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For the H/D Writing Support Drabble Day: not a drabble. - Wemyss's Appalling Hobby:
From the Party Guilty of Committing 'Gate of Ivory, Gate of Horn'
wemyss
wemyss
For the H/D Writing Support Drabble Day: not a drabble.
That palace of the soul serene
 
From prompts 4 and 8
 
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Contains references to DLM – not, not Malfoy: Messrs Hannon and Walsh, The Duckworth Lewis Method.
 
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It is a blessedly lazy September Friday. Rains as lazily come and go, driftingly, at home as at Cardiff. Like every Englishman who can manage it, they are shed of all responsibilities and rapt in the supernal cadences of TMS, the divine comedy of cricket. Aggers, Blowers, CMJ, Vaughan; the ghosts of Bearders and Johnners and John Arlott: these are the incantatory sounds of that deepest of enchantments.
 
They are wrapped in one another as well, two Englishmen – two Wizards – who look younger than their years, as Wizards will: comfortable in one another, comfortable upon their well-used bed in the London flat-cum-bolthole, in soft, comforting cotton that underlines, as all their comforts within, the wet and drear without.
 
Finny and Brez, after a vexing delay when rain stopped play…. Samit Patel muffs a doddle of a catch.
 
Harry shifts uneasily, and Draco, calm, serene, throws a comforting leg over Harry’s suddenly tensed legs, as Harry strains in spirit to follow in the field….
 
Now Dernbach – and bloody leg byes. The appeal is denied; India are 49 for no wicket. Harry exhales in a bootless attempt to dispel a sudden tension.
 
Draco is serene, calm as Sunday before Mattins.
 
Dernbach bowls to Rahane – it’s caught by Finn. 52 for 1. Danger lurks: Dravid comes in.
 
It is peaceful in their cosy world, moated by rain and grey skies, a world for two – but for the wireless.
 
Swanny! Patel’s gone; 57 for 2.
 
Now Dravid and Kohli are hitting Swanny and Dernbach all around the wicket.
 
Harry can feel his muscles – and his gut – tightening. Draco is calm and comforting at his side: a fact as surreal as Mrs T’s quoting St Francis on the steps of Number 10.
 
The bloody wet and the bloody pitch. Dravid’s tweaked something. Absurd scheduling, unfair to both sides….
 
Harry fumes. Draco gentles him.
 
Young Bairstow, Bluey’s son and a credit to his father, is the debutant today – and he slips, and he slides, and the fielding conditions are simply intolerable.
 
Harry has half a mind to hex the ECB. Things were much better when the MCC ran things, damn it all.
 
India are 133 for two, and now Swanny falls victim to the poor conditions. A twisted ankle in the fall….
 
Harry mutters, even as Draco soothes him wordlessly with a touch. Did bloody Voldemort hex the captaincy of the Twenty 20?
 
No Jimmy, no Broady – and Harry, looking over at Draco, thinks how much he enjoys seeing Broady play, for obvious reasons – and now Swanny out of it: will England ever take a wicket? India are 152 for two, and fifty of that belongs to Virat Kohli.
 
Draco smiles languorously at his nervy Harry, and Summons tea.
 
Thirty-six overs, and Dravid has his well-earnt half-ton. One cannot repine: it’s a proper send-off for one of the greats. But India are now 180 for two….
 
Draco considers, with a quiet, private smile. Perhaps Earl Grey instead of Assam, then: Harry’s Gryffindor fire and impatience wants soothing, not inflammation.
 
Another dropped chance, and what in buggery are England playing at, Harry’d quite like to know….
 
That’s 200 to chase now…
 
A ton for Kohli….
 
Swanny’s back, and he clean-bowls Dravid! The Wall is down – but India are on 229 for three.
 
Harry’s heart is in his mouth: Finny not getting the ruling, Belly make a meal of a chance – but Draco’s hand is warm and solid on his back, and he relaxes.
 
And now Kohli gets himself out, hit wicket. 235 for six.
 
