HP Theorem: Combustion
[There is no 'simple' formula for combustion. 'Combustion or burning is the sequence of exothermic chemical reactions between a fuel and an oxidant accompanied by the production of heat and conversion of chemical species. The release of heat can result in the production of light in the form of either glowing or a flame.' Wikipedia.
Music can be compared to combustion. Emotion is often likened to fire, explosions, flames and heat and light of a multitude of degrees, intensity and meaning. Music is used to express emotion, for the most part.
Thus, this fic is inspired in part by 'Feuer frei! - Rammstein, 'Ring of Fire' - Johnny Cash, 'Fire' - Crazy World of Arthur Brown, 'Scream! Aim! Fire!' - Bullet For My Valentine, 'I Caught Fire(In Your Eyes)' - The Used, and many more.
A crescendo, a slow-burning deflagration, an incendiary device, a hearth.]
Movement 1: allegro appassionato
Regular day. Cuddle, snog, suck and then up – finally, protesting all the way; lav, tea, croissant. Papers. Briefcase. Find things, snog again, last touch, out-the-door.
"See you there. It's Wednesday, so—"
"Yeah. Where's—?"
"Left-hand drawer, wardrobe. Don't forg—"
"I know, I know. Git. I'm not brainless."
"Then how come I'm ready and you're not? I'm not covering for—"
"Wanker."
"Love you, too, sweetums. Ten minutes, no more. Be there, Potter."
"Yes, dear."
"I'll get you a coffee—"
"Yes, please. I'm on it, alright? Five minutes, tops. Really."
"Promise?"
One kiss, two kisses, out-the-door. Finally.
Weekend day. Snog, shag, snog some more, nap, shag again, tea, shag in shower, more tea. Dress and choose brunch venue. Eat, shop, change clothes, apparate to Hyde's Wizarding fields for Auror's League Quidditch practice. Shower again. Drinks, dinner somewhere (Harry's choice, which meant the Gryffindor's choice, usually); practice patience, bite tongue; go home. Or. Go clubbing with whoever was available or catch a show or both. Whatever. They were free and easy. Home again, much later. Bed. Cuddle. Snog. Sleep.
"Then there's that new place Blaise and Pans recommended. The one near Grammercy."
"Cas or snaz?"
"Snaz, probably. Cretin. S'not like you don't have something to wear now—"
"You took all the buttons off my favorite shirt two days ago, remember?"
"You've got more shirts."
"Ugh. Too many."
"Right. Stuff it. Check the hangers on your side. The new ones."
"Ah…brill. Ta. Wait—three of them?"
"Like that shirt."
"Still…don't you think that's a little anal, Draco? Three?"
"Shut it, Harry. I can if I want to. And come here. I'm tired."
"….never going to get out the door at this rate."
"S'alright. Don't want you to."
"Draco!"
"Mmmm."
"May I just remind you I'm starving here? Going to expire soon—"
"Shut up, Harry."
*
Home again. Every night, every morning; start from there, pass 'Go!', collect 200 quid. The elves tidy up, so not much to do there. Work desultorily on Transfigurations monologue due for upcoming publication. Merlin, but Severus could badger with the best of them. Sherry at four on Sundays; Harry's clothes on the floor. Faces in the fire, inviting, asking, arranging. Pans's day, endlessly; Grainger's bitching about monolithic rules and regulations; friendly sniping with Nott about scheduling 'friendly' practices; Weasley wanting to talk to Harry again.
"Got you something."
"Oh? Is it raspberry? Or chocolate?"
"Berk. You'll like it."
"Hum. We'll see."
Paper rustling. It's a small box, a jeweler's box, and it's February, and there go the muscles in his midsection again, tightening up. It would be just like Harry to do it this way—Draco wonders if he'll manage not to cry.
"Like 'em? They're Wizarding Pianegonda; that new spring on-line catalogue you bookmarked."
"…Yes. Yes, Harry, I do."
He wonders if he'll manage not to cry.
"So, um, wear them tonight, okay? For the Ministry thingy."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks, Harry. They're beautiful."
"No skin. I like buying you presents."