#so yeah if anything in this doesn't track go ahead and chalk it up to the fact that while my knowledge of catholic scripture is vast

[artfulacrostic]

okay i know we're past ddba 1x08 now and i still haven't finished articulating the meta i have for 1x04 but LISTEN im unable to suppress my Thoughts about the titles of all these episodes. veryyyy interesting choices imo! this is about to be a LONG ASS POST so warning you here and now.

okay so in this post i wanna talk about episodes 1 and 3, which both feature titles based on what are commonly perceived as old irish blessings. for ep 1 we have "may you be in heaven a full half-hour before the devil knows you're dead" = heaven's half hour, and for ep 3 we have "may God hold you in the hollow of His hand" = the hollow of his hand. now the actual origin of both of these is usually attributed to being "irish blessings", but there is some amount of disagreement about the precise origins, and how authentic or inauthentic they actually are. also is it just me or are the writers for ddba obsessed with the idea of references to irish culture and/or matt's relation/lack of relation to it?? ep. 5, lol....

anyway, the phrase that inspired the title for ep 1 is, as best as i can find, possibly the last line of an irish drinking toast, but i couldn't find nearly as much online discussion of it and what i did find seemed unsubstantiated. therefore, i'm gonna leave that one as a more nebulous nod to general circumstances of the episode (literal drinking toast to cherry, with foreshadowing to foggy's impending demise) with just a sprinkle of matt's distant ancestry for fun.

ep 3's title, meanwhile, has a LOT more interesting background! the way that heather does the title drop ("may God hold them in the hollow of his hand") implies that she's using it in the way that references this "irish blessing" poem/song:

May the road rise up to meet you, May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, The rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

now, this poem has dubiously vague origins, but one thing that is known is that the first line is basically a slight mistranslation of an actual old irish phrase, where people tend to mistake one word that means "be successful" with another word that means "rise". so while the actual meaning is closer to "may your road/journey be successful", the fact remains that the first line does appear to have an origin as a general irish "good luck". the rest of the poem, however, is probablyyyyy not exactly an ancient blessing, but something people came up with to accompany the mistranslation line. several irish people on reddit have called it "yank tosh", which i personally think is hilarious, bc that sounds about right. (i'm a us citizen with irish ancestry that i'm about as connected to as matt is, aka mr. "where's your family from then?" "i'm from hell's kitchen").

in addition, you might have noticed that rather than "the hollow of his hand", the poem actually reads "in the palm of his hand". this is as far as i am aware the more common modern phrasing (and the one i'm familiar with, from the embroidered pillows in my grandmother's house on the irish side of my family—for context i'm about as connected to my irish ancestry as matt is, aka mr. "where's your family from then?" "i'm from hell's kitchen"). however, from searching online it does appear that "hollow" is still used once in a while, just not as often in the context of the poem, especially when it's set to music.

soooooo now we finally get to my argument: despite the title drop via heather which points to the poem, i think the deeper and more accurate reference that the ep 3 title is really making is to isaiah 40:12, which is the origin of the actual God-holding-something-in-the-"hollow"-of-his-hand imagery. check this out:

 12 "Who hath measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, and weighed the heavens with his palm? who hath poised with three fingers the bulk of the earth, and weighed the mountains in scales, and the hills in a balance?"

now that's what i'm TALKING about. your context for isaiah 40—let me be clear, i am speaking from a context of catholic study of this book, since that's what i grew up on and that's presumably how it's relevant to matt our catholic guilt poster-boy—is that post-babylonian exile, isaiah the prophet's message to the people of god is 1) comfort for their pain, 2) reassurance that their sins will be forgiven, 3) hope for the future aka the coming of the lord and how it's imminent and they need to get ready for that, and 4) general glorification of god's awesome power and strength, etc, and that if they have hope in him and persevere everything's gonna be allll good, baby!

unfortunately. the biblical israelites are not so good with the idea of the exile as a just punishment to absolve them of their previous sins, and they express that they feel they have not received the justice they deserve:

  27 "Why sayest thou, O Jacob, and speakest, O Israel: My way is hid from the Lord, and my judgment is passed over from my God?"

and basically the next bunch of chapters in this book is a piece by piece dissection of why they're wrong about this; god is literally putting them "on trial" in order to refute their arguments here, as he says in the first verse of isaiah 41:

1 "Let the islands keep silence before me, and the nations take new strength: let them come near, and then speak, let us come near to judgment together."

so! what does all this biblical circumlocution add up to in relation to episode 3? glad you asked!

if the episode represents the main themes of isaiah 40 and the book in general, then here we go:

a) what is matt guilty of or feel that he's guilty of? aka, what is his sin that is being paralleled with that of the biblical israelites? well, most recently we have attempted murder, the death of foggy due to association with him, the death of other people (father lantom, etc) due to association with him, and probably other less grave but still bad things like chronic severe and premeditated lying (lol), willfully missing mass (seems like it from how we see him passing by and not going in to the church), etc.

conclusion? i'd say that if the israelites can be forgiven for their sins— 

 2 "her iniquity is forgiven: she hath received of the hand of the Lord double for all her sins..."

