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orange-peony · 6 months

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Written for @flufftober with the prompt "fireplace".

A little wolfstar raising Harry, rated T.

“He’s so irritating.”

“Tell me about it,” Sirius says. “He’s my cousin Cissa’s son.”

“And he’s so bloody posh!”

“Language,” Remus chides gently from the kitchen, busy with Christmas preparations.

“The b word is not swearing,” Harry declares with a frown, then softly, to Sirius, “is it, Pads?”

“Nah,” Sirius says, waving his hand in dismissal. “Tell me more about that obnoxious Malfoy kid.”

* ~ *

“And he’s so fucking annoying with his pointy face and his white-blond hair,” Harry says, scratching his arm where another mosquito bite is swelling up.

“Language!” Remus says, even though Sirius can’t even see him. His husband seems to have a special radar for swear words.

“Sorry,” Harry says, looking much less concerned than he probably should. Sirius feels a little guilty because he’s always swearing in front of Harry, but brushes it off as teenagers being teenagers. “And he’s just—so tall and so smart and so…”

“So?” Sirius asks with a frown.

“So irritatingly fit!”

“Wait, what?”

* ~ *

“Do you think they’re going to spend much longer snogging on the train platform?” Sirius asks with a resigned sigh.

Remus chuckles and wraps his arms around Sirius’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Summer is long when you’re seventeen,” Remus says calmly.

“But they’re going to see each other in a couple of days!” Sirius protests. “We’re dragging the brat to France with us on holiday.”

“If I recall correctly,” Remus starts, his voice like a caress on Sirius’s cheek. “The first time we parted for a couple of days, you cried and begged me to come and visit you at James’s house.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sirius replies grumpily.

He thinks a kiss is in order, at least to distract him from his godson being snogged within an inch of his life by a Malfoy.

* ~ *

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sirius groans, covering his face with his hands and making Draco squeal in embarrassment.

He supposes it’s kind of his fault. He should have probably sent his Patronus to Harry before Flooing straight to his kitchen. But Harry is his son. And he’s been living on his own for only a week, so Sirius was worried and wanted to check on him.

He wasn’t expecting to find Draco Malfoy making himself tea in Harry’s kitchen, wearing only Harry’s oversized hoodie and a pair of boxers.

Sirius covers his eyes and makes a disgruntled sound.

“I’m going to go grab my pyjama bottoms,” Draco says. “I’ve made enough tea for an army. Help yourself, Sirius.”

“It’s Mr Black-Lupin for you,” Sirius grumbles.

“Oh, stop being impossible, Pads,” Harry croaks, appearing by the kitchen door wearing just a pair of pants and a collection of love bites. “Morning, love. Thanks for making tea.”

* ~ *

The fireplace roars to life as a green flame appears and Draco’s blond head pokes through.

“May I come in?” he asks, looking extremely nervous.

“Of course,” Remus says, uncrossing his legs and sitting up.

And Sirius should have known. He should have fucking known, because Draco send an official request to speak to him and Remus, written on the fanciest parchment Sirius has ever seen (and he grew up with a bunch of pure bloods). Draco is wearing the most dazzling formal robes, and he has a small, blue box clutched in his shaking hands. He looks like he’s about to be sick. He looks even paler than usual.

“I—I know you have your reservations about me, and rightfully so,” Draco starts, and Sirius is about to say well, of course, you little Harry-thief, but Remus places a hand on his thigh, and Sirius just exhales and listens. “But I love Harry with all my heart. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him, and I promise I will spend the rest of my life trying to make him the happiest man on earth. So, please, I know I’m asking you an awful lot, but…”

“Can we say no?” Sirius asks, but Remus pokes him in the ribs.

“Of course, you can marry Harry,” Remus says with a warm smile, and Draco starts crying straight away, looking at Sirius, waiting for his approval.

Sirius sighs.

He should have seen this coming.

He really should have.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But I reserve the right to tease you both mercilessly and to swear in front of your kids.”

“Deal,” Draco says with the brightest grin.

#my writing #my fics update #flufftober #drarry fic #drarry drabble #wolfstar #drarry #wolfstar raising harry

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starlitsilvereyes · 10 months

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Written for @drarrymicrofic's prompt: Slide | Rating: E | Warnings: Smut | Read on Ao3

Draco’s breath gets knocked out of him as Harry slides in, agonisingly slow, one hand on Draco’s arse cheek to keep him open for him and the other grasping Draco’s hand.

“Too fast?” Harry pants, pressing his forehead against Draco’s shoulder in an attempt to keep himself steady.

Draco only whines, nearly fucking himself on Harry out of pure desperation.

Harry watches himself disappear inside Draco’s body for a moment, relishing the show Draco has decided to perform for him. Until it entirely becomes too much for the both of them, and Harry decides to finally fuck Draco properly, gripping his hips with both of his hands.

Draco turns his head, unconcerned about the odd angle, as Harry leans in and moans into Draco’s open mouth.

Nothing has ever felt more like coming home.

art commissions: open ☕️

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gryfferin-gaybies · 21 days

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Drarry Drabble

"Don't move," Harry whispers in his ear urgently, gripping Draco's hips to prevent him from standing from Harry's lap.

Confused, Draco shifts in Harry's lap to look at him. That's when he feels something hard and familiar brushing the underside of his thigh.

"Fuck," Harry mumbles at the friction. "Just give me a minute."

Draco smirks and turns back to the group, knowing his expression is probably giving himself away but he couldn't care less. He's too busy thinking about the ways he would be giving himself away to Harry behind the closed doors of his bedroom later that evening.

#draco x harry #harry potter #drarry fanfic #drarry #microfic #drabble #drarry drabble #incorrect drarry quotes #drarry microfic #hpdm #first drabble

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lupine-trees · 4 months

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learn me, love me, let me know

[something, something, learning as a love language. dedicated to the mundane bits of falling. a drabble in three parts.]

word count: ~1,550, rating: t

The routine dictates: Thursdays are for new recipes and bad movies.

