apr1cots
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just a girl, chronically exhausted
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pt 2
harry opened his eyes as an achingly familiar hand attached itself to his thigh. other hand gripping the wheel in practically sinful nonchalance, draco smiled easily at him.
“almost there, darling.”
harry opened his mouth to respond, but just nodded. almost there indeed.
when they arrived, the stars were twinkling and draco left harry to carry their bags as he entered the lobby to check in. harry paused, leaning against the car to stare at the constellations, a mix of emotions swirling in his stomach.
draco had already collapsed on their bed when harry entered their room, his arms flung dramatically at his sides, taking up far too much space. “i’m dreadfully exhausted, i must say.”
again, harry responded with a nod, unsure of how to voice the sinking sadness weighing him down.
when he got next to no response to his purposefully inflammatory monologue about the incompetency of the classic muggle check in, “i shouldn’t have to encounter a soul at this hour and in such an undignified place, it’s inhumane, i tell you,” he realized he’d have to address the issue.
“harry, do tell me what is wrong. you mustn’t pout like this. you’ll develop wrinkles, you will.”
harry looked up from his crouched position looking through his bag on the floor, his arms leaning heavily on his thighs. and he decided then that although draco had a penchant for dramatics, he didn’t have a monopoly, so harry apparated directly onto the beach.
they’d been to this hotel a handful of times and harry knew draco would easily be able to find him, so when twenty minutes passed with only the company of the waves, harry’s heart felt like it had been pulled out to sea and down, down, down to the depths of the ocean.
but then, draco was there. at his side. and just like all the times before, harry’s anger faded when he saw that perfect white blond hair and the soft, probing look in draco’s eyes that was rare but dripping with meaning that harry couldn’t quite put his finger on.
before he could ask, harry replied. “it’s the last weekend of summer ‘sall.”
draco nodded thoughtfully for a second, then mirrored harry’s position, chin resting on folded up knees, watching the water flirt with the sand.
“and we said it’d end there.”
harry made a noise in the back of his throat, but was unwilling to comment just yet.
“it would be too complicated, we both agreed, harry.”
“no, actually draco, you said it would be too complicated. you said it was just for the summer. you said i couldn’t talk about it with my sodding best friends. and then you didn’t even give me a chance to say anything back.”
draco seemed to take a moment to collect himself. “i was just trying to be logical, you know. you’ve got to admit, we don’t make sense. i’m a death eater. marked for life. i’ve done awful things to you. i’ve goaded you for years about your dead family and your stupid scar and your halfwit brain, you loaf.” his voice softened there at the end, endearing in his rejection as only draco could.
“why are you so preoccupied with the past?”
“why are you so insistent on deciding the future before it even happens?”
“it’s not idiotic, draco. planning for the future isn’t the same as pretending that everyone around you refuses to love you because of your mistakes. planning to be with the person you’re in love with because they’re important enough to you that you actually want to center your entire miserable fucking existence around their happiness isn’t as crazy or rare or whatever the fuck else you think. normal people make decisions with the goddamn love of their life”
the words spilled out of him much too quickly and unedited and he felt his entire stomach sink to the bottom of the ocean. draco looked at him frozen and stunned and harry knew things would never ever be the same. fuck. fuck.
cruel summer
the cracks in the weathered leather of the passenger seat of the dark green tr6 caught on harry’s trousers as he shifted in the warmth of the dying embers of the sun’s valiant effort at an indian summer, so rare in his corner of the world. trees flew past his peripheral vision, blurred as he focused on the road ahead.
the song changed, crackling from the dusty speakers.
a knot formed where his heart was supposed to be as recognition trickled through his veins.
devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes
what doesn’t kill me makes me want you more
harry closed his eyes, dropping his head backwards, face exposed to the heavens, hair caught in the wind.
moments, almost too surreal to remember swirled in his consciousness catching and dropping his attention rapidly enough to make him a bit sick.
and it’s new, the shape of your body
it’s blue, the feeling I’ve got
the first time they had kissed, a stony corridor at a ministry event. desperate and frenzied, but so quickly turning heart-throbbingly real and soft in a way that made a sliver of hope glow golden at the base of harry’s throat, the sinking shock not enough to make him loosen his grip on draco’s lapel.
