A little drabble I wrote for a friend's birthday, set after the ending of the book.

Magic on the Tips of My Fingers

By: Nekare

Howl drags her to the dance floor, one of his hands slipping up her blouse not quite so accidentally with every time they go round and round, her vision becoming a blurred mass of faces and colorful gowns and the fair hair of the Wicked Wizard Howl.

"I have to say you look quite dashing in that color, Sophie, dear," Howl says into her ear, and she just lifts her eyebrow and pulls the fuchsia shawl closer to her shoulders. May Day is just about to end with dawn, and Sophie actually has to try to remember what it was like to be old and frail and tired.

(Just like she had had tried remembering feeling alive while inside that withered shell, and she just hadn't been able to.)

"Don't even try flattering me, Howl, you know perfectly well this color clashes with my hair," she has to speak over the noise of the habitants of a little town that doesn't have enough parties over the year to grow used to them, but Howl laughs as if he had heard perfectly anyway.

They keep on dancing, twirling with smiles on their faces that would make them feel stupid if they could only see themselves. "You heartless woman, I can't even pay you a compliment without you jumping at my throat!" he says, laughing, with a too loud voice, and the dancing couple next to them turn to look at them oddly.

She gets closer to him, her sense of decency quite fully functioning, thank you very much, even with the company she keeps. Her hands keep his neck in place as she speaks. "You've known me for a year, Howl, get used to it already,"

"Getting used to you? Are you joking, Sophie?" A traditional song starts playing, and they both get into the position for the choreography, Sophie vaguely wondering where has Howl learned the steps – it definitely wasn't in Wales. Their palms rest together, level with her eyes as they stand side by side, and Sophie lifts her skirts with the other one. "There's not getting used to you, you're too much of a natural disaster for that," he continues with a smirk, and she allows herself a moment to go weak in the knees.

They're in the middle of the dance (Sophie curtsying to Howl, so low that she's almost sitting, and she can tell the pig likes the position), when the sky comes alive with fireworks, Calcifer's present for Michael's sixteen birthday. Sophie can see the excitement and fear mixed in the eyes of the people surrounding her, but Howl laughs manically his fingers already glowing faintly, and she takes her shawl off her shoulders and ties Howl's hands with it, the sparks around them dying slowly. "You keeping me off temptation, then?" he asks lightly, and she whispers very, very lightly that temptation is quite all right at the right time.

They watch the fireworks until the sun rises, irises reflecting the purples and blues and the silvers that Michael asked for while failing to be subtle; and even when they get back to the castle, she can hear them splitting the sky in a myriad of colors from Howl's room.