obviously acquired one.

Truthfully, he’s not very surprised.