hang your head low
in the glow of the vending machine
i’m not dying
you say that we’ll just screw it up in these trying times
we’re not trying
they’d been at the hospital for hermione and agreed not to tell anyone. it would complicate what was already temporary and messy and dark, dark blue. draco told him that something was better than nothing, better than fighting, better than before. harry worried so badly for his friend his shoulders ached miserably, but his throat felt raw for an entirely different reason, draco leaving him standing alone in the hall. he hated that he couldn’t focus on what was most important. he’d kicked the vending machine, not understanding why he was so upset.
devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes
and if I bleed, you’ll be the last to know
harry sat on his roof, brushing frustrated tears from his cheeks, embarrassed even though no one was there to see. he felt a hollow desperation that reminded him of asking cho to the yule ball and realizing she’d agreed to go with cedric. which didn’t make sense, it wasn’t as though draco were attending a ball with someone else, but it was then harry decided never to fall for someone any deeper than they had fallen for him, because it was sickeningly awful. he knew though, that it was out of his control and that it was altogether too late. all he could do now was hope, despairingly, that draco never found out that he had made harry cry.
it’s cool, that’s what I tell ‘em
no rules in breakable heaven
a thrill shot through harry whenever draco smiled at him like that, brilliant and private. draco slouched perfectly, his arm draped over the back of the sofa with all of his effortless, effulgent elegance and grace, positioned perfectly so that his hand caught in harry’s hair where it met his neck. draco never smiled like that at their other friends, harry swore it. but it didn’t matter, for draco had labeled them as lawless and harry didn’t really know what that meant.
said I’m fine, but it wasn’t true
i don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you
hermione knew. he was sure of it, but he hadn’t told anyone at draco’s request. harry sat with his head on her shoulder and she used great restraint not to say anything. earlier, she’d told him she loved him as they drank their tea, sitting across from one another as she worried over a nonexistent mess and looked at him sadly and he’d nodded feeling tame and small.
and I snuck in through the garden gate
every night that summer just to seal my fate
draco laughed breathlessly, throwing a look at harry over his shoulder as they ran through the gardens. they were in a public park somewhere in muggle london long after hours. they were being chased by an authority figure of some sort, perhaps security. another adventure. draco loved adventures, to be going somewhere or doing something all the time. it made harry a bit dizzy, but he could hardly resist draco’s rousing speeches and wandering hands. it usually ended in chips with extra vinegar and a walk by the river, draco’s sitting room and stories about his summer in paris with pansy, or, if draco was feeling particularly tender, hot chocolate and blankets under the stars. it was one of those nights. they’d had a rather close call and had apparated away in the nick of time. now, draco whispered the stories of the constellations far, far above them, almost as if he was afraid they would overhear. he caught harry watching him instead of following his gaze up, up, up to a star harry couldn’t even remember the name of and chastised him, calling him harold in the silly, pouty way he sometimes did. and harry almost said it, he did, but draco knew what was coming and harry stopped himself when he saw the tight line draco’s mouth had become.
and I screamed for whatever it’s worth
“i love you,” ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?
harry, back on his roof, wishing he had never found out what it felt like to be in love.
x
for the @drarrymicrofic prompt better than fighting.
i was on a run the other day and cruel summer came on and i immediately thought of harry and draco and simply couldn’t get it out of my head. in my heart this maybe resolves happy one day.
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change
The time ticked on so slowly, or maybe it was so quickly, that he felt he could see the vines lengthening with his naked eye, the ivy swallowing more and more of the ancient stone. Everything that mattered was disappearing, his home last of all. He wanted to care. He wanted to want to reach out and grasp the leaves in his hands, rip them away, tearing the skin at the tips of his fingers until scarlet drops of blood trickled warm down his palms, forbidding the stark and poignant erasure of his history. Maybe then he would feel.
Thunder cracked, rain poured, he didn’t move, and days passed. Time was an illusion as the Manor was knitted into nothingness. Maybe someday, someone would find him here, withered away into a heap of remains next to his ruined house. Maybe that person would gasp or scream, or finally feel something in Draco’s place.
In the end, it wasn’t as poetic as he had imagined. Harry Potter found him. He didn’t gasp or scream, or even raise his voice. He gripped Draco’s shoulder in his hand and hauled him to his feet. He looked him over warily and mumbled a few things under his breath before apparating them away.
