A Wizard's Misgivings

CHAPTER EIGHT

TW: description of a flesh wound

(also like ??? minor smut kind of ish?? not really but you'll see)

Watching Howell on a broom was not as amusing as Phil had assumed it'd be. He'd thought that they'd both be up in the air, Phil outstripping him quickly and easily, thanks to his supreme quidditch skills. That Howell would be trying pitifully to keep up, shaky and the air and trying to be better despite his lack of skill. Howell had barely even gotten into the air, however, and Phil hadn't felt any glee or excitement at all.

It'd been hard watching Howell struggle with the broom. There'd first been the fact that they'd both been standing on the ground, and then Phil was shooting into the air, only to look back and see the Gryffindor still planted firmly on the ground, his hands locked tightly onto the broom.

When he had, eventually, made it into the air, his body had immediately freezed, seizing and tightening up. He looked completely unnatural, as hard as the broom, which everyone knew was a horrible way to ride one. You were supposed to be soft and pliant, persuading the broom easily. Howell had looked terrified just holding the broom, which was nothing to how he looked when he was actually in the air.

He hadn't been able to control the broom at all, apparently, which made Phil conclude that he'd never even ridden one. His broom had risen slowly but steadily into the air, higher and higher, and Howell had gripped it in a death grip, which the broom surely hadn't liked. It'd gotten to the point that Phil had felt he had to offer his help.

"Are you okay?" he'd asked, and with Howell's eyes still clenched almost all the way shut, he'd nodded imperceptibly.

"No you're not! What's wrong?" he'd insisted, and Howell had muttered something that he couldn't quite hear, but his face was positively green, and vomit was surely on the horizon.

Piecing it together, Phil finally asked, "are you afraid of heights?"

Howell's eyes had shot open, looking immediately relieved and grateful. He'd nodded again, and looking closer, Phil could see that his whole body was shaking in terror.

Phil had tried to lead him back to the ground, he really had, but Howell wasn't good at flying, and the weather wasn't helping at all. He'd tried to keep calm, to not show how worried and anxious he was feeling as the wind picked up, as even his broom began to feel imbalanced and hard to control. He'd longed desperately to just grab Howell off his broom and return him safely to the ground, but he knew it was impossible. It would hurt Howell too much, and who's to say the pain wouldn't make him jerk and shake, only to fall the far fall down to the ground? Phil wanted to cause him as little pain as possible.

It was terrifying when the wind started to drag Howell away, Phil helplessly following, not knowing what to do.

"Dan!" he'd called impulsively, and Howell— Dan, had made eye contact with him briefly. His eyes were wide, terrified, and then he'd tumbled over, end over end, screams and mangled sobs reaching Phil's ears despite the harsh wind.

"Dan!" he'd yelled again, powerless and scared.

"Phil!" Dan had screamed, and then again once more, before his broom was spinning wildly through the air, and Dan was thrown off it, tumbling through the air, into the trees.

Phil's mind was instantly, viciously blank. His heart stopped altogether as he fought to process what the hell had just happened, as he stared into the trees that Dan had disappeared into.

Finally, a gasp ripped itself out of his chest, and he was diving, faster than he'd ever dived before, all the while screaming for Dan, panic having captured his insides and squeezed them, twisted them all together.