Fic: Red Sky at Morning
He was the first one in the camp to see sunlight that day, his forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window in the room he and Draco shared. It had been a long night for Harry Potter; he hadn't been to sleep even though he'd turned the lights off and got into bed ten o'clock the previous night, and since two in the morning he'd been sitting in the large window with his arms around his knees, a cup of tea undrunk and going cold beside him.
The barracks the Ministry provided for Aurors in training were rickety little buildings, short and squat, redolent of dust and age and sometimes the mice that scrabbled in the walls, but they did have some advantages, like the fact that they were situated on steep granite cliffs overlooking several sleepy little hamlets, and the grey sea in the far distance, and if one was feeling particularly low or lonely, one had only to look out over the twinkling village lights and the moonlight on the water to find a bit of comfort. He'd been looking for hours now, while Draco snored sedately in the bed opposite, and at the rounded edge of the horizon, where the dark of sea met sky, the clouds were beginning to lighten and show the faintest streaks of pink.
It wasn't what he'd expected, any of it. He'd left Hogwarts eager for adult life, half-mad with love (or infatuation), and the promise of childhood dreams realised. He'd tried, he had - thrown himself headlong first into the exams and then the exercises, and been good at them. He'd slowed things down with Draco, which only made their undeniably tempestuous relationship sweeter, and grown even fonder, if that was possible, of his friends in his absence. He'd thought for a while he was close to making a difference - it had all seemed so easy when he'd planned it in his head: Graduate, defeat Voldemort, become an Auror, live happily ever after - but the gleam of his new became more tarnished with each letter that arrived, missives full of worry and sadness and a determination that he hated only because he felt it stirring in himself. Seamus was gone - dead or alive, it didn't really seem to matter anymore - and more people were disappearing or being injured on a daily basis than Harry cared to count, or wanted to.
It had been foolish to think that just because Voldemort was gone, dark things didn't still stir in the depths of the world.
*
Harry sighed, and stretched his legs. Light was slowly illuminating the room now; in a couple of hours they'd go down for breakfast, and then begin manouevers. After that there'd be classes, then a break, and exercises, then supper, and the day would be over. He liked the training because it helped to pass time, and distract him from what was happening with his friends, but it seemed lately that he couldn't quite shake himself out of his stupor, and he found himself sleeping less, looking more and more frequently over the world laid out in front of him and wondering what he would have to do.
Harry glanced over at Draco's bed and saw that he was starting to wake up. "What are you doing, Scarhead?" Draco yawned, pulling the covers up to his chin and regarding Harry with eyes that weren't quite focused. He had pillow creases in his cheek. "Have you slept at all?"
"I slept for a little while."
"Liar. I'll bet you've been sitting at that window the whole night, brooding."
Harry snorted. "I'm not brooding."
"Oh yes you are. Feeling sorry for yourself is your natural state, Potter, and I'd worry if you weren't."
"Shut up, wanker!" Harry picked up a pillow and chucked it halfheartedly at Draco's tousled head.
"Missed," said Draco, with some satisfaction; he was more awake now, and his grey eyes were shining in an appreciative way that made the pit of Harry's stomach flutter not unpleasantly. "You know," he drawled, leaning back on his elbows, "my bed's rather cold."
"I suspect it'd be warmer if you had a heart."
"True," said Draco, not missing a beat, "but if you got your skinny arse over here we might be able to remedy the situation."
Harry laughed in spite of himself, and swung his feet to the floor, narrowly missing knocking his teacup over. "Was that an attempt to seduce me?"
"Are you so stupid you have to ask?"
"I hate you," muttered Harry, "Shove over."
"Ooh, Potter! I'm weak in the knees."
"Must be because you spend too much time on them."
"As if you're complaining."
"And my arse isn't skinny."
"I've seen fleshier toothpicks!"
"Fucker," growled Harry, but as Draco was regarding Harry's lower lip with a great deal of heated interest, there wasn't nearly as much venom in the insult as he'd intended.
"Look," sighed Draco, "are you going to kiss me, or what? Because I could snark all day, but I've got a problem here that I could just as easily take care of in the loo before I go down to breakfast."
"But you're not going to," Harry murmured, tracing the shell of Draco's ear with his tongue, "because it's eggs this morning, and I've eaten rubber that tastes better."
"Guess you're out of luck tomorrow, then," Draco said, unbuttoning Harry's pyjama top. "It's waffles tomorrow, and I never miss those."
"Better get a shag in now, hadn't I?"
"You're slow, but you come 'round in the end."
"Git," said Harry.
