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#drarry fanfiction
corvuscrowned · 22 hours ago
spitting image
100 words | written for @hp-fearfest‘s day 21 prompt: a cursed child | thank you @moonstruckwytch​ for the beta and the 100th word!
It was perfectly normal, Andromeda told them, for infant Metamorphmagi to learn and communicate through mimicry. 
Teddy’s hair grows long and silver when he wants Draco to hold him, turns fiery orange when Ginny visits, and a jagged scar bolts across his forehead when Harry is away with the Aurors too long.
Harry lays him in the cradle one night, watching his hair fade from jet black to its usual blue. Then Teddy’s eyes shoot open as he gazes at the ceiling over Harry’s shoulder, irises burning red as blood, skin morphing ink-black, lips curling back to reveal pointed fangs.
crow’s fearfics
edit: this fic just got a sequel by @cavendishbutterfly!! check it out here: “friend”
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phoebe-delia · a day ago
Could you write a drarry based on the song Happily by 1D? I saw your comment on my other question and I would love to read something like this! Thank you!
Hi anon! I'll gladly write this for you. I love 1D and have written a couple songfics based on their songs, so I was happy to see your other ask and volunteer for it. I hope you enjoy this! CW: alcohol. Rated T
Harry's hand gripped his pint as he watched the stranger wrap possessive arms around Draco's lithe, leather-clad hips to bring them flush against each other. He lifted the glass to his lips, letting the bitter ale warm his tongue, his throat, his stomach.
But a deep chill settled in his bones when the man started kissing Draco's neck. Draco tilted his head back and closed his eyes, letting the stranger make his way to exposed collarbones that Harry had loved to nibble just to make Draco shiver in his arms.
"Harry. This is insanity."
"I know! They're practically fucking on the dance floor!"
"I meant you."
His head whirled toward Hermione, who shrugged. "You look torn between drooling over Malfoy and wanting to rip his dance partner's arms from his body."
Harry scowled. "I'm just concerned, alright? I'm a former Auror, and what they're up to is borderline public indecency."
Hermione gestured to the other gyrating couples and groups around the room. "And yet you don't seem to be staring down anyone else. There's a couple over there who are practically undressing each oth—oh, Merlin—Dean! Seamus! You're in public!"
Harry turned back to his pint and his surveillance, only for the sight in front of him to make him want to shatter his glass against the wall.
The stranger had insinuated his tongue down Draco's throat, letting his hands wander all over Draco's body. Draco, for his part, kept his hands clasped around the man's neck. His eyes were open, while the stranger's were closed in bliss, and Harry's heart lurched in his chest.
I can do better than that.
The next thing he knew, his feet were carrying him through the crowd and up to where Draco and the man were still making out. Draco noticed Harry approach and pulled away with a raised eyebrow.
"Potter? Can we help you?" Draco drawled.
Harry clenched his jaw as he looked into sharp gray eyes. "We can't but you can."
The stranger scoffed. "Can it wait? We were sort of in the middle of something."
Harry turned his most menacing glare at the stranger. "Fuck off."
"Why should I?" The man snarled. "I saw him first."
Harry chuckled darkly, his magic thrumming under his skin. "Unless you have a time-turner to take you back fifteen years, no you didn't."
"Potter, what are you doing?" Draco huffed, crossing his arms.
Harry softened his expression as he turned to Draco. "What I should've done weeks ago." He took Draco's wrist and pulled him away from the stranger and into his arms. He reached up and cupped the side of Draco's head, threading his fingers into silky hair.
Draco's eyes fluttered as their breaths mingled. Harry leaned in closer and whispered, "Let me, please."
After Draco's minute nod, Harry closed the distance and brought their lips together in a searing kiss. He licked into Draco's mouth, trying to savor the taste, the sensation he'd been craving for two long, lonely months.
They pulled apart for air, their foreheads pressed together as they caught their breaths. Harry's heart pounded, and his magic was singing as it rushed excitedly through his body.
Suddenly, Harry felt a familiar tug at his navel, and the next moment he knew he was in his bedroom, his arms still wrapped around Draco's waist.
Draco blinked, then pushed Harry away. "What are you playing at?"
