Cursed

“What the hell?!”

“Patience, Mr. Jones,” Madam Hooch admonished.  “That was actually quite telling.”

“Yeah, and what it’s telling is that brooms hate me,” Ianto snarked, and his friends laughed good-naturedly.

Jack did not join in.  Ianto was not snarking good-naturedly.  He was clearly still incredibly discomfited, though the bond was still too chaotic for Jack to make out much besides that.

“On the contrary,” Madam Hooch replied.  “The broom readily responded to your call.  But you are not used to your own strength, so you are putting more force than is required into your commands.”

They had been observing this since the first day Ianto had been allowed to cast a spell.  Those early days with his father’s wand had taught him that a great deal of effort was required in order to perform even the simplest magic. 

His second wand had been a temperate one, and it had softened the excess of effort that he had continued to put forth, out of habit.  The only problem with that was, as they were discovering, it had not taught Ianto to call on his magic less forcefully, so now it was as though he was applying pounds of pressure where only ounces were required.

It was not unexpected, and being spellbound had only complicated matters.  He had been reaching for his magic for years, straining for all he was worth, desperate down to his very soul to reach it, and all to no avail.  Now that his magic was accessible once more, he was instinctively latching onto it with an almost uncontrollable fervor that often resulted in very… exuberant …displays.

With the help of his friends and teachers, he was learning to moderate the demands he was making of his magic.  For each spell they decided to focus on, he would practice it dozens of times until he could cast it with the softest touch, only using what was needed rather than everything he could reach out and grab hold of.

Part of the issue was that he was more powerful, now.  The amount of magic that he could summon was staggering.  That was partly because it had been suppressed for so long, but the vortex now surging through his being was amplifying his magic, as well.  The result was impressive, but it highlighted the need to establish a high level of control in Ianto’s methodology so using his magic wouldn’t pose a danger.

Secretly, Professor McGonagall knew that under pressure, Ianto’s instincts were spot on, and he did not overshoot the mark.  Well, except for what she had begun in her mind to call his anti-splinch, but he had been deliberately reaching for more to prevent splinching, so she wasn’t counting that.  But everything else Luna’s letter had described about that obliviated night spoke to a level of mastery that was either a matter of aptitude or luck.  And Minerva McGonagall did not believe in luck.

But no matter the source of his ability when under pressure, it was her dearest wish that normal circumstances would prevail the vast majority of time, so it would need to be second nature for him to exert a conscious level of control over the application of his magic.

Ianto had no problem with this.  Out-of-control magic had always frightened him, so he was highly motivated to regulate his powers.  He also had a notion that using more magic than necessary was wasteful, somehow.  Now that he had his magic back, he certainly had no intention of squandering it. 

(He was well aware that it didn’t actually work that way, but he couldn’t get the idea out of his head, and perhaps that was for the best, as it gave him focus, motivation, and patience when he was instructed to cast the same spell for the hundredth time.)

The practice was paying off, because he was rapidly developing a very delicate touch, and his spellwork had a grace and elegance that were rare.  But that was with his wand, with which he had developed an uncanny rapport.  Jack had joked that Ianto was besotted, and he wasn’t far wrong.  Ianto loved his new wand, and he found working with it to be an absolute joy.

Conversely, he was decidedly not besotted with the broom he had finally managed to wrangle.  The blasted thing was twitching in a tetchy manner that had Ianto’s anxiety ratcheting up another notch.

“Breathe, Mr. Jones,” Madam Hooch admonished. 

Ianto took a shaky breath before following the next instruction to mount the broom.  He felt as though his heart was going to hammer out of his chest.

“We’ll go slowly,” the professor assured.  “Hold your broom at an angle,” she gestured to the others so Ianto could observe them and adjust his hold on the broom.  It was vibrating moodily now, and he was about to ask Madam Hooch about it when she continued.  “Now in a moment, you will kick off from the ground, just hard enough to hover a few feet up.  Once in that position, just hold your broom steady for a moment, and then lean forward slightly in order to touch back down.”

Ianto had a white-knuckled grip on the broom handle as he tried to steady his breathing.  He was heaving for air as though he’d just run a mile.  He looked around and caught Jack’s eye, settling slightly as Jack gave him a solemn nod.  He felt a fleeting impression of reassurance through the bond just before Madam Hooch spoke again.

“Okay, on my count.  Three, two, one… Push off!”

Ianto bent his knees and gave an unenthusiastic push, and his heart leapt into his throat as the broom lifted him into the air.  He sucked in a breath and held it, and the broom held steady where it was, about three feet off the ground.  Jack gave a whoop and Ianto glanced at him, the first blush of relief gracing his features.  He vaguely heard his friends encouraging him, but he couldn’t seem to make out what they were saying.  He fought to keep Madam Hooch in focus.

“Keep breathing, Mr. Jones.  Hold steady where you are, and on my mark, you will lean forward and touch back down, again.  Three, two…  What on earth!” she looked around at the sound of a shrill sort of screeching coming from the direction of the castle.