Harry is tense all over: the batting powerplay is on. Draco is Mason-on-the-Boundary.
 
And Raina blasts a six off Brez. Bugger bugger bugger….
 
Draco’s hand makes slow, soothing circles upon the hollow of Harry’s back.
 
Oh God and they may manage 300 yet…. Wait, no, wicket, Finny’s bowled Raina!
 
Draco’s comforting hand is slowly slipping lower, to Harry’s denimed and delectable arse.
 
Forty-nine overs … Jadeja buggers it and another wicket falls … fiftieth over – and Samit Patel spills another catch bugger bugger bugger –
 
Harry is muttering about Mike Gatting and cheese rolls. Draco beams calmness at him.
 
India are 304 for six, and it’s the interval … and God, no, not now … rain stops play.
 
Harry is one jangled nerve, for all Draco’s soothing. He hates maths, despises Arithmancy, yet cannot help but cast and recast Duckworth-Lewis calculations, feverishly, as TMS witter on as the rain streams down upon Cardiff.
 
Draco, wisely, Summons more tea.
 
England need 270 from forty overs, now. An impossible run rate wanted.
 
And Kieswetter’s gone, lbw, on twenty-one in four overs. Bugger bugger damn and blast….
 
Draco nestles into Harry, warming and soothing him, blessedly imperturbable in quiet, loving calm, a state no Malfoy before him has ever displayed and which he reserves as much as he may for quiet, lazy, rainy evenings, and they, two alone, a world sufficient unto themselves.
 
The India bowling powerplay, and Trott, blessed imperturbable Trott, gets his first six in an ODI … yet the chase remains hot, and England are but 52 for one – and now the buggering rain stops play.
 
Harry’s lips are moving as he recalculates Duckworth-Lewis. Draco, who does Arithmancy in his head for fun, smiles lovingly at his hot-headed, hearts-afire love.
 
It’s bloody 8.40, and England now want 188 from twenty-five overs, with a run rate of 7.57.
 
Trott’s caught at mid-off – no he isn’t, it was a no-ball – 65 for one and a soft rain….
 
Harry is a coiled spring. Draco uncoils him.
 
Munaf Patel’s down, injured, and even England supporters are cursing the ground and the wet and the bloody sponsor’s logo. This is appalling.
 
Cooky gets his fifty – Cooky is bowled. England are 106 for two, and a stern chase in prospect.
 
Twenty overs, it’s a match, England on 116 for two and the run rate rising….
 
Twenty-one overs, and England take twenty-one from it – another Trot six and two sixes from Bell, and Jadeja looks gutted….
 
The teasing chance of victory as much as the death’s-head visage of defeat is enough to knot Harry in tangles. Patiently and sweetly, with gentle touches and gracious silence, Draco untangles him.
 
Trott reaches his fifty, and then hits Singh for four. Twenty-three overs and England want 88 from sixty-six balls.
 
Twenty-four overs, the partnership is at fifty now – and Bell’s out. Bugger bugger bugger.
 
England need 77 from fifty-four … Jadeja’s back in – Trott’s bowled, out for sixty-three, oh bugger it….
 
Partnerships matter. Draco’s soothing hands know this, and know their work well.
 
Twenty-six overs, England on 168 for four, and young Jonny Bairstow, his father’s hand ghostly upon his soldier, strides confidently, bravely, out.
 
Harry can hardly bear to listen. He can’t not listen. Draco’s hand is a comforting, warm weight upon his back.
 
And a six, massive, from Bluey’s lad, and he’s dug in, his career opening before him, a four, two, and a single, eighteen from nine balls, and now the England batting powerplay in perfect time … a boundary from Ravi and a six out of the ground and into Afon Taf from the young Yorkshire debutant … thirty overs and Ravi is supporting Bairstow manfully … England want 26 from twenty-four balls….
 
Draco’s support is solid and warm against Harry’s heaving, excited side.
 