Draco stood at the stove, hovering over a saucepan. I want to try to make something for the gnocchi, he’d said, like an absolute fool.

He’d gone rogue, recipe-less, and this was what he got for it.

“Something’s not right,” he called to Harry, who was poking at a puzzle spread across the living room coffee table. “Here,” he said, scooping up a spoonful and carrying it over, a careful hand cupped underneath. He lifted the spoon to Harry’s lips.

Harry tasted, nodded, thoughtful, knees tucked under him on the rug. “Salt.”

Draco huffed. “I added salt.”

Harry grinned up at him. “More salt.”

Draco went back to the kitchen, and Harry, with sudden realization, rose and followed behind him.

“Wait— here,” he called, reaching up to the potted plant on the windowsill and plucking a few sprigs of chive, pulling a pinch of parsley. He made quick work of them on the cutting board while Draco stirred at the sauce, sprinkled in more salt.

“Alright.” Harry passed the board to Draco, who slid the herbs into the pan.

“It’s still—”

Harry reached over him to one of the myriad jars on the shelf, poured just a bit of the powder over the mixture.

“Cornstarch,” he said, a smile easy on his lips. “It’ll thicken. Give it a minute.”

And sure enough.

Draco took a spoonful, warm and fragrant, tasted it, and nearly moaned. Cleared his throat.

“So?” Harry said, leaned back against the countertop.

“Delicious, of course. You’re unbelievable.” The annoyance was put-upon, a convenient cover for an inconvenient truth.

“I think you mean, ‘Thanks, Harry, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’”

“I assure you, I do not,” he murmured, small grin sharp, crowding into Harry’s space, pressing him back against the counter, one hand splayed over his hip.

“Go on, try it,” he said, placing the spoon again at Harry’s lips.

Harry did, and he had no such qualms about moaning.

II.

This part was definitely not routine.

Draco’s flat— once Harry was finally permitted to visit— was, somehow, smaller even than Harry’s own, and more bafflingly, he had crammed a piano into it anyway.

“Are you even allowed to have this here? Surely it’s too heavy. There’s gotta be, I dunno, building codes or something.”

Draco gave him a belabored glance. “That’s what magic is for, Potter.” He gave the piano a gentle shove, and it slid. “Featherweight charm.”

“Oh,” Harry answered, carefully pulling the piano back into its place. “Y’know, I always wanted to learn to play one of these.” He plunked a finger down on a key, trailed a few notes.

“Did you?”

“Mhm. They have one at the Burrow, an old upright heirloom. I could play Jingle Bells, but, well. Doesn’t really count, does it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Here.” Draco lifted the bench seat, pulling out sheets of music, settling them on the stand. “Sit, sit.”

Harry sat. Draco slid in beside him. “Put your fingers here,” he said, placing him at rest on the keys.

So, it went like this: The afternoon was long, bleeding into evening, the music clunky. Harry definitely played Jingle Bells upward of twenty times. Draco might’ve taken the opportunity to lean cozily on his shoulder, to place his hands atop Harry’s for teaching purposes.

“Your neighbors are going to hate you,” Harry murmured, softened by the bottle of wine they’d kipped into about an hour in.

Draco laughed. “You’re unbelievable.” He gave a tug at his magic, and the walls lit up with the delicate web of it. “Silencing charms. Wizards. Magic school. Ringing any bells?”

“Oh,” Harry breathed, eyes trailing the soft golds, the cool blues of the trace magic patterned over the wallpaper.

“Play again,” Draco said, bustling him, their shoulders flush.

Harry let out a sound of protest, his cheeks a pleasant, dusky pink. “I can’t. You play.”

“Alright. You pitiful thing.”

And he did, play, and it was lovely.

But anyway, it wasn’t about the music, really, was it?

III.

The routine didn’t really have a say in the weather, but if it did, it would typically be indifferent to rain.

Unfortunately, the tire had gone out on the Corolla, which meant they were left like so: stranded road-side, with the jack and the spare, but a bit tragically, with none of the requisite experience or education necessary to make use of them.

All this and the rain, which had picked up from a steady patter and was dropping buckets rather insistently.

Harry was holding his best umbrella charm— best being the operative description. The raindrops were sneaking through in patches to where Draco’d laid out the spare blanket from the backseat. He was flat on his back, slid under the car, trying to position the jack, to make it lift, to do something.

The ground, though, was hard and cold and wet. The jack slipped again, dropping the car the few inches it had risen, and Draco shrank back, startled, and swore.

He clambered inelegantly from beneath the car, abandoning the rear passenger tire, the nail jammed into it, flat flat flat.

“Alright?” Harry called over the downpour, offering him a hand up.

Draco accepted, then dusted at his dampened trousers. “It’s no good. I’ve got no bloody clue. The cursed thing won’t stay put, and I—” He felt the frustration crawling up his neck, and left the sentence unfinished, tossing his hands in the air.

“We’ll figure it out,” Harry assured.

“Oh, we’ll figure it out. Brilliant. My favorite plan, the kind that doesn’t actually even exist.”

“We can apparate into town, then come back—”

“I’m not leaving the Corolla,” he said, stubbornly, knowing it was stubborn as he said it, unreasonable.

Harry’s voice was raised, shouting over the torrent of the rain, which his spellwork was doing little to deflect. “Draco, I get it, but the car will be fine. We need to—”

“I know the car will be fine,” Draco interrupted, a hiss, “because I’m not leaving it.” He stalked back to the driver’s side door, pulled it open, hard on the hinges. “And your umbrella charm’s shit,” he flung over his shoulder, before climbing inside and slamming the door shut.

The regret was almost immediate, mingling with anxious irritation and the rain drops sliding cold down his spine, plopping from his hair and onto his nose. The rain was louder, too, inside, pinging off the roof and the windshield. Draco fretted at Harry, standing out there still, nudging at the tire, undoubtedly soaked to the bone.