"I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I just—" he swallowed. "Sometimes, when my, er, emotions are high, my magic acts before I can think."
"Okay—just so I understand. You unknowingly used wandless and wordless magic to Apparate us out of the club had a lot of feelings?"
Harry blushed. "Well, when you put it like that it sounds pathetic."
Draco shook his head. "No."
"Not pathetic, not in the least." Draco stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck.
Harry's lips quirked up as he let his hands find Draco's waist again. "So, are you alright with the world knowing about us, then?"
Draco raised an eyebrow. "As I recall, I wasn't the one worried about dating publicly."
Harry blushed again. "I know. It was stupid of me, Merlin. I'm sorry."
"It's not stupid," Draco shrugged. "I'm a former Death Eater. Tying yourself to me is...not an easy decision to make."
Harry's heart clenched. "Is that why you think I—" he swallowed against a lump that quickly formed in his throat.
Draco furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Wasn't it?"
"No!" Harry said, incredulous. "No, Draco, I wasn't ashamed of you. I was afraid of them." He gestured vaguely to the window.
"The press! The public! Every other relationship I've had was ruined because of them, and I didn't want to put you through that—put us through that."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "You think I can't handle them? That I haven't been inundated with Howlers and lurid headlines in the Prophet?"
Harry blinked. "Oh. I guess...I never thought about that."
Draco snorted. "Clearly."
"So, where does that leave us? I'm down for anything, whatever you want. I can be casual, i-if you want." Harry forced his jaw shut to stop his rambling, his cheeks heating.
Draco smirked, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "I think we can do better than that."
Send me an ask about Harry Potter, broadway/musicals, The West Wing, and/or Taylor Swift! Or just about life in general :).
Also, I have a playlist of my 99 most listened-to songs of the year so far. Pick a number 1—99 and send me an ask and I'll write you a fic based on it!
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m0srael · a day ago
Slimy, yet Satisfying
For @hp-fearfest's day 19 prompt: It's Alive!
Summary: Harry notices that his husband has developed quite a...unique craving, as of late.
[2.5k | T | cw: insects, bugs, lots of crawling flying things, some of them get eaten by humans] Thanks, @crazybutgood for the exceptional beta! This is at least 50% @corvuscrowned's fault.
The first time Harry caught him at it, Draco was crouched over the kitchen counter in the dead of night in only his pants. Something had pulled Harry from a deep slumber only to find Draco’s side of the bed cold and empty, and he’d trailed sleepily downstairs, seeking warmth.
The cold moonlight raking across Draco’s wiry body made him look like a cheap, Muggle Halloween decoration, with his pale face thrown into deep shadows and his silver eyes glowing like lanterns. With his platinum hair bed-messy and sticking out in all directions, Harry thought he looked like the bloody Crypt Keeper.
In the long moment it took Draco to notice Harry’s presence, Harry watched him lift a large, struggling cranefly into a shaft of moonlight by its wings, tenderly pluck one wriggling appendage, and slide it into his mouth.
When Draco did finally wheel around—the unfortunate insect darting out of his grasp to knock frantically against the glass of the window—he didn’t even look startled or guilty. He just said, “Can’t sleep, love?” in that soft, vulnerable way he said anything when it was just him and Harry, alone in the dark.
The whole scene was so bizarre, Harry’s brain resolutely refused to process any of it. He blinked stupidly, and shook away what was surely the weirdest hallucination he’d ever had—and he’d had plenty. But then there it was: the fly limb, waving weakly like an electrified pubic hair, caught in the gap between Draco’s two front teeth.
He just grabbed Draco’s lovely hand, dragged him heavily back up the stairs to their lovely bedroom, pushed him down onto their lovely bed, and settled his weight nearly on top of him before falling right back to sleep. As if he was subconsciously trying to ensure Draco couldn’t scuttle off for a cockroach complement to his late-night leg.
In fact, it would have been like nothing had ever happened had Harry not, several weeks later, found him out a second time.