A third six from Bairstow … a four from Bopara … 238 for four … brilliant running, two to Ravi, two to Jonny B – and Ravi’s single does it, the baton is passed as Rahul Dravid shakes hands with Jonny Bairstow, and England have whitewashed India in all three forms of the game….
 
Harry exhales, and melts into Draco’s calm comfort. This serenity is too precious to question, however curious it be.
 
Aggers is burbling; Cooky and Bairstow are being becomingly modest; already the strains of ‘Soul Limbo’ are rising as MS Dhoni speaks sportingly to TMS; and Draco’s rare and wondrous calm envelops a Harry shaking a little with reaction, as if he’d been an Auror newly returned from the field.
 
Suddenly Draco’s calm is gone. His back stiffens. Every sinew is stretched, and fury and detestation is in every newly sharp line of his body. Harry struggles from his relaxed near-somnolence to wonder why. Ah: yes. Geoffrey Boycott, all but taking credit for Jonny Bairstow, and doing his Greatest Living Yorkshireman turn.
 
Tea alone, Harry realises, won’t suffice to restore Draco’s serenity now. Wandlessly and wordlessly, he sets about supplying what will, as he Summons the lubricant and vanishes their Muggle jeans and their pants, and gazes with fond avidity upon Draco’s pertly perfect bum.
 
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FINITE
 
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15 comments or Leave a comment
Comments
absynthedrinker From: absynthedrinker Date: September 17th, 2011 05:31 pm (UTC) (Link)
Well done! Well done! Well done!

Peace,
Bubba
wemyss From: wemyss Date: September 17th, 2011 06:09 pm (UTC) (Link)

Thank you.

You gorgeous man.
absynthedrinker From: absynthedrinker Date: September 17th, 2011 06:38 pm (UTC) (Link)

Re: Thank you.

I think well-groomed probably better describes me.

Peace,
Bubba
germankitty From: germankitty Date: September 17th, 2011 07:30 pm (UTC) (Link)

No use pretending

... I understood even half of this, but I love the idea of a supportive Draco. :) Nicely done!
wemyss From: wemyss Date: September 18th, 2011 06:00 am (UTC) (Link)

Thank you.

I'm obliged.
From: optasia Date: September 17th, 2011 08:29 pm (UTC) (Link)
I didn't understand the cricket but I loved the h/d interaction. :) It's easy to imagine them doing just that.
wemyss From: wemyss Date: September 18th, 2011 02:37 pm (UTC) (Link)

Thank you, immeasurably.

I'm glad it pleased.
blueboyfey From: blueboyfey Date: September 17th, 2011 11:19 pm (UTC) (Link)
Heh, I don't even like cricket (understatement..forced mingling with cricket and cricket players whilst living in India for a bit did me in on that count, sorry), but I much enjoyed this with its small back and forth and one big one! Thank you!
wemyss From: wemyss Date: September 18th, 2011 06:00 am (UTC) (Link)

How kind.

Thank you.
femmequixotic From: femmequixotic Date: September 18th, 2011 05:16 am (UTC) (Link)
It is probably sad that my initial response to this lovely bit of writing is...FINNY. \0/ \0/ \0/

Well, that and now I want to listen to TMS as I fall asleep. Although Boycs might give me nightmares...

Lovely, lovely, lovely as always, dear. :)
wemyss From: wemyss Date: September 18th, 2011 06:01 am (UTC) (Link)

Oh, my dearest one.

You're late abroad in yr time zone. Rest now.

And thank you.
absynthedrinker From: absynthedrinker Date: September 18th, 2011 07:24 am (UTC) (Link)
Nice touch, the Waller quote BTW.

Peace,
Bubba
wemyss From: wemyss Date: September 18th, 2011 02:38 pm (UTC) (Link)

I'm sneaky.

You're clever.
sgt_majorette From: sgt_majorette Date: September 19th, 2011 03:10 pm (UTC) (Link)
I have to learn something about cricket...
wemyss From: wemyss Date: September 21st, 2011 02:11 pm (UTC) (Link)

Sir Viv agrees.

It's worth the effort.
15 comments or Leave a comment