The minutes stretched, and the tension wilted. Draco folded into the steering wheel, knocking his forehead lightly against it. Just as he found the resolve to go back out, to make it right, to try again, the passenger door opened, and Harry dropped into his seat. His curls were plastered to his forehead, and his glasses fogged in the sudden heat of the car.

“Alright,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said. “It’s my fault. The car. This whole ridiculous idea.”

He reached for Harry’s glasses and wiped them clear as he could (rain-damp shirt given) before returning them to the bridge of his nose.

“And I’m sorry. For snapping. It’s not fair.”

Harry reached for his hand. “Thanks. But I like the car. And I like the idea. And I… like you. So.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Stop that, now. Try the car.”

“What?”

“Drive it. Just a few metres. To try something.”

“Alright.”

And the car moved, and nothing horrible happened, and really, you couldn’t even tell there was a flat. They stopped, hazard lights still blinking.

“You changed it?”

Harry laughed, low. “Not exactly. Fortunately, though, my levitation charms are less shit than my umbrella ones.”

“You’re… levitating the car?”

“Sure. I mean, we need to get to an auto shop, because I don’t know how long it’ll hold, but I think we’re only about 12 kilometres—”

Draco practically leapt across the console, the need to kiss Harry an absolute.

“Mmph!” Harry muffled against his lips, startled, but he had no further protests. The kiss was clinging, hands all wrapped in hair and around one another, damp and desperate and delighted. They pulled apart, breath heavy, and Draco laughed.

“You’re brilliant. You’re ridiculous. I can’t believe you. I love you. I— oh.” Draco stopped short, a blush creeping sudden up his neck.

“Oh,” Harry breathed, and smiled at him, and Draco wanted to sink into his seat.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” he murmured, slowly, careful.

“It’s alright,” Harry said. “I did.”

“What?”

“I meant it. Before. I love the car. And I love the idea.” He reached for Draco’s hands again, holding him steady, the way he did.

“And I love you.” He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Mostly that one,” he said, dimple flashing, devastating.

Draco’s heart pattered with the rain, and he leaned forward, the grin on his lips barely contained.

“You’re completely absurd,” he said, all fondness and irrepressible warmth.

“And you love me,” Harry whispered.

“A madman.”

“And you love me.”

“Absolutely shit at umbrella charms.”

“And?” Harry said, hopeful and plain, unexpectant.

Draco closed the little distance left between them. “And I love you.”

#drarry #drarry drabble #drarry fic #usda certified fluff #this one’s cozy & tooth achingly sweet & completely what i’ve needed lately #hope y’all can take some respite in it too <3 #fic tag #mine #lup writes

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wolfpants · 10 months

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nightcall (drarry, 1058 words)

Thank you to @getawayfox for the amazing art for this little piece I wrote for kinkuary! Give her post some love here ❤️‍🔥 Rated: E / nsfw Tags: Unspeakable!Drarry, begging, phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation, FWB, colleagues to lovers, pining, light bdsm On a top secret Unspeakable misson, Harry calls Draco from a remote phone booth on the Isle of Skye. ao3 link here, or keep reading

❤️‍🔥🖤📞🏍🥀

“What are you looking at right now?”

“Castle ruins. The sea. The moon. Dark road.”

“Have you got somewhere to sleep?”

A pause.

“Harry?”

“Hm?”

“Have you got somewhere to sleep?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got somewhere to sleep. Don’t worry.”

Draco’s breath crackles against Harry’s ear.

If Harry closes his eyes—shuts off the road, the barren hills, the moonlight sparkling against the shore—he can pretend Draco’s right here with him.

He can pretend Draco’s huffing gently into his ear, murmuring against his throat like he might if they were alone together in the same room.

“That’s all I do,” Draco whispers dryly. “Arsehole.”

They shouldn’t even be talking. It’s against code. They could lose their jobs.

The Ministry doesn't know how to tap Muggle telephone boxes, but Draco and Harry know better than to talk about work outside of Level Nine. So Harry doesn’t ask Draco if he’s still working on those files and old tomes he keeps under deadly protection magic in The Manor. He doesn’t ask if he stayed in the office all night again and forgot to eat dinner.

“Does my voice sound normal?” Draco asks when Harry doesn’t respond to the bait of his insult.

“Your voice has never sounded normal.”

Harry is curled over the telephone desk. He runs his finger over the edges of the BT directory. He pulls back the cover to read it.

THE PHONE BOOK: HIGHLANDS AND ISLANDS 2003/2004

Almost ten years out of date.

“Fuck you,” comes Draco’s predictably plummy-edged response.

“Fuck you,” Harry repeats, grinning. He shifts his weight from one hip to the other. His riding leathers, softened and moulded to his body like a second skin, crease and rasp gently. His helmet is by his feet, his bike outside on the gravel; headlight on, casting the winding road ahead in ghostly bleached light. Its engine gently purrs into the night, reminding him that they need to keep this catch up brief.

“No, really,” Draco says, dropping his voice back to a whisper. His breath puffs against the receiver.

“You’re smoking.” Harry leans against the glazed side of the box and drops his head back against the glass panes.

“I’m outside, no one’s going to die,” Draco murmurs.

Harry closes his eyes again and pictures Draco standing on the lawn in Wiltshire. Mobile phone to ear, screen glowing against his face, cheeks pink from the cold. Surrounded by shadowed hedges and sculpted water features, smoke pluming from his lips, creeping up towards the starry sky. His hair is pulled into a knot on the back of his head. Or perhaps it’s loose, and the breeze is moving it around the sharp slopes of his cheeks.

“You look sexy when you smoke. You sound great. I miss you,” Harry says in three steady beats.

Draco won’t return the words. He never does. But Harry knows he feels them.

That he misses them too. Whatever—they are.

Work partners. Friends. More than friends sometimes. Less than friends other times.

Another soft breath. “Are you alone?”

“I’m on the tip of Skye looking at the North Atlantic. I’m very alone. I can’t even remember the last time I saw a tree.”

“Then,” Draco huffs gently—an inhale, a sharp exhale, the sound of his shoes clicking against pavement. He’s walking through the hedge maze. “Fuck you.”