—then so can matt, despite everything.

b) in the same vein, what has been causing matt pain? aka, what has been his babylonian exile? i'd say probably the loss of his old life, which, as we heard in ep 7, is still so raw after a year that he feels like his new life is "fake" (ouch).

conclusion? i'd say guess what matt, good news:

1  "Be comforted, be comforted, my people, saith your God..."

...aka don't worry, the pain is coming to an end. one way or another, his babylonian exile is about to be over.

c) what is coming in the near future, and what should matt do to get through it? well, here's the clincher: salvation is coming. get ready.

 4 "Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall become straight, and the rough ways plain."

this could not just be literal "prepare the way jesus is coming but also a metaphorical sort of, "the oppressed will be lifted, the high and mighty (fisk) will fall, the corruption can be cleansed, and the fucking terrible shit hand you have right now could get better". it super hurts that this episode (1x03) feels like a success for those goals for a moment before hector gets murdered and matt and hector's family are all left with nothing but good intentions.

conclusion? catholicism is big on not just faith, but also works, so matt needs to keep going in the face of all this shit and trust that due to both his own efforts and his faith, things will improve. also not to mention,

29 "It is he that giveth strength to the weary, and increaseth force and might to them that are not." so matt my guy hang in there.

d) the hollow of his hand means WHAT EXACTLY, THEN? you are thinking. GET TO IT? well, here we go: heather's toast is a bit bitter for matt to swallow, why? because of this:

 12 "Who hath measured the waters in the hollow of his hand...?  14 With whom hath he consulted, and who hath instructed him, and taught him the path of justice, and taught him knowledge, and shewed him the way of understanding?"

what this boils down to is power: who can do these things? only god. who can god consult with on these things? nobody, because god invented them. god being able to measure all of the waters in the world in the vastness of just one hand provokes an image of awesome power beyond human comphrension. this phrase and much of isaiah 40 in general is a comprehensive reminder of why, in the catholic belief system, god is in charge. not humankind. god knows everything, is everything, and has a Plan that involves holding every creation gently in the palm of that hand, just like the water, measuring the breadth and span of their existence and understanding them down to every atom.

the toast hurts because matt believes god is all-powerful, all-knowing, and yet god's plan didn't involve foggy nelson surviving. god may be holding the court case, foggy, and men who cook in his hand, measuring them and protecting them symbolically, but on earth, it's humans who have to put in the work, because free will is a thing. this is what matt believes. and he believes that he didn't put in the work. he couldn't protect foggy, just like he can't protect hector from being murdered even after doing his best to win his court case. heather might be making a pithy wish for god to appreciate and protect the case, foggy, and a man who cooks, but the man who cooks is still going to be the only one of those things intact by the end of the night.

but he hasn't allowed himself to fully succumb to despair, even in this spiral he's been in for the entire season. he can't, because he has to put in the work. the question is, what is the kind of work he's meant to be doing? what is god's plan for him? so deep down, even though he's in pain, exiled from his old life, a sinner who can't even make it through the doors of church, salvation is coming. he can't make himself extinguish his belief, or stop hoping.

 31 "But they that hope in the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall take wings as eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint."

[gallifrey1sburning]

Hi 👋 a prompt you can take or leave: Draco is very unsure whether he is being flirted with or this is an extension of their office rivalry that he doesn't understand (or the reverse!) Ty!

@skeptiquex and @ihavesomeideawhatimdoinghere, I read both of your prompts back to back, and they worked really well together, so I squished them into one. I hope you enjoy! Thank you both for sending me things, and thanks to @mxmaneater for the fast beta ❤️

—

The Tally

“One more for me!” Harry crowed, scratching a new tally mark next to his name on the chalkboard behind Draco’s head. “Better luck next time, Malfoy.” The board had a partner behind Harry’s desk, and the tallies recorded on one would reflect on the other, but Harry took great joy in invading Draco’s space and rubbing his victories in his face at every opportunity. Not that Draco was any better. It was part of the fun.

