A Dark Time For The Light

30

There was a banging on their caravan door a little before lunchtime the next day. Draco disentangled himself from his lover, slid into his jeans and answered the door. Saskia. “We’re going to the Well Dressings today, Draco. Do you and Harry want to come?. They’re very Pagan”. Harry heard this and slipped into his jeans and joined them in the lounge. He perched on the arm of the sofa an arm snaking around his lover’s naked torso, he could smell his lover’s scent rising from him. “Give us half an hour, Saskia. I’d love to see these things. They’re exclusive to Derbyshire, aren’t they?. The girl nodded, “I see your boyfriend is a lot more clued up on Derbyshire’s history than you are, Draco”, to the blond’s obvious bafflement.

Harry leaned in and kissed his lover on the temple. “You need to see this. A wild and old magic. The Christians have tried to usurp it, like so much of our history, but the folk of Derbyshire remember , my Dragon, the old ways, the Magical ways. This is a truly Magical county we are in, Dragon”. Draco nodded, “Okay, we’ll come with you to see these things. Give us a bit of time”.

They washed and dressed. Harry was in a state of high excitement. Draco didn’t quite understand until he was led in front of the first picture. The power of the place hit him full force in the chest,

The picture was a secular theme on the issue of world peace made by a local Brownie and Cub troupe. It was the fact that the picture was composed of flower petals that piqued Draco’s interest.

“It’s how all these are made, Dragon. The people in the town or village set aside a portion of their gardens to grow the flowers for the dressing. Then, when the time comes, whenever the village has elected to do their Dressing, and it can be anytime between early spring and late Autumn, the plants are harvested and the real work begins”.

“Traditionally, the men prepare the boards, puddling the clay, setting the nails that stabilise the whole thing. Then, equally traditionally, the women and kids are locked into the village hall and the picture is produced in one night from thousands of flower petals, bits of cones, etc, to produce elaborate pictures with equally elaborate frames”.

“The following morning, the framed picture is processed from the village hall and erected over a well site or natural spring, a few words are said over it by a Christian holy person. The thing stays up until all the petals and hard work simply dies and cracks, then it’s taken down until next year. There’s no real equivalent ceremony anywhere in the world”.

Draco was astonished, as was Harry as they saw the Bakewell Dressings and proceeded to other villages and small towns in the area to see theirs. In villages where there may be only one magnificent Dressing, Draco muttered, “I can feel the Magic here, can’t you, Harry?”, to see Harry with his head flung back drinking the magic in like a parched desert traveller finding an oasis.

They made it back for about four o’clock. About six-ish. Jacinta tapped on the caravan door. Both boys were dressed and ready. She ran them to Buxton, where they parted with searing kisses. The train swept Harry back into Manchester to catch the London connection. He dreamed of his Dragon all the way home. For his part, Draco remembered every encounter in their caravan. Blushing as he remembered being taken over the kitchen sink. This trailer was going to have a whole lot of memories attached. He sighed and phoned Harry on the train.

He was curled asleep when Marcus arrived back. The dark-haired man tipped his head and observed the younger man. The blond hair falling haphazardly across his forehead, the slight smile, the prominent bite-mark on his neck, the pillow hugged tight against him. He giggled and whispered, “Christ, if I was queer, I’d really go for you”, then went to bed.