Persimmons in Fall
Draco examined the book in his hands with an unsettling curiosity.
It was like the worn hard bind cover with rusted metal tipped corners was desperately trying to attach itself to his clammy skin.
Something in him was oddly afraid of lifting the cover and seeing the pages. As if a key would slip from between the pages unlocking something he knew he wasn’t ready to accept yet.
He turned and gave Harry Potter a veiled glance over at the crimson sofa by the fireplace.
He frowned.
Without a conscious thought, his head snapped towards the window to see if it was snowing. It wasn’t. Why wasn’t it? Why should it? It was October, after all.
A star shot across the sky instead, leaving a glittery wisp behind that vanished in a blink of his unfocused eyes.
…..It had been snowing…..then.…
Then? …..When? ….What…..
“Would you like me to read it to you?” Potter asked, turning away from the window from where he’d come to stand and took a sip from his cup of cocoa.
Draco suddenly craved a cup of cocoa too.
Draco, however, never asked for things from Potter. Why should he? He was imposing as it is despite Potter always telling him that he wasn’t imposing; ‘don’t be ridiculous, it’s your home too, isn’t it?’
Potter gently took the book from his hands and smiled when he looked at the title on its spine. He looked up and Draco, like ever since he had come back from the hospital, tried not to stare too deep into those piercing green eyes. It was difficult not to and he often failed much to his displeasure.
“Find Me” Harry read in a soft voice, letting his thumb stroke the fading title on the cracked spine.
Pott - Harry had a nice voice, Draco had noticed during his time here; deep and smooth during day and low and silky at night.
And something inside him wanted to hear more of it, more of this book which he was scared to open himself but that beckoned him with all its frayed pages and maybe set aside his pride and also ask for that cup of cocoa he so wished to drink while sitting on that plush sofa with crayon scribbling under the warmth of the fireplace with its coral red brick work and the beige rug with soot spots and the cinnamon candles that never ran out and perhaps - perhaps Harry.
Harry……
“Harry."
Draco had no idea why he had just blurted out the other man’s name out of nowhere.
So he quickly added, "I’d like that. The book I mean, if you want that is.”
Harry blinked for a second, his lips parting, then slowly turned to look out of the window with eyes just slightly wide if you looked close enough – which Draco always ended up doing - before facing Draco back again.
And Harry’s face glowed under the soft shimmer of the fireplace as he, all at once, grinned one of his wide, bright grins that made the glasses on the bridge of his nose shift up with his flushed cheeks.
Draco immediately received a cheerful, “of course!” and aah, the hot mug with steaming cocoa, the mug that had a crooked creature printed on it which looked a mix between a dragon and a peacock. It was somewhat creepy but Draco was getting used to it.
Now, all he had to do was wait for the snow.
“To me it proves that life and time are not in sync…..” Harry began to read from a dog-eared page and yeah, Draco could definitely wait.