Draco was working on a particularly challenging child welfare case that had kept him at the office, pulling all-nighters with his partners at the firm and their coterie of interns and clerks regularly for weeks. After one particularly challenging day in court, he thundered in through the front door shouting something that sounded like I will burn the whole Merlin-fucking system down, I swear on Salazar Slytherin’s scaly balls, shoved his briefcase into Harry’s chest with a hissed sorryloveyoudon’tyoudareopenyourmouth, and slammed into his office at the end of the hall.
Harry went to set Draco’s bag by the front door where he usually left it when something fell from the open front pocket. He bent down and lifted a transparent, resealable sandwich bag full of chocolate covered raisins. He sighed. He was trying to get Draco off sweets; apparently, robust dental hygiene education was just as lacking in Pureblood Wizarding families as sex education. Maybe he just needed to get Draco off of his “we’re doing it the Muggle way at least once, just to see,” kick instead—he didn’t think Draco could survive a root canal.
He laughed at the prospect of Draco, mouth half numb and drool dribbling unnoticed over his chin, trying to insult him without the full force of his perfect enunciation, as he slid his hand absently into the bag of candy. He had a piece nearly to his lips when the pillbug uncurled between his fingers and its microscopic legs began rippling.
He yelped embarrassingly and dropped the bug and the bag onto the floor, then watched in frozen shock as a tsunami of tiny, black arthropods rolled out across the hardwood floor and disappeared beneath the baseboards.
“What was that?” Draco said, popping his head out of his office door and looking murderously harassed.
“Erm—” Harry replied, stepping onto the now-empty bag to cover it with his foot “—stubbed my toe?”
“Clumsy arsehole,” Draco muttered darkly, and disappeared back into the office. Harry thought he heard loveyousorry illrubyourfeetlater float out from under the door.
That undeniable event was followed swiftly by several more, similar ones that left Harry no longer able to deny what was becoming sickeningly obvious: Draco Malfoy, Harry’s own husband…eats insects.
There was, for example, the time Harry watched in horror as Draco licked the tip of his bony pointer finger—a usually pleasing sight for Harry—and pat it onto a parade of ants snaking across the park bench they were sat on, before swiping them onto his tongue, like spilled sugar. He did it all while never breaking his rant about the Wizarding World’s archaic Child Custody laws. He just kept on waving his hands about for emphasis, as if he wasn’t at that very moment digesting a handful of live bugs. Harry wondered deliriously if he was able to feel them crawling about in his stomach.
Once, while at the beach with Andromeda and Teddy, Harry saw Draco slap a mosquito so unfortunate as to land on his forearm, then lick its bloody remains from both his arm and his palm.
Another time, Harry watched through the window as Draco—placidly drinking a steaming cup of tea on the back patio before bed—reached up, as casual as anything, and plucked a fat, fluttering moth right out of the air beside the lantern. Harry didn’t hang around to watch the end of that one, lest he be sick all over the patio door and incapable of ever looking his husband in the face again.
It was this final incident that drove Harry to seek help. Or, specifically, it was the fact that he nearly vomited in his husband’s face when he leaned in for a goodnight kiss later that evening.
“He...oh god, Hermione, I don’t even think I can tell you.”
“Harry, whatever it is, you know I love you both and am always here to help, however I can.”
“I don’t know. This might be the lone exception to that fact.” Harry knew he must look like shit. He hadn’t been sleeping well for days, sure that every creak and groan of their old house was really Draco on a nocturnal prowl for slimy snacks. He rolled over every time to double check Draco hadn’t actually gotten out of bed. He’d also been avoiding Draco. It wasn’t difficult, since he was so busy with work, but during the few moments they did have together he made excuses left and right. He watched Draco trying desperately to puzzle out what he could have done to make Harry withdraw, and the guilt was eating away at him.
“Oh, Harry. Now you’re starting to scare me. Please…”
“Fine. I’m just. Going to say it, and then it will have been said, and it cannot be unsaid. Draco...eats bugs.”
Hermione blinked at him slowly. Her face remained blank for several terrible, long moments, before she broke into loud laughter.
“Sorry, I that what you meant to say? Is that all?” she said, still laughing, as Harry’s already stricken face crumpled even further. She sobered when it was clear that Harry had no intention of laughing along with her.
