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Prompt #673 (by crystalchristmas)

Dudley appears on Harry’s doorstep with a very anxious expression, one hand holding his 9-years-old daughter’s hand, the other holding a very familiar letter. He was ready to do anything Harry could demand in order to have some guidance with this… situation. But he definitely wasn’t ready to be received by a blond man, shirt opened and barefoot, asking “Can I help you?” with a frown.

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Saw this on r/LGBT and figured my aspec followers would enjoy.

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#This is amazing wtf?

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mythbusters was so good because it wasn't a killjoy show. they didn't just say "see, it doesn't work" and leave it there

whenever they find that the stunt doesn't work as portrayed in the movie, they immediately ask "what would it take to make this happen?"

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*antis screaming because people like Severus or other characters*

Me, drinking iced juice: my siblings in magic, I ship Albus Dumbledore with a murderous Dark Wizard planning to subjugate the whole muggle society

#Yes

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Does Harry kiss the end of Draco’s perfect nose? If he doesn't then he should.

#I love

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things that bring me joy (a numbered list)

draco's pointy nose

pansy's pointy boobs

that's it, nothing else brings me joy

thanks for coming to my ted talk

No because they bring me so much joy too🥺

MATERIAL GWORL!!!✨💅💋

I let my queer little brain escape me with this one😭

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~ My dear @mendacia-dulcia was inspired by Grindelwald and Dumbledore bloodmark moment so why we can’t fantasies about passionate kiss after that? 

Love their story so much.. and many thanks to Mendacia for such an inspiration! ~

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with Draco Malfoy.

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Home (you are home)

"I have a secret," Harry said with a slurred whisper, a bottle of whiskey in his hand and his pupils dilated when he held his hand, "do you want to hear it?"

Secrets shouldn't be shared when you're not sober but Draco wanted to hear his secrets—sober or not— and he wanted to hold it between them, "Yes."

"Swear not to share it with your best friend?"

It elicited a soft laugh out of him because he had one best friend and he was there with him—it was Harry, "Swear it, will you?"

"Oh, no, I will not swear to it because I have one best friend and it's you and I love to remind you of what you do when you're not sober."

Harry weaved their hands together and raised it to brush a kiss over his knuckles, "I'm 72 percent sober, I'll remember this tomorrow and if you remember this, I want you to swear that you will share your thoughts on this with me, yeah?"

A knot formed in his throat.

"Harry," He spoke, his voice a soft whisper in the night and there was a tremble to his fingers because he couldn't believe this, "what are you—"

"Wait," Harry rested their foreheads together, both their hands held together, "can I do this?"

"Yeah." He had a slight breathlessness to his voice that he couldn't hold back and his swore, he could have run a mile, "yeah, you can."

"Good, cause I've wanted to do this for years."

"Hold hands with me?"

"I'm holding hands with you, this is real and I'm 72 percent sober—I'm sorry." He brought his hands closer to his heart with a soft sob, "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" He couldn't describe what this is, what it did to him but he wanted time to cease and hold on for five more minutes, "Harry?"

"Because—because I wanted to be one hundred percent sober for this, because I've thought of this over and over and now I'm not sober."

He would've inserted a quip here if it wasn't for that weight on his chest, "Will you—will you remember this tomorrow morning or not?"

"I promise you that I will remember this tomorrow morning." He brushed one more kiss over his knuckles and said, "Panda promise."

"Is it a panda promise situation?"

"You remember when I won that panda for you?"

"You didn't want to win the panda though, you wanted to win the pink rabbit beside it that you swore you would win for me—cross your heart, hope to die and all that shit."

"Spoiler alert, I didn't win that pink rabbit and broke the promise and won the panda."

Harry was a literal toddler with his panda (what should've been a pink rabbit) win and promises and he couldn't believe that it was one more reason to love him, "Hence, the panda promise but what does that have to do with your secret?"

"I have a speech and I have a speech—" He sobbed, his voice softly touched with a hint of sadness, "I'm sorry, I'm not sober and I have a speech and I—I can't remember the first line of that speech, Draco."

"Harry," Draco said and raised a hand to brush it through his curls and trailed his fingers down towards his cheek, "it doesn't matter if you don't remember the first line or the last, you don't have to remember it word to word, yeah?"

"But I don't want to screw this up."

"You won't."

"I love you. I love you in a romantic way and not in a friend way," Harry caught his hand and wove their fingers back together, "I have a secret and it's that I—I love you. I love you in the La vie en Rose reminds me of you kind of way, in the you have bewitched me body and soul kind of way, the I love you through all the sunsets and sunrises kind of way—I love you."

"What?" He said and his voice faltered, slightly out of breath because of what Harry had said to him and he couldn't believe it, "I—what?"

"Isn't it—isn't it a lil obvious?" Harry said and his words slurred together once more and he didn't believe Harry would remember what he had said tomorrow, "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you and I—love—you."

"You're drunk."

"Who says?" Harry whispered and rested his head on Draco's shoulder and he wanted to hold him for one night because Harry might not remember this tomorrow but Draco would, "It doesn't matter because I'd be drunk or sober and I'll still love you."