“Stop him!” Professor Trelawney, robes lifted above her knees, was running full pelt towards them.  “Stop him!  Don’t let him summon the monster!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Professor McGonagall huffed, then raised her voice to call out to the Divination professor, who was still some distance away.  “Sybill, what on earth…”

Professor Trelawney, still running, dropped her robes and reached for her wand.  Waving it frantically, she called out something incoherent.  Sparks flew from her wand and a wave of energy surged past the bystanders, almost knocking them off their feet, and bore down on the four friends who were still hovering a few feet off of the ground.

Professor McGonagall sent a stunning spell towards Professor Trelawney, who was acting downright unhinged, and the Divination professor collapsed in a heap before she could reach them.  Her attack had been so unexpected that Harry, Ron, and Ginny had no time to react.  The spell hit them and knocked them off of their brooms.  Thankfully, they were not very far off of the ground, so they were unharmed.

Ianto, who was understandably more wary of anyone casting spells in his general direction, had recoiled violently at the sight of Trelawney’s wand.  The broom, already aquiver with his unease with the lesson, sped up and back so forcefully, all Ianto could do was hold on as he rose out of range of Trelawney’s spell.

“No!” he cried out, and the control he had barely been holding onto evaporated.

Ironically, it was his struggle to contain his unease that had caused so much chaos along his bond with Jack.  Now, as the chaos cleared, Jack felt the full brunt of Ianto’s terror, and it almost knocked him to his knees.

Ianto, who as a small child had been dropped from what must have seemed like a tremendous height from the Blackpool pier into the cold water below…

Ianto, who as a small child had also been dangled from an upper story window and then subsequently dropped from it…

Ianto, who as an awkward student in his first year at school had endured a disastrous flying lesson that had resulted in a fall from a significant height and a broken wrist…

Ianto, who had not wanted to bloody do this, in the first place… 

Completely… 

Lost… 

His…

Shit.

It was all too reminiscent of his first flying lesson, and he was overwhelmed by a sense of déjà vu that temporarily put his eleven-year-old self in the proverbial driver’s seat.  That first time, he had lost his balance and slipped sideways off the broom.  Desperate not to make that same mistake, he pulled the boom handle closer.

“No, Mr. Jones!” Madam Hooch called out.  “Don’t pull up!  Lean forward!”

But it was too late.

In his panic, he did not hear the instruction.  He couldn’t hear it – not over the sound of the blood screaming through his veins.  He had pulled up, and his terror and adrenaline fueled the broom’s overzealous reaction to the desperate instruction.  He sped upwards and away at a blistering rate, and the higher he went, the more he panicked.

Jack couldn’t breathe.  He felt Ianto’s terror as his own, and he was beginning to grow light-headed.  As his legs gave way, he realized that history was about to repeat itself.  Ianto was about to pass out, and he would fall from the greatest height yet, and plummet to his death.  And Jack prayed that Ianto was healed enough that he would revive.  His own fear spiked, and in the growing distance he heard Ianto cry out. 

Jack heaved in a breath, forcing himself to calm down.  It would help nothing if his fear only served to feed Ianto’s and make it worse.  But he wasn’t sure what could be done.  Harry, Ron, and Ginny seemed disorientated by the spell that had hit them, so they couldn’t help.  He could only hope that Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch could somehow slow Ianto’s descent or break his fall, because it looked more and more likely that he would soon lose his grip on the broom.

Ianto was quickly fading from view, and Jack estimated that his lover was at least a thousand feet in the air and a good quarter mile away.  Ianto’s terror was not abating, and Jack focused on his breathing and tried to send calming reassurance along the bond.  It was taking everything in his power not to succumb to Ianto’s feelings of fear that were overwhelming almost everything else, but he knew he had to help Ianto calm down.

Jack barely heard the others debating what to do.  The three who could actually fly were still too wobbly to do so, and Madam Hooch had quickly discovered that Professor Trelawney’s spell had rendered their brooms unflyable, anyway.  She had taken off for her classroom to fetch her own broom, but only the goddess could know if she’d make it back before Ianto’s mad broom flung him to the ground.

Jack watched, heart in his throat, as the broom seemed to redouble its efforts to throw Ianto off.  He closed his eyes so he couldn’t watch, tried to ignore the cries of Ianto’s friends standing there, powerless to do anything, and began pouring good feelings along the bond.  Anything to calm, comfort, and soothe his lover, though he did feel some anger breaking through as well as Professor Trelawney recovered from Professor McGonagall’s stunning spell.  But then, it occurred to him that anger could be very useful.  Better by far than fear, at any rate.

Up on the broom, Ianto had his arms and legs wrapped around the blasted thing, holding on for dear life.  It was swinging back and forth as though deliberately trying to shake him off, and he had been thrown around so that his back was now to the ground.  At first it had been a relief to not see how far up off the ground he was, but with only a view of the clouds above him in that endless blue sky, he felt much more frightened.  He screwed his eyes shut and tried to grab onto the feelings Jack was trying to share.

And then he heard it…

***