the words of my wrist (the devil in silk and yet I yearn)

chapter 4

falling for him (was like falling from grace)

Harry hums as he lets his magic shine over his skin, glittering over his skin in an iridescent layer of green that sparkles various hues of purple and gold in the sunlight. His soulmate cuff rests on his wrist, bringing the taste of salt and the sound of crashing waves to mind; it sparkles as Harry lets his magic free, making his soulmark warm on his wrist.

Idly, he wonders what his magic feels like to Rabastan. Does it feel like flying, a breath of fresh hair and the elation of feeling truly weightless? Does it feel like treacle tart, thick and sweet, and the warmth of a good treat after a long day? Does it feel like loving strokes against his skin, a gentle reminder of love?

He snorts and shakes his head, a rueful smile twitching on his lips.

Romanticizing your own magic, Potter, he thinks to himself. How ridiculous are you?

"Harry!"

Theodore's voice snaps him out of his thoughts and he turns to face his technically foster brother, who is smiling at him breathlessly. His axe hangs from his waist, the sharp blade glinting in the sunlight.

Harry had been rather surprised to find that Lord Nott encouraged phsycial fitness, also teaching his son how to fight in hand-to-hand and weapons combat, not just with his wand. Theodore had been elated when Harry joined, talking his ear off about different techniques and all the different ways to declare a duel with somebody.

It's still strange to think about but Harry is a master at just going with the flow of things; Lord Nott is an excellent teacher and Harry has already vastly improved in his dueling. Small knives and blades suit him better than the axes that Theodore is so skilled at.

Sirius had pounced on the chance to watch them train, watching them with avid eyes as Theodore hurled his axes at the training dummies. Harry quickly learned the quiet, bookish boy he'd seen around Hogwarts is far deadlier than everybody thought.

Theo came to a stop in front of him and smiled at him, nothing big but still enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle. "What are you—oh. That's a nice cuff," he says quietly, eyes tracing over the details of the forming bracelet in Harry's palms.

"Hey Theodore. Hmm, thanks." Harry nods toward his foster brother, curling his fingers up a little bit.

His magic ripples over the cuff that is twirling in the air above his hands, the Lestrange Family crest slowly forming on the band of mithril. He smiles as the Crest flashes a deep blue, connecting to the cuff already on Harry's wrist. "I'm almost done with it," he murmurs as he twists his wrist, flicking his fingers out. "How can I help you?"

Theodore blinks, looking confused for a moment, before shaking his head. "Rabastan is coming over for your courtship negotiations. It's customary, if only to make sure that you don't rush into things; and with your positions, this is a precarious thing."

Harry wrinkles his nose at the reminders. He can't spend as much time as he would like with Rabastan, despite everything, because of constant Auror disturbances at the wards. His case, being the Boy-Who-Lived (no matter how insane the Ministry and Daily Prophet liked to say he was) made his fostering incredibly difficult.

"Alright, thank you for letting me know," Harry mumbles, flexing his fingers as he draws his magic up, over the forming cuff, and begins growing stones within it. "I'll be done in just a few."

A nod is all he gets, which he can only see out of his peripheral vision because of his intense focus on his magic and the forming cuff. He has to get this right; he cannot fuck up on Rabastan's gift. If he does, Harry will not only humiliate himself but send the message (unintentionally of course) that he doesn't care about Rabastan.