Harry licks his lips. “Yeah?” He cups himself over his leather trousers. Slides his thumb over the shifting head of his cock as it grows closer towards his hip.

Draco hums, deep and smooth. Harry tilts his hips up in a slow fuck against his fingers, heat spreading, sharp and singular, between his legs. “God I want you,” he rasps, closing his eyes. The flutter of pale hair. Draco’s lovely lips wrapping around the filter of his cigarette. The way he kisses, dirty and like he means it.

“You have to ask for it nicely first, Potter.” Another inhale. “You can’t just take what you want. Especially from me.”

Harry balances the phone between his shoulder and his ear and fumbles with the zip of his leathers. “Please,” he whispers.

Draco hums again, louder this time, almost a moan but not quite. “Tell me what you want."

“I want you to sit on my face,” Harry says on a breath. His leathers are open as far as the zip will let him. He rucks up the t-shirt he wears underneath, enough to get into the waistband of his pants. His cock is already poking out the top, tip wet and swollen. He stares blearily at the beam of light outside, at the empty hills and sparkling water, fingers teasing himself in a slow, deliberate stroke.

Draco inhales sharply. “What was that?”

“I want you to sit on my face—please.” Harry licks his lips, circling his thumb over the wet head of his prick. “Want you to ride my mouth, my tongue. Take what you want from me. God, I want that so badly.”

“You like being suffocated, don’t you, you sick pup,” Draco whispers.

“Yeah,” Harry chokes out. “P—please.”

“And your tongue always feels so damn good. Maybe if you eat me good enough I could ride your cock. Would you like that?”

Harry groans, already so close. His leathers squeak and crease, and his elbow knocks against the glass behind him as he strokes his length up and down, balls drawing up tight.

“You’d have to stay still, though."

“Yes,” Harry breathes, picturing it now, like the countless times Draco has held him down—by the chest, the arms, the neck, sometimes—while he bounces up and down on his cock until they both come, sweaty and breathless.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“I want to come.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t come riding you,” Draco whispers.

“Draco…”

“Maybe I’d climb off you after you’ve spilled deep inside me, and we could switch. Maybe I could fuck the come out of you again, because you’re a dirty, needy little sl—”

Harry comes with a sharp, bitten off cry.

It spills down his fingers, splashes onto his t-shirt.

Draco chuckles. Harry hears him light another cigarette. “Good boy,” he croons.

“Fuck you,” Harry says with a breathless laugh, his head spinning. He gazes at the night sky through the foggy pane of glass above his head.

“Soon,” Draco whispers.

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry drabble #kinkuary #wolfpants kinkuary '23 #draco/harry #harry/draco #harry potter #draco malfoy #hp fic #drarry art #drarry fanart

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oknowkiss · 5 months

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94 for the spotify wrapped drabbles💖

slow wake up sunday morning - mountain man (drarry; 359 words; rated T for language)

Harry thought, when he was young, that life would eventually slow down. He held onto this belief like a beacon, something to run towards. It had been easier at the time to pretend he was rushing to the finish line, sprinting to the moment he could finally relax, instead of what had actually been happening: that he was running for his life.

There were a few months, here and there after the war, where Harry’s shoulders were given the space to fall from his ears. But what Harry didn’t account for — afraid and determined and all of seventeen — was adulthood. He didn’t account for the way it would come for him, just as it did everyone else lucky enough to be given the gift of time.

There was so much to do, after the war. And when that stopped, there was his work. There was dating, the complete and utter catastrophe of it all. There was falling in love and falling out of it, hellos and goodbyes and “I love you” and “Fuck off.” There were bills to be paid and meals to prepare and holidays to take, birthdays and weddings and babies to meet with bright wet eyes.

And then there was Draco. Somehow. Impossibly. There were dinners and drinks, at first. Careful nights spent over. Then he was there at the birthdays and the weddings, drunk at the Christmas parties, looking unsure near the babies.

And now here’s Draco in bed, their bed. Harry takes in the shape of him, all his points going soft, getting wider, just like Harry’s. Harry looks at Draco now and can see the boy he hated, the terrified young man who saved his life for no reason. He can see the confused twentysomething he fell in love with, the thirty-five-year-old he married. He sees the future, too, their bodies continuing to settle and reform through the sheer miracle of existence.

He watches dappled sunlight cross Draco’s sleeping face and thinks how lucky he is to have this morning, whole hours with nothing to do. He presses his nose against the curve of Draco’s shoulder and, in time, falls back to sleep. (give me a number 1 - 100 & i'll write you a drabble based on the corresponding song on my spotify wrapped)

#okay these are probably not going to be 100 words #we're using the modern definition of drabble i guess #wrapped drabbles #drarry #drarry drabble #harry potter #draco malfoy #my fic