Warmth touched Draco’s skin for the first time in a long time. Eventually, it soaked into his bones for the first time since ink had tainted his forearm and his days had turned grey. Somehow, they became used to each other and half-hearted plans to leave were replaced with vague hope for a future, lit almost exclusively by the curve to Harry’s lips when Draco entered a room.
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Day 41
Surprise! Draco Malfoy eternally hot bad boy. IGAF
If this inspires a drabble go ahead, just remember to tag me <3
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I keep dreaming that there's somewhere where we grow old together
soft drarry for @rockingrobin69 always
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it’s good to be king
The mirror was cracked. Broken. Slashed from one corner to its opposite. From where Draco sat, it cut his face in two. The charm still worked, and he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t the sole reason for his visit. His solemn trek from the small garden shed that was supposed to be temporary, but had been his only lodging for much longer than he cared to admit, was always silent and pitiful.
The magic of the Manor was broken: beyond repair, he feared. He couldn’t bring himself to attempt reparations.The shredded tapestries, cracked walls, and deserted portraits reminded him of that in which he’d taken part. Somewhere, deep inside, relief flared almost like hope at the attestation that he could still feel something, even if it was guilt that sizzled in his blood, and loneliness that pulled his bones apart.
When he reached his childhood bedroom, the now dulled greens and silvers that had once been so comforting whispered their welcome and tempted him never to leave again. To Draco’s credit, the thought made him sick.
He sat in front of the mirror. It had once been so full of joy. He remembered vividly the day it had cracked. He’d escaped to his room, panicked and desperate and scared. He’d stared in the mirror, seeing his reflection there as it always was. Pleasant, rich, royal, crowned. The mirror was charmed to show him as a Prince. As above the rest. No matter how he looked in reality, there in the mirror he was everything his selfish child-self had dreamed. Swathed in silks and velvets, perfectly rested and beautiful. Otherworldly in a way.
That day, the day he’d been marked, he’d stared in the mirror and seen that perfect, unmarred Draco. Smooth skin, not a flaw. But the image had come to represent something he hated. He’d flung a curse at the perfect glass, surrounded in silver and crystal, desperate to see the truth. To see the dark shadows under his eyes and the death permanently branded on his arm.
It hadn’t worked. Prince Draco had stared back, almost smiling. Broken Draco had cried, sobbed, but couldn’t see his own tears.
Now, Draco sat in front of the mirror once again. Once again, relishing in his imaginary reign. Older now, his crown was larger, his robes more intricate.
It was good to be king.
Draco never knew how long he spent in front of the mirror, but was loath to admit that no matter how early he arrived, by the time he escaped the Manor, his cloak was the stars.
He returned to his shed, ate his plain crackers and expiring cheese and laid in his simple bed, willing sleep to take him. He imagined his mirror image, retreating to a banquet of fine foods, courses of delicacies, surrounded by a fawning mass.
When Draco woke, time eluded him. Dark clouds dampened the light filtering in and his bones ached. He yearned, but he didn’t know what for. It was exhausting to sleep and exhausting to be awake.
wip mondeeeee????
im trying to write again for the sake of my soul or perhaps the destruction of it and i thought what a fun place to start but in your own WIPs and then i read them all and idk where the h e double hockey sticks i was going w it but maybe if i post it ill be inspired to pick it up in some sort of direction, correct or not. i dont even remember how harry played into this all, but he’s there in this world somewhere waiting to whisper to me where he lives.
#work in progress#drarry#drarry fic#draco malfoy#desperate for redemption#sad sad sad draco#actually now that i think about it i might remember where he meets harry but to be honest i cant remember what i ate for lunch yesterday so#who knows#i moved to england and maybe that will magically inspire me to be a writer again#right? right#also yes this is tom petty inspired#but only will be accepting the ten minute live version of this song#it's magical#i mean not like#harry potter magical#but magical in its own right#i mean who am i to say maybe tom was a wizard#anyways
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printable coloring sheet drarry
Print! Color! Enjoy!
(and then post it and tag me because I’m a glutton for attention)
Keep reading
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i had a feeling so peculiar this pain wouldn't be for evermore
based on "evermore" by Taylor Swift because I couldn't think of another idea lol. for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: peculiar. cw: angst and mental illness/depression; hopeful ending
Draco couldn't cry, so he let the sky do it for him. He shivered, soaking it up like the grass crushed under the shirt clinging to him like a second skin. He closed his eyes, imagining that the drops sliding down his face were the tears he couldn't muster, the catharsis he hadn't earned.