*
But later, when he had a bite mark on his shoulder, and Draco was dozing again, and the fragile May sunshine was bathing them both, Harry felt something else fluttering in his stomach that might have been thankfulness, might have been hope, and knew that whatever came, he wouldn't be fighting it alone.
Unless it was Waffles Wednesday.
The barracks the Ministry provided for Aurors in training were rickety little buildings, short and squat, redolent of dust and age and sometimes the mice that scrabbled in the walls, but they did have some advantages, like the fact that they were situated on steep granite cliffs overlooking several sleepy little hamlets, and the grey sea in the far distance, and if one was feeling particularly low or lonely, one had only to look out over the twinkling village lights and the moonlight on the water to find a bit of comfort. He'd been looking for hours now, while Draco snored sedately in the bed opposite, and at the rounded edge of the horizon, where the dark of sea met sky, the clouds were beginning to lighten and show the faintest streaks of pink.
It wasn't what he'd expected, any of it. He'd left Hogwarts eager for adult life, half-mad with love (or infatuation), and the promise of childhood dreams realised. He'd tried, he had - thrown himself headlong first into the exams and then the exercises, and been good at them. He'd slowed things down with Draco, which only made their undeniably tempestuous relationship sweeter, and grown even fonder, if that was possible, of his friends in his absence. He'd thought for a while he was close to making a difference - it had all seemed so easy when he'd planned it in his head: Graduate, defeat Voldemort, become an Auror, live happily ever after - but the gleam of his new became more tarnished with each letter that arrived, missives full of worry and sadness and a determination that he hated only because he felt it stirring in himself. Seamus was gone - dead or alive, it didn't really seem to matter anymore - and more people were disappearing or being injured on a daily basis than Harry cared to count, or wanted to.
It had been foolish to think that just because Voldemort was gone, dark things didn't still stir in the depths of the world.
*
Harry sighed, and stretched his legs. Light was slowly illuminating the room now; in a couple of hours they'd go down for breakfast, and then begin manouevers. After that there'd be classes, then a break, and exercises, then supper, and the day would be over. He liked the training because it helped to pass time, and distract him from what was happening with his friends, but it seemed lately that he couldn't quite shake himself out of his stupor, and he found himself sleeping less, looking more and more frequently over the world laid out in front of him and wondering what he would have to do.
Harry glanced over at Draco's bed and saw that he was starting to wake up. "What are you doing, Scarhead?" Draco yawned, pulling the covers up to his chin and regarding Harry with eyes that weren't quite focused. He had pillow creases in his cheek. "Have you slept at all?"
"I slept for a little while."
"Liar. I'll bet you've been sitting at that window the whole night, brooding."
Harry snorted. "I'm not brooding."
"Oh yes you are. Feeling sorry for yourself is your natural state, Potter, and I'd worry if you weren't."
"Shut up, wanker!" Harry picked up a pillow and chucked it halfheartedly at Draco's tousled head.
"Missed," said Draco, with some satisfaction; he was more awake now, and his grey eyes were shining in an appreciative way that made the pit of Harry's stomach flutter not unpleasantly. "You know," he drawled, leaning back on his elbows, "my bed's rather cold."
"I suspect it'd be warmer if you had a heart."
"True," said Draco, not missing a beat, "but if you got your skinny arse over here we might be able to remedy the situation."
Harry laughed in spite of himself, and swung his feet to the floor, narrowly missing knocking his teacup over. "Was that an attempt to seduce me?"
"Are you so stupid you have to ask?"
"I hate you," muttered Harry, "Shove over."
"Ooh, Potter! I'm weak in the knees."
"Must be because you spend too much time on them."
"As if you're complaining."
"And my arse isn't skinny."
"I've seen fleshier toothpicks!"
"Fucker," growled Harry, but as Draco was regarding Harry's lower lip with a great deal of heated interest, there wasn't nearly as much venom in the insult as he'd intended.
"Look," sighed Draco, "are you going to kiss me, or what? Because I could snark all day, but I've got a problem here that I could just as easily take care of in the loo before I go down to breakfast."
"But you're not going to," Harry murmured, tracing the shell of Draco's ear with his tongue, "because it's eggs this morning, and I've eaten rubber that tastes better."
"Guess you're out of luck tomorrow, then," Draco said, unbuttoning Harry's pyjama top. "It's waffles tomorrow, and I never miss those."
"Better get a shag in now, hadn't I?"
"You're slow, but you come 'round in the end."
"Git," said Harry.
*
But later, when he had a bite mark on his shoulder, and Draco was dozing again, and the fragile May sunshine was bathing them both, Harry felt something else fluttering in his stomach that might have been thankfulness, might have been hope, and knew that whatever came, he wouldn't be fighting it alone.
Unless it was Waffles Wednesday.