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accio-sriracha · 4 months

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Fight Me - Drarry Micro-fic :)

~~~♤~~~

"Oi, Potter!" Draco called, a smile on his face. He had been trying to goad Potter into an argument for nearly two weeks, he was yet to be successful.

Potter turned, stopping halfway to the Gryffindor table, "Yes, Malfoy?" He asked, his tone resigned.

"Have you heard the news lately? Everyone says that their precious Golden Boy's lost his touch." Draco came to a stop a foot away from him, "That true?"

Potter only closed his eyes, scratching the back of his head, "Did you need something, Malfoy?" He asked. Draco rolled his eyes,

"Obviously an answer to the question I just asked you. Now tell me. Is it true?"

Potter shook his head, his sigh deep, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do. It's all over the news! Some people are starting to think you can't even do magic anymore."

"Of course I can." Potter replied, his tone detached.

"Prove it." Draco lifted his chin up, sure he was going to get his way this time.

"I'm not going to fight with you, Malfoy." He replied, turning to walk away. Draco caught him by the arm,

"The hell you aren't!" He called, giving him a small shove to the shoulder, "Fight me." He called again, "You know you want to, Potter. I know you're dying to let off steam. Well? Here I am. Fight me."

Potter only shook his head, the eyes Draco had always seen so full of fire had finally gone out,

"People died, Malfoy, don't you get that?" He asked, his voice quiet, "I don't care about our stupid rivalry anymore. It's not worth it."

"News flash, Potter. You're living in a tragedy. You want a spoiler? Everyone dies in the end. You may be one of the greatest wizards ever known, but you can't stop that fact. You can't save everyone. How's that for fucking magic? So stop hiding your tail between your legs and stand up for yourself! You're Harry fucking Potter! Don't just sit there and take it, you need to fight back!"

He knew he was being harsh, but he couldn't stand seeing Potter like this. So lifeless and... empty. He wanted to shake Potter senseless and tell him to snap out of it.

"Don't you get it? Don't you understand just how much they would kill to see you fall? Stand up for yourself for fucks sake, Potter!"

"You're causing a scene." He whispered.

Draco scoffed, "Like you ever gave a damn about who was watching you."

"I do." Potter's eyes flashed with hurt for just a moment, "I always have."

Draco tried to stop the joy that spread through him. He didn’t want to hurt Potter, but it was something. That flicker was more emotion then Draco had seen on his face in over a year.

"Then show them." Draco whispered, stepping closer, taking his chance, "None of them understand. None of them understand the violence, the pain, that it took for you to be this calm. You are not the type to stand still and take it quietly. Do something...Show them you're still just as powerful as you always were. Show them you're still the boy who lived."

He paused, staring at him with the expression he knew always pushed Potter over the edge before,

"Unless you really have lost it." He said, raising an eyebrow, "The rumors are probably true, you've gone soft, Potter. Too good now, aren't you? Dumbledore's perfect little golden boy. The world's hero, above all of us measley humans. You couldn't even hurt me if you tried, could y-"

His words were cut off as Potter yanked out his wand and held it against Draco's throat. Wild fury filled Potter's eyes and Draco did his best not to smile. He'd done it. He finally managed to get Potter riled up again the way that he used to.

He hated seeing the way he dragged himself around the castle, the dark circles under his eyes and the quiet, serious voice. He missed watching Potter laugh with his friends across the Great Hall, hearing the passion in his tone as he hurled an insult back at Draco. He missed Potter's fire.

"You know what, Malfoy? I don't give a damn who you think I am, or what kind of noble savior you all expect me to be. I could tear you apart if I wanted to!" He shouted, pressing his wand harder until it hurt for Draco to breathe. His fist was clenched around Draco's robes. There were collective gasps around the Great Hall.

Nobody had expected him to suddenly react the way he did, but Draco did, he had hoped for it.

"I could be exactly like him and there is nobody who would be able to stop me." Potter spat.

Draco gave a harsh laugh, his head tilting up when the wand pushed further, "But you won't. Why is that Potter? Why is it that you can't hurt me? Go on. Say it! You can't hurt me, Potter, and you know it."

"I'm not scared of you, Malfoy." He hissed. Draco raised an eyebrow,

"Bullshit!" He called. Potter spun them and pushed him against the wall,

"I died. Nothing scares me anymore. Especially not you."

"You're lying. I can see how terrified you are. Admit it to yourself!"

"What do you want from me?!" Potter shouted, his voice echoing in the now silent room.

"I want you to live Potter." Draco whispered, hoarse now, "I want you back the way you were, before the war. You don't eat anymore, you don't sleep. I haven't heard you speak in weeks. I want you to be a person again."

"I am a person." His voice dropped too, his resolve following with it.

"Tell that to them. You let them push you around, you let them walk all over you. I'm tired of seeing you not standing up for yourself."

Potter opened his mouth to reply, then slowly shut it again, the force pressed to Draco's throat softened slightly, "Why do you care?" He asked instead.

"You know why."

Potter stared silently at him for a long time before lowering his wand completely, "I'm sorry." He muttered, looking down. Draco shook his head,

"Don't you dare apologize. You want to do something for me? Pick yourself up. Stop sulking around the castle like some nobody. You're Harry fucking Potter. If I ever see you let them treat you like shit again I'll kick your arse for real."

Their eyes met, an intensity like Draco had never felt before passing between them.

Harry pushed off the wall, leaving Draco standing there alone, he walked out of the Great Hall, ignoring everyone staring at them.

Pansy walked up to Draco, her eyes darting around the room, "What the hell was that? Are you okay?" She whispered.

He nodded and turned to walk out after Potter without a word.

~~~♤~~~

#harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry #harry x draco #draco x harry #drarry drabble #drarry microfic #drarry angst #angst

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andithiel · 1 year

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Let me show you

So yesterday while folding laundry I started thinking about the fuck or die trope and suddenly this scene came to me. It’s 556 words, drarry auror partners, friends to lovers speed run. Beta read by the amazingly sweet and lovely @crazybutgood 💞 Thank you for always being there!

People stop and stare as Draco strides through the corridors of the Ministry, his Auror robes billowing behind him. They whisper to each other once he passes them, but he doesn’t take any notice. He only has one goal.

“Harry!” he cries when he finally barges into his and Harry’s office, slamming the door shut behind him and adding a few privacy spells for good measure.

Harry sits in their visitor’s chair, back hunched, knees drawn up to his chin, hair a tangled mess. When he looks up, Draco’s heart clenches at the sight of his red-rimmed and shiny eyes.

“Oh, great,” Harry says with a grimace. “Who told you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Draco says, clutching the stitch in his side from his half eaten lunch that he abandoned in the cantine. “Is it true?”

Harry snorts, chewing one of his nails. “That I, against your explicit prohibition, examined the weird phallic we found at the raid yesterday and ended up being cursed by it to die unless you fuck me? Yeah, it’s tr—”

“I’ll do it,” Draco says before Harry’s even finished his sentence.

Harry blinks, his breath stuttering, but then he gives Draco a sad smile. “Of course, you would,” he says, voice soft and almost soothing, as if he’s the one who needs to comfort Draco and not the other way around. “The thing is, though,” he wipes his hand quickly under his eye, gives a short listless laugh, “you have to want it too, or it won’t work.”

