This is a productive conversation; learning the shape of Matt's skills, and offering up his own in return, letting knowledge ricochet between them to show the pathways between what they can do, what they could make of it. He's only cautious because throwing two unknown magical sources together and hoping something doesn't go horribly awry between their understanding of "what they want to happen" and "what will happen". Like he'd said, he's a guy who enjoys magic that makes big things happen from a scale model.
"I think I might have an idea, about what we could work on together, then," he says, leaning forward from his spot so that he can crane-and-fold himself like origami. One leg hikes up on the side of the tub, close to Matt, and he brings his mouth down near to the other man as though trying to keep a secret between them; a dark, narrow figure like a crack in the wall one might try to look through. Collections of energy and the methodical precision of a pair of ritualists might just create something spicy. But, first. There's a question that takes him back a moment.
Combat. Accompanied by the friendly nudge of a foot.
Harry reaches up, unwaveringly touching the edge of the brutal scar that cleaves through the right side of his face. His fingers spread along it, pressing it across his cheekbone and the fine lines that've been spreading out from the corners of his mouth for years now. Aging faster than he ought to, but slower than he ever will as a wizard. He taps one finger to it, to give Matt the answer he needs. Then says, quietly: "Yeah, enough of it, I'd say. And plenty more to come."
no subject
"I think I might have an idea, about what we could work on together, then," he says, leaning forward from his spot so that he can crane-and-fold himself like origami. One leg hikes up on the side of the tub, close to Matt, and he brings his mouth down near to the other man as though trying to keep a secret between them; a dark, narrow figure like a crack in the wall one might try to look through. Collections of energy and the methodical precision of a pair of ritualists might just create something spicy. But, first. There's a question that takes him back a moment.
Combat. Accompanied by the friendly nudge of a foot.
Harry reaches up, unwaveringly touching the edge of the brutal scar that cleaves through the right side of his face. His fingers spread along it, pressing it across his cheekbone and the fine lines that've been spreading out from the corners of his mouth for years now. Aging faster than he ought to, but slower than he ever will as a wizard. He taps one finger to it, to give Matt the answer he needs. Then says, quietly: "Yeah, enough of it, I'd say. And plenty more to come."