“Oh. Oh, Harry. Loads of people eat bugs. As in, many cultures around the world incorporate insects into their cuisine in all sorts of interesting, and often delicious, ways. Didn’t you know that?”
“Well, er—no, actually. Um. But, this isn’t exactly a case of adventurous cooking. I mean. Merlin, ‘Mione, I walked in on him slurping down a live worm from the garden like a piece of cooked spaghetti the other evening. He does it in secret. I mean, I’m not meant to know, I think. That he just picks up the occasional arachnid and pops it into his mouth like a cashew. Oh god, I think he might be fattening up our airing cupboard spider, I just thought she was pregnant but bloody hell…”
“Harry,” Hermione says firmly, interrupting his little spiral. “Listen. There are actually scientifically-studied reasons why people might develop a habit of eating… non-traditional foods...”
“Non-traditional…” Harry breathes, going a bit wobbly.
“Yes, as in—oh, well, I can send you home with some information for later,” she said at the sight of Harry’s increasingly ashen face. “The bottom line is this: most insects are actually highly nutritious—they’re full of vitamins and incredibly protein-rich. Of all the things for Draco to develop a secret taste for, insects are one of the most harmless. Have you talked to him about it?”
“What?! No. Of course not.”
“Well, why, Harry?”
“I don’t want to...I don’t know, embarrass him. What if he doesn’t want me to know, ever, and I just barrel in and ruin his private thing and he can never trust me again? I honestly wouldn’t even know where to start? Morning, lamb, eaten any good locusts recently?”
“Good lord. It’s a wonder you two have stayed married at all, the way you both seem to thrive on miscommunication. Harry, what if he keeps it a secret because he’s worried you’ll be disgusted or ashamed? Are you? Disgusted and ashamed?”
“Well, I do think it’s pretty gross, but if I hadn’t caught him that first time I may never have found out. So, it isn’t like it impacts our daily lives all that much. And of course I’m not ashamed of him. Not for this, anyway…” he trailed off, a fond smirk overtaking his frowning lips. “I just don’t know what to do with this knowledge now that I have it. Seems wrong to just ignore it.”
“Yes. I think you’re right. I think you need to just ask him about it. Be kind and open to what he has to say, don’t make any moral or value judgments, and definitely don’t use words like ‘gross’, or ‘disgusting’. Make sure he knows you’re asking from a place of love and concern, and not derision.”
Harry sighed heavily, “Ugh. Okay. I’ll take those articles, or whatever.”
What Hermione sent him home with, however, were several travel books, two issues of two different scientific journals, and a couple of thick cookbooks.
Harry decided he couldn’t just barrel into a conversation with Draco about his ‘non-traditional’ eating habits completely blind. So, while Draco spent hours locked up in his office working thorough appeal after appeal, Harry set himself a course of study on entomophagy. Hermione had been right, there was virtually nothing ‘wrong’ or worrisome about Draco’s eating bugs. With his most pressing concerns put to rest, he turned his mind to his conversational strategy.
Draco’s head appeared suddenly around the door frame of the sitting room. “Love, last day in court tomorrow, I’ll be home much earlier than I have been. Just wanted to remind you before you went up to bed.”
“Going out to the pub with the team, after?”
“No. No way. I’ll be set if I never have to look at any of their ugly old faces ever again, after tomorrow.”
“Be hard once they name you partner, don’t you think?”
“Don’t jinx it you bloody, reckless, stupid Gryffindor,” he groaned as he retreated down the hall, his voice trailing off so Harry barely caught, “ bloody, reckless…”
Harry thumbed the glossy page of the cookbook he’d spelled to look like a Quidditch supply catalogue, and had an idea.
“Harry, what’s all this?” Draco said tiredly as he slumped into the kitchen just before dinner-time the next evening.
“I know you didn’t want to go out, but I thought we should celebrate your win, anyway,” Harry said as he ushered Draco to a chair and passed him a glass of red wine.
“You cooked. And you think that’s an appropriate way to celebrate anything?”
“Shut your cranky mouth,” Harry said, capturing said mouth in a lingering kiss. “I think you’ll be particularly pleased with my efforts tonight.
It was now or never.
