Crepuscular

Crepuscular

by Tito

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It was Tuesday. It always rained on Tuesdays.

Harry sat at his window, watching the glass fog and clear with his breath. Outside glassy puddles reflected the oyster sky, distorting cloud patterns with ripples as the drops fell, one by one, into the standing water.

He sighed; the cloud on the glass crescendoed. Why it was raining he did not know; other than that it was Tuesday, he saw no reason. This season contrasted sharply with the drought-filled summers of his teens; the rainfall was, undoubtedly, unusual.

The worn cherry chair creaked as he rose. He should have dinner on soon; Draco would be arriving home from work in a while, and Harry always had dinner ready. It was a given. After three years of living in the same London flat, things became routine. Harry arrived home at six from his job at the Ministry, where he worked for an aging Arthur Weasley, whereas Draco returned around seven-thirty from his Diagon Alley Quidditch shop. Of course Harry cooked; his partner had no clue how even to boil water. Spoiled little rich kid. It astonished Harry that his lover hadn’t brought a house elf with him when they got married - but then again, Lucius had been quite particular about keeping the entire Malfoy fortune from its rightful heir when the younger Malfoy turned sides.

Harry opened the cupboard with a flick of his wand. A pot. A bag of spaghettini. An onion, some garlic, and a can of tomato paste. A deep red, squashy tomato. He watched with satisfaction as the pot boiled itself, onion and tomatoes separated automatically into halves, then quarters, then eighths. Footsteps up the stairs. A turn of the lock, a creak of hinges, and a silhouette in the doorway which Harry identified as his husband as he stuck his head out the kitchen door.

The lovers shared an embrace and a quick, soft kiss.

“How was business today?”

“Slow.”

Harry turned around and busied himself with chopping herbs. No wand for this, but a simple, Muggle knife.

“What’s for eating?”

“Look in the pot.”

Draco turned to the happily simmering vessel of tomato sauce.

“You remembered!”

“What?”

“My favorite rainy-day food.”

“Spaghetti?”

“I used to have it when I lived at home. Mother never liked it much, but it was Lucius’ favorite.”

“And you still like it?”

“I still like nice clothes, regardless of my father’s fondness for them.”

“Good point.”

Harry threw a handful of green into the pot of red. A few minutes passed; the clock ticked, the steam hissed, the chair creaked again under Harry’s weight.

“You look like a drowned ferret.”

“I’ll never live that down, will I?”

“You’ll always be my ferret. But go change and dry your hair before you catch a cold or something. You’re always sick.”

“You’d think wizards would have already invented a more effective cold remedy than Pepper-Up. But no. You’d also think that more time would be spent on hair-care products, but I still have to make my own.”

“Have I ever told you that you are the most vain person on the face of this planet?”

“Several times.”

They shared another kiss, and Draco disappeared into the bedroom down the hall.

The lid and the pot clacked after a violent burst of steam. The spatter of red on the cream tile backsplash grew more pronounced as the sauce simmered on.

He looked out the window. Shimmering sheets of water now fell from the sky; the puddles reflected fragments of the surrounding grey buildings interrupted by each new drop. The cloud on the glass faded and condensed again; he traced his lover’s name in the steam with his forefinger.

The streetlights flickered on. The saturated dusk was suddenly illuminated, the raindrops suddenly drops of molten gold.

Draco emerged in the doorframe, clad in his satin boxers and faded, tight black singlet. Harry smiled. The timer chimed twice. He flicked his wand at the pot of noodles and it jumped over to the sink to drain itself. Another flick, the sauce filled a red-rimmed bowl. Again, it landed on the table with a light thud. The silverware jumped.

Draco retrieved a bottle of shiraz out of the cabinet, popping it open and pouring two glasses. He seated himself; the chair groaned. He handed Harry the glass.

They ate in silence for a while, Harry glancing out at the crepuscular exterior of the flat every so often, noticing that the rain had intensified yet.

“Have you bought Granger and Weasley a gift yet?”

“The shower’s not until Saturday. What do you get a baby wizard?”

“I could use my discount on a toy broomstick or something.”

“Cute. And maybe some baby Quidditch robes.”

“A little too cute.”

“No, really, I think it’d be great.”

“You know, I’m not exactly looking forward to seeing the entire Weasley clan.”

“Not your favorite people, I know, but they’re my best friends. It’s their baby shower. It’ll only be for a few hours - and plus, there’ll be cake. I know you love cake.”

“Fair enough. Only, it’ll take more than cake to really compensate for my lost time.” The blonde grinned slyly, batting his eyelashes.

Harry watched as Draco helped himself to fourths.

“It still astounds me that you eat so much and can’t gain a pound. You sucked that up like a Hoover, and you’re still eating.”

“What’s a Hoover?”

“Muggles use them to clean houses. It sucks up dirt out of carpet - oh, never mind.”

“Muggles are pointless.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But you seem to forget one good thing to come from them.”

Draco circled the table to sit on his lover’s lap. The chair protested loudly.

“And that would be?”

“Me, silly.”

Draco brushed his lips against his love’s, then alighted on them. He began to suck lightly at the lower, gently, then harder. Harry flicked out his tongue and Draco met it. The kiss grew more passionate; Draco twisted himself over to straddle Harry. The chair’s complaints became rhythmic as the lighter man ground against his lover. Harry’s hands began to roam Draco’s back, one snaking underneath the waistband of his boxers to stroke his porcelain posterior, the other entwining in platinum tresses and massaging the scalp. One of the two matched the chair’s moans, being steadily swept away on a tide of pleasure. The chair let out one last complaint as the pair rose, slowly traversing from the kitchen to the bedroom.

The door slammed shut.

A few hours later, Harry found himself at his bedroom window. Draco had, at last, fallen asleep, and Harry’s insomniac disposition forced him to find an outlet for his attention. The windows glowed golden from the sodium-vapor streetlights. He could not see the individual orbs - the fog on the windows, a product of passion, not boredom, had not yet faded. He stalked out of the bedroom, naked, and settled himself in his study. He pulled out his brushes and watercolors, and began to paint.

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Author’s note:

1. Crepuscular: relating to twilight or shadowy areas.

2. This fic is dedicated to my fellow H/D shippers of the Harry Potter Discussion Group, who work so hard to freak out Mrs. McG.

3. Although it starts out H/D, this may well turn out H/D/ another surprise canon character, whose name I shall not disclose at present for sake of SUSPENSE! Or SURPRISE!

4. If you review, you may get a haiku. Actually, the Haiku’s on the review page. Incentive. I like feedback. Feed me back - I fed you fic.