"No, Harry—" Draco held onto their hands that were woven together before he had to retract his hand back because if he held on, he might do it forever, "you don't, you don't have a reason to."

"I have a thousand reasons and I wrote them all in that notebook you sent me — one thousand reasons."

"One thousand reasons?"

"Yeah, I would write more but you might have to send me a new notebook for that."

It elicited a soft sob out of him, "You have a notebook to write one thousand reasons why you love me and I have one piece of parchment with all the reasons why you shouldn't— why you can't."

"What?"

Draco turned his head to the side while tears slide down his cheeks, "Shouldn't we be back home by now, it's 10:47 and we have work tomorrow and—"

Harry was more sober than before when he said that, "No, fuck that, fuck work and home because home is where you are, you are home—now what the fuck are those ten reasons?"

You are home.

Home is where you are.

"I'm home?" Draco whispered, a tremor held in his voice, "this is home to you? I'm home to you?"

"Who would be home if not you, love?"

"I shouldn't be your home."

Harry wove their fingers back together, "Is there an elaboration for that in the ten reasons you have or should I overthink this for a decade or so?"

"I don't deserve you." Draco brushed a kiss over his knuckles and he wanted time to cease for now, he didn't want a tomorrow because that tomorrow won't hold his forever "You're you and I'm—"

Harry held both of Draco's hands between his own, his voice soft when he said, "Home. You're home. Don't you dare believe you're not, don't you dare believe whatever reasons you've written on that parchment because I love you and there will never be a reason not to and I — I panda promise that."

Home, you are home.

Words were beautiful when you heard them from the one you want to and those words can become your own sonnets and this was his.

"But I will believe one reason on that parchment."

"What reason?"

"Hold on," He reached out for the parchment that was folded in his wallet, one beside a photograph of him and Harry together — worn at the edges — but it's beautiful and he wouldn't trade it for the world.

"You have a picture of us in your wallet?" Harry traced his fingers over that picture and his smile was like the light of a thousand moons.

"It's from the photo booth in that amusement park we went to — the one where you won that panda for me instead of the pink rabbit."

"Oh, don't remind me of that pink rabbit."

"Sensitive topic, is it?"

Harry scrunched his nose, "Mhm, now can you show me what reasons you've written in there?"

"Is it—" Draco turned it over in his hand, a slight tremble to his fingers and he couldn't breathe because in his hand, he held a secret that he thought he wouldn't have to share, "No, this isn't real."

He read it to himself first, a small knot in his throat.

Harry said that Draco was his home, that he had a notebook where he had written his reasons why, that La vie en rose reminded him of Draco and that drunk or sober he would still love him all the same.

Oh, this can't be real.

"It's real," Harry whispered in a soft voice and rested a hand on his thigh, "What I said to you is real and you don't have to read this to me if you don't want to but tomorrow, I'll show you the reasons why I love you."

I love you.

He held the parchment between them, "If you remember this tomorrow, show your reasons to me and I'll show you mine."

"Is that a promise?"

Draco trailed the back of his fingers over his cheek and said, "It's a panda promise."

tags (you can ignore if you like, it's for a boost)<3 @inflation-of-mind @missdrarrydawn @sorry-i-ship-drarry @harryandginnydeservesbetter @dearly-devoted-dawdler @textrovert-01 @phoebe-delia @nv-md @slytherinnbitch @jooncookie (it's floof) @rockingrobin69 @silver-de-vonne

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Do you think the Dumbledore we met in HP still loved Gellert?

Yes. And I'm giving this answer without any doubt. I'm turning 29 tomorrow and when I first read DH I was 14. I got it on the first day of publication in english and I read it in 1,5 days, so I didn't have any confirmation that there was really something between them. Rowling's interviews came later. But Albus' emotion during the scene at King's Cross was so palpable to me, despite the distance that time, trauma and loneliness are bound to create from past events. I remember experiencing his bitterness, the way he loathed his naiveté and his self-imposed blinders, but also his deep longing of what could have been.

I don't think Albus was IN love at this point. He was about 100 and it obviously wouldn't be the same in terms of the intense, all-consuming attraction of youth. Nevertheless, that despite any mistakes Gellert made, Albus' feelings DID settle into love and it always mattered to him whether Gellert felt remorse because he never gave up on him completely. When Harry adds to Albus' hope about Gellert trying to redeem himself by stopping Voldemort that it's possible that Gellert was motivated by not wanting Albus' resting place to be desecrated, the tears Albus sheds are very telling. He is affected at the idea of his feelings being returned.

This is how I always read this part and after almost 15 years I don't feel differently. As much as I love young Grindelwald, it was the intense and lasting emotions I perceived in their old age that instantly sold me on the ship.

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Everyone really loved this painting of James Potter on my other socials, so hopefully people will like it on here too :)

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Candela

Thank you for sending this picrew prompt, @softlystarstruck ♥ If you want to read my previous picrew drabbles you can find them here, here, and here. Send me an ask and I’ll write you your own!