Without another moment’s hesitation, he levitated a polished, silver tureen from the hob to the kitchen table. He flicked his wand theatrically, as if he were a stage magician revealing that he had, in fact, stitched a bisected woman back together, and the lid of the tureen slid back.
Draco’s eyes went wide.
“Are those... Harry, what is…”
“Mealworm Arrancini,” Harry said, a bit proudly. “And,” he continued, flourishing his wand again, “summer salad with caramelized grasshoppers, and fresh french bread, made with cricket flour.”
All the color had drained from Draco’s face. He didn’t lift his gaze to meet Harry’s. Suddenly, he shot up from his chair and turned as if to flee the room.
“Draco!” Harry said, commandingly, making Draco pause in the doorway. “Please,” he said, more softly. “I love you. You don’t have to explain it, although I would love to learn more. Please. It..I don’t understand it, but I don’t know that I need to. It doesn’t bother me. Well. I’d rather do it like this, for you, than leave you to your own meagre devices, honestly. Plus, I tried a caramelized grasshopper earlier, and I think Wizard-kind has intentionally manufactured so-called sweets that are loads more disgusting. Sit back down?”
Harry watched, ready to argue his case again at any moment, as Draco rejoined him at the table. The look of bliss that crossed Draco’s face as he slid a forkful of cheesy, mealworm arrancini into his mouth bled the anxiety right out of Harry’s body. That—that was all he really needed. In the end he became quite certain that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to put that expression on the face he loves so dearly.
They didn’t intend to announce Draco’s newfound insectivore identity to their friends in such a spectacular way, but Harry figured Draco never did anything halfway and without drama.
Hermione, conscientious as always, hadn’t told a soul what she’d learned, and had even promised to borrow a few more insect-based cookbooks from an environmentalist friend of her mother’s for him. So far, they’d all been very subtle about it, he’d even charmed a whole section of their pantry to disguise the shelves of dried larva, ground grub meat, and butterfly wing crisps Draco liked to snack on.
That was, until Harry made the mistake of inviting all their friends over for a barbecue.
He was fishing a cold beer out of the back of the fridge when a scream—so high pitched and ear-splitting, Harry thought they might be under attack from a particularly angry banshee—tore into the kitchen from the backyard. He rushed out to find Ron doubled over, hands on his knees, trying to suppress a gag. Draco stood nearby, waving a pair of grill tongs about, and rolling his eyes.
“That one’s mine, obviously, Weasley. Honestly, I knew you were uncultured and uncouth, but this is extreme, don’t you think?”
Harry finally drew close enough to see over Ron’s heaving shoulders to the fuzzy, black tarantula that Draco had speared through the center of a large pineapple round, sizzling away happily.
He only stifled his laugh until his eyes met Draco’s, shining with mirth.
You’re a bastard, he mouthed, grinning.
Draco only winked and reached a long arm out to flip his spider-kebab.
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the-boy-who-bottomed · 10 hours ago
Draco : I'm an ex death Eater, a Malfoy, a murderer, a blood traitor, a savage u will stay away from me!
Harry *fondly* : You can be what ever you want love
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written-in-ash · 2 days ago
Tumblr media
In the Shade of Your Love
When my world lost its magic, the sky lost its shine
I dreamt of the moments when you were once mine
No longer lucent, the sunlight barred
I gave you my heart to discard
If leaving me was your deepest regret
I hope loving her becomes the worst one yet
Thank you to my big sis @phoebe-delia for helping me cut it down to 50 words! ilyyy
Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt: Lucent
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calypsotempete · 3 months ago
Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt Thought. Used this prompt in the absolute loosest sense of the word lmao
How to Make the Savior Laugh: A Study by Draco Malfoy
Don’t call him the Savior. I think it’s hilarious. He does not.
Impressions are a hit or miss. It seems to amuse him as long as the subject is not one of his precious brood. (Note: Weasley is fair game. Granger is not. Take with that what you will.)
Don’t bother with self-deprecating humor. It will just activate his hero complex and he will get all broody and sullen, muttering about how you shouldn’t think those things about yourself.