“Please, that one hardly counted,” Draco objected reflexively. “You only caught him because you tripped, for Merlin’s sake. Hardly an impressive arrest.” 

Harry shrugged and grinned, perching on the edge of Draco’s desk. “An arrest is an arrest.”

“Whatever,” Draco grumped. He and Harry had been playing this game for over a year now, and the margin was always extremely close. Harry was just barely ahead, at the moment, but Draco would catch up to him soon. He and Parvati had a potions ring bust coming up that Harry and Weasley weren’t involved in. Once that was done, he’d have overtaken him, and the smug expression currently gracing his colleague’s face would disappear along with his lead.

“So, any big weekend plans?” Harry asked, ignoring Draco’s pout.

Draco dropped the expression when it failed to produce the desired reaction. “Nothing too exciting. Yourself?”

“I’ve got tickets for the Puddlemere game on Saturday, actually. Ron was supposed to come, but something came up, so I’m trying to find someone else who might want to go. It would be a shame for the ticket to go to waste.” Harry was biting his lip and looking hopeful, and for just a moment, Draco thought— but no. If he’d wanted to ask, he would have asked, he told himself firmly. 

Taking care to keep his expression light, Draco pondered for a moment before saying. “I think McCutcheon is a Puddlemere fan. Maybe try him?”

“Oh, right.” Draco almost thought that Harry looked disappointed for a moment, but on second glance, his expression was clear and friendly. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll see if he’s free. Have a great weekend, Draco. Parvati.” He knocked his knuckles against the desktop twice before straightening and walking off, hands in pockets. Draco watched him go, sighing as he rounded the corner. It really was a pleasure watching him walk away.

He was brought back to reality by his partner smacking him in the back of the head with a stack of paperwork. “Ow! What the fuck, Patil?”  

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed, looking even more exasperated with him than usual. “Every time he’s over here, you spend the rest of the day mooning, and he finally asks you out, and you say NO?!” 

“I do not moon!” He did moon, and he knew it, but he wasn’t about to say so. He still had his pride. “And he didn’t ask me out, either.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“He didn’t! He just said he had an available ticket! He very clearly had an opening to invite me, if he wanted to, and he very clearly didn’t.” There had been a number of moments like this, in recent months, and Parvati kept insisting that Harry was flirting with Draco. For his part, Draco kept insisting that she mind her own business, because she obviously could not read Harry Potter at all if she thought he was interested in Draco.

“You are an absolute moron.” Parvati shook her head in disbelief, but let it drop.

— 

They made the bust on Tuesday. Monday had been a rush of preparations and contingency planning and final logistics, and the stakeout had lasted all day, but in the end, it had been worth it—they’d brought in six players in one sweep and were confident that at least one of them would give up the rest in exchange for sentencing leniency. Draco had dropped into bed exhausted but elated.

He was still riding high when he sauntered into Harry and Weasley’s office on Wednesday. He leaned ostentatiously over Harry’s desk, stretching almost directly over his perpetually-tousled head to grab a piece of chalk and carefully add six perfectly straight tally marks to his own side of the board, giving him the lead by three. 

“And that’s how you do it,” he gloated as he straightened, smirking smugly down at Harry. “Suck it, Potter.”

Across the office, he heard Weasley groan and mumble something that sounded suspiciously like ‘he wishes’ under his breath. Harry looked a bit pink, but still smirked right back up at Draco, so it was probably just the heat. “Played that one close to the chest, didn’t you? But don’t worry, I’ve got something in the pipeline. I’ll be back on top before you know it.”

In Draco’s peripheral vision, he saw Weasley bang his head against his desk. “I’m getting tea,” he announced, stalking out of the office. Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter, who shrugged. 

Now that he was here, Draco didn’t quite want to leave yet, so he searched for something else to talk about. “How was the game?” he finally asked.

“Huh? Oh, the Quidditch game. Yeah, I didn’t end up going, actually.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, not making eye contact. “Wasn’t really in the mood.” 

Draco wrinkled his brow, not really sure what to make of that, but then Harry asked a question about the potions bust, and Draco forgot about it, instead focusing on a dramatic retelling of his glorious victory.

— 

Harry’s next arrest came after a particularly brutal double homicide. It was all anyone was talking about when he arrived that morning, but, despite Draco’s expectations (and perhaps anticipation), Harry didn’t appear at his desk to brag about it. He was feeling a bit anxious by the time he finally saw him passing by his door in the late afternoon, and the feeling only grew when he did. Harry had bags under his eyes, and his usually confident posture was slumped. He didn’t look as though he had slept. He also didn’t look like he was going to stop.