The past two years flash before Draco’s eyes: their first animosity when they’d been newly partnered, the first case where Draco saved Harry from an Avada Kedavra, their building camaraderie after that, long nights at stake-outs, passing looks and grimaces across the room at every boring Head Auror meeting. Harry falling asleep over their late night reports, Harry bringing him tea in the morning from the café he passes on his way to work, always perfectly steeped, just the way Draco likes it. Two years of partnership, one and a half years of unlikely friendship, and one year of longing, refraining, wanting.

“Why me?” Draco whispers, his chest tight from the impossible hope slowly but surely unfurling in it.

Harry doesn’t answer, won’t meet Draco’s gaze.

“Why me, Harry?”

Still, there’s no answer from Harry, but his eyes flick to a parchment on their desk where Draco discerns the words ‘the one your heart most desires’.

Draco steps closer, kneels in front of Harry. He’s never been brave, Harry’s the one who holds enough courage for the both of them, but he needs to find it in him now. For Harry. For himself.

“And what if I’ve wanted to for a long time? What if I want it so much it keeps me awake at night, wondering what it would be like to be allowed to—” He stops, unable to finish the sentence. “What if I’ve been wondering what it would be like to fall asleep afterwards with you in my arms? Will it work then?”

Harry lets out a shaky breath, eyes shining with tears but something else as well. Draco takes a leap and leans in so close that their lips are brushing, his heart beating violently in his chest.

“I think it could,” Harry whispers as he pushes impossibly closer. “Let’s try.”

#drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry squad #fuck or die #sorta #auror partners #mutual pining #friends to lovers #drarry drabble #andithielwrites

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pepperpaperpopper · 2 months

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Draco smells like pine and musk and there is a slight sheen of sweat all along his body. He stretches luxuriously like a cat and makes a soft noise at the back of his throat when Harry lightly bites his Adam's apple.

Harry is undone. He feels like a horny teenager who who might come at any moment. He tugs at Draco's shirt. "Off," he demands, his voice husky with arousal. Draco's hands are too slow and Harry all but tears off the buttons in his haste, and stops, horrified.

He's never seen Draco shirtless before. The one time they were at a pool party together, Draco insisted he didn't feel like getting into the water and kept his linen shirt on. Now, Harry understands why.

Draco's chest is a canvas for scars. Scars that Harry gave him. Scars that look vivid and raw even after decades. Pink, raised scar tissue runs in thick ropes wherever his skin had to be knit back together. Harry had never seen it before. He had no idea. He can't breathe.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Draco whispers, "look at me." He tilts Harry's head up. "Harry. I'm ok. I can see you're about to go into a mental spiral. Don't."

Draco has carried sectumsempra scars for almost thirty years. Even his dark mark didn't last this long, having become so distorted and faded that it is unrecognisable from a distance. Harry thinks of him hesitant to be shirtless in public, having to explain his scars every time he was intimate with someone, confronted with the physical reminder of war, of Harry whenever he took a shower, changed his clothes, felt an itch, a pain.

He is looking down at the scars again. Draco tilts his head up. Again. "I forgave you a long time ago," he whispers, wiping the tear that has rolled down Harry's cheek, "and I hope you've forgiven me for the things that I did to you."

"Yes. But.."

"No. Don't draw away," Draco says, clutching his shoulders. "Kiss them." There is a slight catch in his voice, that tells of how vulnerable he is in this moment.

Harry puts his lips on the trail end of a scar at Draco's collarbone. Tentatively, almost reverently at first, and then with more gusto. He traces every inch of every scar with his lips, his tongue, his teeth. Draco's scars taste like angst, like patience, like devotion, like redemption. They were borne of enmity, of desperation and pain. Harry claims them for love.

#drarry #drarry drabble #hpdm #sectumsempra #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry ficlet

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phoebe-delia · 4 months

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The Family We Choose

Okay. So. I got very emo because of this post from @xx-thedarklord-xx. And then I got all the feels from @littlewinnow's INCREDIBLE art for it. And it got me thinking about what it must've been like for Hagrid to meet baby Scorp. And just. This happened.

"Hagrid, this is Scorpius Fleamont Potter." Harry gently places the little bundle in Hagrid's waiting arms.

Hagrid brings the child up close to his chest. "Oh, look at yeh," he murmurs. "Such a wee one. He's got yer eyes, Harry."

Draco chuckles softly. "Yes, he does. And my hair, luckily for him."

Harry wraps his arm around Draco. "He got the best of us both, I think."

Hagrid gazes in wonder at the baby in his arms; the chubby cheeks, the wide green eyes, the fine blond hair on his soft head.

Hagrid feels his eyes well up, and he tries to hold back his tears; he should wait to be a blubbering mess when there's not a baby in his arms, but he can't help it. He sniffs and tries not to let the overwhelming happiness in his chest take him over entirely.

When he glances back up at Harry and Draco, they're looking at him with joy and fondness; particularly Harry, who appears as close to tears as Hagrid feels himself.

"Hagrid," Harry starts, "Draco and I wanted you to be among the first on staff to meet Scorpius. And, well...We also wanted to say thank you."

Hagrid's breath catches. "Ter thank meh? Wha' for?"

"For everything," Harry shrugs. "For being part of the reason I'm here—and that Scorp is here."

"And for your great capacity for forgiveness," Draco says quietly. "I can't imagine I'd have lasted long here as a professor if not for your generosity and empathy."

Hagrid can't hold back the tears now. He looks back down at Scorpius and then at Harry and Draco. "Neither of yeh needs ter thank meh."

"We wanted to," Harry says. "And—to introduce you to your future apprentice here, of course."

Draco raises an eyebrow. "What makes you think he won't be a potions master?"

Harry shrugs. "Nothing, only that potions is a miserable subject for miserable twats."

Draco swats at his arm. "Is that any way to talk about your husband's career?"