He’s surprisingly quick-witted. I always thought sarcasm would go over his head, but he’s managed to pull a few over on me. It doesn’t make him laugh, though. He just huffs a breath through his nose as a lazy substitute for laughter. It’s as if he’s refusing to laugh to spite me.
Snow down his back is a no-go. I almost got punched. But maybe it’s just because it’s me.
Flirting doesn’t work. I thought I’d cock it up badly enough that he’d at least laugh at me, but instead he just turned red and stuttered and erm-ed his way through a pissy exit and didn’t speak to me for the rest of the weekend.  
For some reason, destroying Weasley at chess may earn you another one of those huffy-chuckle things. Weasley is quite the sore loser and it is a rather funny display.
Joke items from Wizarding Wheezes just make him sad.
Dredging up an old Potter Stinks button made him smile. He put it on his nightstand. I catch him looking at it sometimes. It didn’t get the nostalgic laugh I expected, but it’s nice nonetheless.
Drinking gets him sad, too.
I thought I had a breakthrough. I genuinely thought I had it. A simple comment about Slughorn, muttered to Potter in the back of class, and his eyes sparked, his mouth opened, his breath caught… but then nothing. He just bit down on his smile and smacked my arm before asking me if his lizard’s lung was quartered properly (it wasn’t). I think that maybe I’m just not meant to make him laugh.
Fall into the Black Lake. Months of careful study, crafting jokes and battling wits, analyzing Potter from all angles, and even a humiliating trip to Wizarding Wheezes, and apparently, all I had to do was fall into the sodding lake. But, still, I made him laugh. I, Draco Malfoy, made him laugh. Not chuckle, not huff, not quirk a smile. I made him double over and howl with laughter until tears rolled down his cheeks while Weasley, poor sod, had to pull me out of the water. Even Granger seemed shocked with his display. I can’t say I blame her. No one’s heard that sound come from Potter in months. But now they have. Because of me. Quite frankly, I’ll fall into a thousand lakes it if means hearing that laugh again.
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poljupci · 2 months ago
Thank you for your drabbles! 32 from prompts please
I debated going full muggle AU on this but I think not going AU past EWE makes it more fun. Hope you like it and thanks for the prompt! <3
32. “Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
Draco sent his new muggle mobile phone a triumphant grin as the message he’d been carefully crafting for Granger finally passed through. She once told him that he could write multiple messages separately if he wished instead of sending one so long it resembled a letter more than a text, but he preferred no to waste his energy on figuring out when one message should stop and the other begin. Going by the way she texted, there had to be some rules, but so far, he couldn’t decipher them at all.
Glancing at the sent message once again, he carefully pressed the off button and stood up, heading for the bathroom. Harry met him in the hallway.
“I’m gonna make tea. Want some?” Harry said with a casual touch to his arm. It was as if Harry couldn’t keep his hands off him since they’d started dating, but honestly, Draco didn’t complain. He couldn’t resist touching Harry every time they saw each other either – even if it was only a brush of fingers against fingers.
“I just had a cup of coffee,” he said, and Harry nodded. His hand slipped off his harm and their fingers touched for a moment before they passed each other on the way to their destinations.
Harry was just walking past the table when Draco’s phone gave a loud buzz to signal a message. He glanced at the phone, not out of noisiness but impulsively. He intended to just leave Draco’s private phone to his private business – there was no lack of trust between them – but that one glance froze him into place.
By the time he figured what he’d seen, the phone had turned off again. Harry glanced back at the door, and when he saw that Draco wasn’t about to jump from behind the doorway, he quickly pressed the on button and there it was again. A photo he didn’t know Draco took staring at him as his lockscreen.
He wasn’t mad Draco took a photo of him at all. He found it rather adorable actually, that his boyfriend had him as the thing he saw every time he looked at his phone. It was a blurry picture of him in only a worn T-shirt and pants whisking what looked like pancake batter at the table in their kitchen. He was even facing the camera, so it was even more surprising he hadn’t noticed Draco photographing him, but the blurriness indicated it was taken in a hurry.
“Is that my phone?” Draco asked, his tone accusatory and frown deep. When Harry didn’t flinch or try to hide his ‘snooping’ he relaxed in increments.