He spread out his arms and legs, weaving his fingers through the blades of grass. He wondered if he, too, could sink into the earth and intertwine himself with the roots; perhaps they, fibrous and thin yet enduring, could wrap around his veins and grow to his heart to raise the weight from his chest.
He filled his lungs with air, less for function and more to remember that he could lighten his body, even if for a moment. He wondered if he could take a breath too deep for gravity's hold; would he barely hover above the ground, blades of grass tickling his skin? Or would he float up up up up until he met the rain at the source?
Suddenly, startled at the abrupt sound of chattering students exiting classrooms, he exhaled, deflating himself. The raindrops were heavy against his eyelids as he opened them to cast a Tempus. He set a timer on his wand for seven minutes, planning to use the last three to dry off and head to his last class of the day. But for now, he could drift a little longer.
It must've only been two minutes when he felt magic wrap around his body, drying and warming his skin at once. His eyes snapped open and he sat up in surprise, looking around until he saw Harry a few feet away.
Draco tried to find indignation or annoyance, but there was none. Instead, he found something unnamable, yet vaguely familiar.
"Hey, what're you doing out here? You'll get sick," Harry held out a hand. "Walk with me to class?"
Draco let himself be pulled up and canceled the alarm on his wand. As they walked, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Potter entwined their fingers, anchoring him to the ground.
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inspired by Almost but not quite by @pineau-noir
dear leah, this piece is a gift to you from @ladderofyears! i've always admired how kind your stories are to their characters. inspired by this amazing instance of time travel, i wanted to gift draco another glimpse into his good future with harry 💗
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fervor
Passion promised again and again and early days filled with fervor, fingers slipping under his waistcoat, the faces twirling around them fading away; midnights, his name gasped in reverent delight, followed by inked fingers tracing his learning heart, promising “cherished,” all discarded now, in favor of one not considered villain.
a 50-word run-on sentence for the fervor prompt @drarrymicrofic kiss kiss
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- Midnight Visitor -
I finally finished giving this piece some extra love. This is a unique little illustration of mine because I didn’t use any references, it all just came from my head. I’m rather proud of that.
Print Available / Ko-Fi
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library
Watching those fingers slot the spine snugly between the others unknit something wound tightly in Harry’s chest. He couldn’t resist chasing the phantom touch, taking the book down and away without reading the cover. The pull of the dark-wooded room filled with words and gentle, flickering beams of light, irresistible—for only one occupant. Harry took the boy’s unspoken recommendations, following those long, messy, paint-flecked fingers around the stacks, Sunday after Sunday, waiting for the courage to interrupt.
library prompt eek @drarrymicrofic
based on the song “bookstore girl” by charlie burg (ily discover weekly)
#drarry microfic#library#drarry#harry potter#draco malfoy#sweet boy with a crush#not me writing smth for the first time since..... november???#like five months later it's fine
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“Is there a name you’d like me to call you?”
“Um, yes, it’s… Harry.”
“Well, Harry, I think I ought to be honest and tell you that… I’m just like you. I’m transgender too.”
“…You are?”
“Indeed. And I’m telling you this because I wanted you to know that you are not alone. Never alone. And your parents, Harry, they… they would’ve loved you and supported you unconditionally. Just like they supported me. Never forget that there will always be people that accept us in our most truest.”
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After seeing all the posts about Harry showing up with a Slytherin tie because of secret dating I thought up the silliest version possible.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
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Draco hairstyle meme (part 6 - bangs)
Imagine an AU where things were different, where Draco was closer to Sirius growing up, looked up to his cousin, realised early on he's just as gay as Sirius. After the war, he starts wearing leather jackets, listening to classic rock, becomes a different man than we know him. And when Harry meets him after a few years, everything about Draco screams trouble.
Previous pics:
1 - ponytail
2 - bun
3 - normal
4 - straight
5 - braids
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“Keep up, sweetheart. At the rate you fly on that old thing you’ll never catch the snitch.”
@hdcandyheartsfest Day 1: “sweetheart”
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@hdcandyheartsfest Day 2: “first date”
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