“Hey,” Draco said, rising from his desk to catch him before he passed by completely. “Haven’t seen you today.” Are you okay?, he didn’t say, but he thought it was probably audible in his tone anyway.

“Oh. Hey, Draco.” Harry looked up at him, seeming a little lost. He looked hollow behind his eyes, and Draco could feel his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Yeah, I’ve been…” he trailed off and glanced past Draco, into his office, to where the chalkboard hung prominently on the back wall. He seemed to curl even further in on himself. “I don’t want to count this one, okay?” he said, finally. “It doesn’t really feel like a victory.”

“Yeah, of course,” Draco said immediately, and he suddenly felt completely helpless. “Can I—” he hesitated, and then put a tentative hand on Harry’s slumped shoulder. “Do you need anything?”

He was half sure that Harry would pull away from his touch, but he didn’t. If anything, he seemed almost to relax into it. “I’m okay,” he said, and it wasn’t convincing, but Draco didn’t want to push it. “Thanks, though.” He reached up and gripped Draco’s hand where it lay on his shoulder, so briefly that his hand was gone before Draco could even fully register it, and then stepped back, continuing on his way.

Draco stood and stared at the chalkboard for a while when he got back to his desk. Then, he picked up his eraser and carefully removed one tally from his own side.

— 

Their next bust, they were on together. A small Neo-Death Eater group that the department had been keeping an eye on, but who hadn’t done much of anything until now, had suddenly decided to make a grand statement by threatening a large-scale attack on Diagon Alley if their (entirely insane) demands weren’t met. Needless to say, the Ministry was not interested in negotiation, and the whole Auror force had been called out en masse. 

Somehow, Harry and Weasley had ended up working in tandem with Draco and Parvati, and now Harry and Draco were back to back in a dead-end alley, dueling a pair that seemed to be the last desperate stragglers, while Parvati watched the street, ready to block anyone who might try to interfere, and Weasley stood to the side, clutching his ribs and sweating but still managing to hold a fairly steady shield charm. There was an unconscious, Incarcerous-ed body on the ground near him; his Stunner’s aim had been true, but the assailant had gotten off one last hex before it hit. He wasn’t in imminent danger—Draco had been hit by the same spell before, and it was extremely painful but didn’t cause any lasting damage once reversed—and although that would be easy enough to do, they didn’t have a wand to spare at the moment.

Harry and Draco worked together like they’d been born to it, and if their respective partnerships hadn’t been working so well for so long, Draco might have considered it a waste that they weren’t paired together. Spells flew around them like fireworks, and they cast and dodged and shielded and attacked without speaking, without pause, until, suddenly, it was over. 

“Ron!” Harry cried as soon as his wand dropped, but Parvati was already by his side, countering the spell, and Ron’s body relaxed almost immediately.

“I’m fine, mate. Great work.” 

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief and then turned to Draco, chest still heaving with exertion. Draco couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face even as he tried to catch his breath. He could feel sweat tracking down his face, his neck, his back, and he was streaked with dirt and—he suspected—blood; but they had won, and no one had died, and he was almost high on the rush of it. “I’m not sure who those count for,” he said, half laughing. “It happened too fast. Did you catch who took them down?”

Harry was grinning now, too, the buzzing energy of their win almost visibly coursing through him. He beamed at Draco, and he looked so fucking beautiful, even though he was just as dirty and dishevled as Draco was, that Draco couldn’t help but glance, just for a second, at those lips that he’d surreptitiously observed for so long as they stretched wide with joy. When he snapped his eyes back up, however, it was clear that Harry had seen, because the smile had morphed into something that Draco couldn’t put a name to, and his eyes were searching Draco’s for something. And then— 

“Fuck it,” he heard Harry say, and then there were hands on either side of his head and he was being—quite thoroughly—kissed, right there in the alley. He melted into it immediately, pulling Harry closer to himself almost instinctively. There was an iron tang of blood as their tongues met, and Draco wasn’t sure whose it was, but he didn’t particularly care. He didn’t care about much of anything, right now, besides Harry’s hands, and Harry’s lips, and the press of Harry’s chest and hips against his own, and whether Harry might want to reenact this moment later but somewhere with a bed and a lot less clothes.

“I TOLD YOU!” Parvati yelled triumphantly in the background.

“Fucking finally.” Ron sounded both amused and exasperated.

Draco ignored them in favor of sliding his hands into Harry’s birdsnest of hair, pulling lightly and making him groan into the kiss. He supposed this one counted as a win for both of them.

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