Harry grins and rubs at his arm. "I suppose I deserved that."

"Too right you did," Draco grumbles. Harry snickers and pulls Draco closer, pressing a quick kiss to his temple.

Hagrid begins to tune out the bickering couple and looks back at Scorpius, who coos in his arms. The child is absolutely perfect; and better than that, he's safe. He's loved. And he always will be.

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cr-amber · 1 year

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for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: dandelion!

Draco didn’t like muggle sports. He didn’t get them. So while Harry played baseball, Draco sat in the grass, making him a dandelion crown. He adored the way Harry’s eyes lit up when he placed it on his head.

See, Draco didn’t like muggle sports. But he sure liked Harry.

exactly 50 words!

#drarry microfic #drarry drabble #drarry fanfic #drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco x harry #my writing #microfic #microfic by car #drarry microfic by car

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starlitsilvereyes · 9 months

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Hands To Myself

Written for @sapphicmicrofics’s prompt: Hands & @drarrymicrofic's prompt: Slide | Rating: E | Warnings/Tags: Femme Drarry, Dirty talk, Nipple licking, Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering, Squirting, Cunnilingus | Read on Ao3

A/N: This is my first time writing femslash (I think?) So please let me know what you think! :)

A shaky breath leaves Draco, her stomach coiling with tension as Harry’s emerald eyes pierce daggers into her. Harry sits naked at the edge of their bed, beautifully so, her plump breasts in full view for Draco to admire.

“We don’t have to do it, if you don’t want to,” Harry says. The strain in her voice lets Draco know she wants this as much as her. Has wanted it for a long time.

“I want to,” Draco replies. The hand that rests on her left thigh slides between her legs, close enough to the wet heat of her cunt but not touching. Not yet. “I want you to watch.”

Harry licks her lips, raising a hand to push back a curl that’s fallen in front of her eyes, gaze never leaving Draco.

Draco gasps as she circles her clit lightly with her ring finger. Her hand is cold against the heat of her pussy, eliciting a spark of pleasure that has her rocking her hips, desperate for more. But she wants to take this slow. Wants to prolong it as long as she can.

She keeps teasing herself, adding another finger, sliding them from her clit and dipping them into her entrance, pulling out before the first knuckle. A string of soft sighs and whimpers fall from her lips, hips shifting with the movement of her fingers.

“Tell me what to do,” Draco says quietly. She can feel the heat rushing to her cheeks, embarrassment threatening to bloom within her. Neither of them have done this before. “Tell me what you want.”

Harry opens her mouth, then closes it again, looking deep in thought. “Tease yourself a bit longer. And– here, let me,” She shuffles forward, a warm hand reaching for Draco’s breast. A moan leaves Draco’s mouth as Harry rolls her nipple between her thumb and index finger. “Dip your fingers in, all the way through.”

Draco follows, becoming wetter as Harry’s hot breath fans over her cheek.

“Hold them there,” Harry instructs. “Don’t move.” She massages both of Draco’s breasts with her hands, thumbs running over Draco’s pink nipples as she does so.

Draco wants to close her eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. But she doesn’t want to miss the sight of Harry pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, looking at Draco as though she wants to devour her whole.

Harry leans down, latches her wet mouth on Draco’s right nipple. Draco howls, her hand involuntarily jerking inside of her.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry murmurs against her chest. “All for me.” She tortures Draco longer, not instructing her to do anything but keep her fingers inside of her pussy as Harry laps and bites and sucks at her nipples.

“Harry,” Draco whines. Her legs are shaking by now, and her fingers are soaked with liquid want.

“Thought I was the one in charge here?” Harry pulls off, arching a thick brow.

Draco frowns, fighting the urge to kick her right then and there. “You’re a menace.”

Harry laughs, sitting up straighter as to get a better view of Draco’s cunt. “Go on, love. Fuck your fingers inside of your pussy.”

With shaking hands, Draco pulls her fingers out of her dripping cunt. She dips them in again, down to her last knuckles, then scissors them inside of her. Her hips rise from the bed, following the movements of her fingers as she fucks herself faster and harder. “Harry, hnghhhhh, fuck, fuck–”

“That’s right,” Harry hums. “Fuck yourself like how you want to be fucked.”

How the fuck is Harry so good at this?

“Start rubbing your clit with your thumb,” Harry says, breathless.

Draco does, whimpers when orgasm starts to roll at the pit of her stomach. Harry reaches for one of her legs, hikes it up against her hip, creating a new angle that leaves Draco moaning loudly. She’s so close, so fucking close. She wants to cry from the pleasure of it.

“Come, Draco.” is all she needs to hear from Harry. Draco does, squirting all over her hand as she moaned Harry’s name through her orgasm. When she comes down from the high, she opens her eyes to see Harry peering down at her hungrily. Heat rushes through Draco’s cheeks, realising the mess she’s made of their bed.

Harry’s darkening eyes travel from Draco’s wet hands and stomach to her breasts, then to her face. “I want to taste you,” she says, sliding down the bed, her face between Draco’s legs as she licks her clean.

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beyondtheclose · 1 year

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Potter Gossip

written for the drarry discord drabble challenge january 2023, for the prompt “rumours”, wc 188. (ao3 link)

thank you to @crazybutgood for beta-ing this for me <3

When Pansy slid in beside him, devious smile in place, and proclaimed that she “learned the most interesting tidbit in DADA today,” Draco considered casting an ear blocking charm at himself.

“I heard about Potter’s Patronus,” Draco groaned. “The student body is eternally fixated on Potter gossip.”

The first he heard of it was in the Slytherin common room, a sixth year laughing over Harry Potter’s Patronus changing from the mighty stag into a flobberworm. Then, while going to Potions, a group of first years were debating whether it was a lion or a dragon until they noticed him and scattered. Finch-Fletchley told him it was a wolf, delivered with a barely veiled threat to watch out, “because you never know what might happen if a wand slips—wolves are ferocious.”