Draco doesn’t hear the bell on the shop door jingle over the honey-thick hum of his favorite album spinning on the record player in the corner. The sensual ease and sway of the slide guitar under the bright whine of the trumpets is like the sonic embodiment of the sticky, humid summer heat pressing oppressively against the front windows.

He only realizes that someone’s come in when a wave of hot air, thick with musky, acidic cologne, rolls over him and leaves goosebumps across his skin in its wake. The corner of his mouth turns down in a grimace of its own volition. “With you in a minute,” he trills, not moving his eyes from the delicate mending work in his lap.

He’s answered only by the metallic thunk of a Colt .45 on the counter—a cold, black insult to the pile of imported French silks that now cradle it. He winces internally, hoping it doesn’t leave a stain or snag, though he expects it will as it’s an instrument manufactured solely for destruction.

“Impatient, are we?” He stands, one pale eyebrow cocked imperiously, eyes trained calmly on the gun. This is hardly the first time, and most certainly won't be the last, that someone brings a firearm along with them for a simple fitting or alteration. People wear deadly weapons like accessories in this neighborhood, like a hat or a piece of exceptionally violent jewelry. His hands come to rest on his slender hips, pale fingers bright against the sky-blue fabric of his tunic.

“You know what I’m here for,” intones a soft, deep voice.

Draco’s gaze snaps up to the customer’s face. His clever, green eyes are obscured behind incongruously delicate glasses and the spiral of a thick, dark curl that dangles wantonly over his scarred forehead. Draco is frozen, pinned down under the man’s singular attention.

His breathing grows shallow as scenes from a distant, butter-yellow morning flash through his mind: caramel skin stark against ivory sheets, rough hands gentle on soft skin, heated words whispered closely, laughter and tears and promises.

And from a more recent morning, colorless and confused: cold air sharp between them, tears but no laughter; promises, broken.

You can’t love me, it’s too dangerous. We can’t… I can’t.

His whole body goes cold and it’s like the air has been punched out of his chest. “Of course, sir, the alterations to your suit are complete, I’ll just—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry interrupts, his hand shooting out to clasp Draco’s wrist and stay him. “I know,” Draco snaps, jerking his hand back as though he’s been burned. He clears his throat and presses his eyes together, reaching for the well of patience deep inside of himself that has saved him in situations like this more times than he can count.

“I know,” he says again, more gently. “But as that is all I have to offer you, it will have to be enough.” He turns and parts the heavy velvet curtains that separate the front of the shop from his workroom in the back.

“I miss you,” Harry says. He sounds broken, desperate. Draco feels tears prick his eyes and a sob threatens to tear its way from his chest. He clenches his fingers in the soft fabric, trying to steady himself on shaky knees.

“You don’t. Get to say that to me. Anymore,” he grits out, back still facing Harry.

“I know. I know that Draco, but please let me explain.”

Draco is angry, fuming. “Let you explain what?! How you lied to me?”

“No, Draco that isn’t what happened—"

“Explain how you strung me along for months and then dumped me as soon as I became an inconvenience?!”

He stalks around the counter, breathing hard and eyes wide. Weeks of suppressed pain and rage roil inside of him, threatening to consume him entirely. “I l-loved you, Harry, I fucking loved you!”

Harry raises his hands and backs away, startled, as though caught in the crosshairs of a loaded gun. “Draco, please... I lo—”

“Don’t you dare, don’t you dare say it.” Draco spins away and tangles his fingers in his long platinum hair, pulling it back and away from his face. He feels Harry step up close behind him.

“I left. I’m out. It’s over, Draco.”

“You what?” Draco’s hands fall limply to his side and his hair cascades down his back. He feels Harry take a piece between his thumb and forefinger.

"If it was a choice between avoiding The Family's wrath and having you... Well, it wasn't really a choice at all, was it?"

Draco shakes his head slightly in disbelief; surprise, awe, and something a little bit like hope dousing the flames of his anger. "I always said you had a death wish," he whispers.

“That’s yours, now. Only yours.”

Draco turns his head slightly to see Harry pointing to the gun where it lies like a predator waiting to strike.

“I don’t want it,” Draco breathes.

Harry’s hand slides around Draco’s from behind and he lifts it to his lips. Draco melts into the heat of his chest, no longer able to resist the pull of him.

“I think you do,” Harry murmurs into his ear, and Draco shivers. “You have it, either way. I’ll protect you, keep you safe. You’re mine.”

“And you’re mine,” Draco says as he turns into the sticky, humid summer heat of Harry’s mouth.

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Yeah, so i did this lil fanart of drarry...

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After the article about two gay lines from The Secrets of Dumbledore being censored in China was published online, I keep seeing people who haven’t watched it hating on it.

WB said that the removal of those lines does not change the spirit of the movie, so these people assume that the movie is not gay enough so removing the two lines makes little difference.

The thing is, it’s the either way around. Even if you take out the verbal confirmation, Dumbledore and Grindelwald ‘s scenes cannot be interpreted as platonic. The acting, the way the scenes are filmed and the music do not allow room for misinterpretation.

Maybe some should wait to  actually see what they are talking about instead of slandering the movie just because they think that baselessly hating on things is some form of activism and makes them cool.

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POINT AND LAUGH