Never mind that Patronuses can’t cause bodily harm. (That Harry wouldn’t hurt him).

Hippogriff, beaver, horse—everyone had a theory. It was exhausting. Pansy could excuse him for not caring.

“Oh? You know his Patronus is also an Arctic fox?”

Draco whipped around to the Gryffindor table, only to find the man already looking at him. Was Harry blushing ?

“Thought so,” Pansy said smugly.

#drarry discord drabble challenge #drarry #drarry drabble #patronus #hp #harry potter #draco malfoy #hpdm #drarry fic #draco x harry #harry x draco #my writing #this is maybe slightly more than the wc but i may have added 5 words when posting it shhhh

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lupine-trees · 4 months

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tidings of comfort & joy

[ the boys spend a cozy christmas morning with the weasleys. something light & homey for the season— wishing you all a merry drarry christmas & happy holidays. ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆ ]

word count: ~350, rating: g

On Christmas morning, Molly opens the newspaper-wrapped gift last. As the fabric unfolds with a soft swish in her hands, her eyes well. “A tea towel?” George snickers, and Angelina shoves an elbow into his side.

Molly raises it to her cheek, a deep cream against the rosy, freckled flush of her face. “A scarf. It’s a cashmere scarf.”

Then she’s crying in earnest and Bill is resting a steady hand on her shoulder as Percy pulls a handkerchief from the interior of his cigar jacket. Angelina’s giving George an earful, and in spite of the glint in his eye he looks a bit like he wants to sink into the sofa. Fleur’s rocking the baby, who snoozes on unbothered, and Charlie’s laughing, delayed over the patchy Floo connection, and Hermione’s leaning into Ron’s side, trying to stay awake in spite of the circles under her eyes. Harry’s hand settles at the base of Draco’s spine.

Suddenly the room feels so full, full to bursting, and Draco’s not sure he can breathe, feels his face going blotchy, throat tight, that old tickle persistent behind his eyes. He exhales.

“Alright,” Ginny says, “who made Mam cry on Christmas?“ And Molly laughs, but it’s a warbly sound.

She looks up and finds Draco’s eyes, a smile easy on her lips. “Thank you, dear,” she says. “Look at me, blithering like an old biddy. I’ll ruin the thing before I even get to wear it.” She swipes at her eyes, laughing. “Who’s next?!” she demands, suddenly ready to be done with it, the tears and the watching. “It’s Christmas, for Merlin’s sake!”

Harry’s arm wraps around Draco’s side, tugging him closer. “You did good,” Harry murmurs into his neck, and Draco hums, turning to press a quick kiss to his mouth.

As the morning goes on, the family opening gifts and laughing and bantering and filling the room with pure Weasley-ness, Draco’s eyes drift back to Molly’s hands, folded in her lap, stroking the cashmere. The scarf had been his mother’s once. His heart quivers. Maybe, in some way, it is, here, now, too.

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry drabble #i hope the end of the year treats you all kindly <3 #& may this humble offering bring some comfort & joy #fic tag #lup writes #mine #draco x harry #drarry fanfic #(i’ve had this one in the notes app for ages)#(it makes me smile— glad to share it <3)

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saintlupin · 2 years

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Bold.

Harry liked colorfully vibrant things, nowadays. Bold patterns, loud colors, odd shapes twisted into something obscene; audacious. He painted each nail on his hands a different color, drawing funky designs on them with sharpie. He decorated himself in gold. Gold piercings, gold-rimmed glasses, a gold tooth–because he can, because he’s alive, alive and living and happy for it too.

Sometimes Draco felt like he paled in comparison. Cloudy eyes, snow-white hair, muted trousers and a simple jumper. Why Harry ever dared to be his friend remained a mystery Draco was scared of unraveling.

Harry was never shy, he said what he wanted. Proudly, clamorously, without fear of another’s opinion. Sometimes, it made Draco feel so light-headed he needed to take multiple deep breaths to settle his rapidly beating heart, lest it burst right there, in his chest, leaving him bleeding.

“Why are you my friend?”

Harry stopped in his tracks, turning slowly, making a show of himself in the way he always did. “Because, I like you.” The way he said it, like it was the simplest thing in the world, radiating enthusiasm, scared Draco.

“But– but you could be friends with anyone. There are so many people far more interesting than me and –”

“No, I don’t think you’re understanding. I like you.”

Bold, smooth. That was Harry Potter in his shining glory. It didn’t help that the sunset was upon them, kissing Harry’s skin gold and painting a picture worthy of display at the Louvre.

Without thought he said: “Well, why haven’t you asked me out, then?” Anxious, skeptical, hands shaking with nerves that shivered up and down his body.

A pierced brow raised in question. “You want me to?” Harry smirked. That fucking smirk, Merlin. It made Draco feel so many things. Too many things. Boiling heat seeping into his skin, Draco hated how much he loved it–loved how much the hatred felt like a tension close to bursting.

“All you have to do is ask, Malfoy.”

“Well, I’d rather you do the asking.”

Harry laughed like a man who had seen death and chosen life instead. Harry was a man who had seen death and told it to wait. Undaunted in his skin, he had grown into himself beautifully.

“Draco Malfoy, will you go on a date with me?”

It was disorientating, the quickness of how they reached this moment. An incomprehensible reality unraveling, still, before him. The wind picked up and the scent of lavender filled his senses. A car rolling slowly past them, tickling Draco’s ears, reminding him that they’d been on their way to the corner store for some cans of beer to share at the park.

Suddenly unfearing, Draco said, “I think we’re already on one.”

Harry’s face turned soft, a tender smile replaced his teasing bearing and he nodded his head slowly. “Yeah,” he said, voice deep and warm. “Yeah, you’re right, c’mon.” He held out a hand.

Draco took it, assured and unshaken.

for @short666bread who inspired this after a convo about a harry unafraid to stand out

#drarry #drarry microfic #drarry drabble #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction #hp x dm #harco #harry x draco #dm x hp #draco x harry #harry/draco #draco/harry #tzi’s writing

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