“I’m your lockscreen?” Harry asked instead with a small smile. His smile widened when Draco snatched the phone from his hands, a pretty blush spreading over his cheeks.
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Draco mumbled. “I can change it if you want.”
“No, no,” Harry said quickly, coming closer to Draco and putting his hands around his waist. “I think it’s cute. I can pose for another picture if you want, so it wouldn’t be blurry.”
Draco thought it over for a moment before responding. “I like the one I have at the moment, thank you.”
“Really?” Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised. “It’s nothing special.”
Draco shrugged and repeated, “I really like it, though.”
Harry nodded even though he couldn’t quite figure it out. “If you’re happy…”
“I am,” Draco said with a smile, leaning in to kiss him, and for Harry, it was enough.
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justthingsfromsarah · 3 months ago
You didn’t hear this from me: He’s into you.
Now we’re even.
- Parkinson
I hastily hide the note in my pocket before anybody reads it. Our eyes meet across the classroom and I grin. Fascinated, I watch you as you blush.
All this time, I thought it was just me.
for the @drarrymicrofic prompt — thought
apologies. it originally listed this as for the microfic prompt blue, but I was tired and not paying attention when I wrote that. Whoops
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softlystarstruck · 4 months ago
Prompt: Domestic drarry (married please?) With angst
hi okay i saw “married with angst” and kinda forgot the domestic part in my writing fervor hjfjghj but i hope this is alright anyways! 3.2k, tw for mild gore, implied violence and forced isolation (with a happy ending). thanks to @vukovich for the beta :) read on ao3 here!
Draco has been in the room either a day or a year when they throw somebody in with him.
He’s certain, almost certain, that it’s one of those lengths of time. When they’d taken him from his walk home, dirty snow banks were piled up on the London streets; maybe it’s melted by now, he thinks. Here, the walls and the floor and the ceiling are monotonous grey stone, no cracks or seams, nothing to tell time by, so he isn’t at all prepared for a clean, square entryway to suddenly appear in the stone. Before Draco even has time to react, a body is thrown into the doorway, ropey red bonds of Dark magic disappearing with a pop as soon as the figure makes it through the doorway, confirming Draco’s theory (fear?) that the room contains magic dampeners. For a moment pain flashes white-hot through Draco’s limbs, but then the door is gone as quickly as it appeared and Draco presses himself into the corner, trying to grasp onto the reality of rough stone.
“Draco,” the figure says, and Draco immediately wants to sob and or scream because it’s Harry. Harry, his absolute darling idiot husband, Harry who’s on his hands and knees spitting blood onto the floor.
“Ngh,” is all Draco manages, staring at two of Harry's molars on the stone, like underworld pomegranate seeds soaked bloody, and for a manic moment he wonders what would happen if he slipped one onto his tongue, would it keep him clinging to life? Harry looks up, bright eyes bracketed by bruises and a nasty cut slicing down his cheek and jaw, and Draco has never seen anything more beautiful or terrible; Harry is glowing golden even bloodied and Draco feels like a wisp of air, as though this space has taken most of his existence from him.
“Oh god oh you’re alive oh god–” Harry is holding him suddenly, desperately, wrapping his hand too tight around the back of Draco’s skull, and Draco says I love you but instead it's a heaving sob, followed by another. Harry keeps babbling into Draco’s hair. “Baby baby you’re okay now it’s okay oh my god darling it’s gonna be okay–”
“They took my ring,” Draco manages to say, choking on the words. They had taken it before they’d pressed the knife point to his wrist, but the former action had cut deeper; he never took his wedding band off, wore it to sleep, wore it in the shower, because if he could see it he didn’t doubt Harry’s love, and now he’s been without it for a day or for a year. “They took– they took it and I– it’s you, it’s all I had of you and they– and I don’t know where–”
“Shh, shh, here, I can–” Harry fumbles his own ring off, sliding it onto the middle finger of Draco’s left hand, and it’s still slightly too big but it’s warm and it’s Harry and–
“Oh my god,” Harry whispers, blanching as he catches sight of Draco’s forearm, and oh–
“God,” Harry repeats, finally turning away with a hand pressed up to his mouth. “I’m gonna to be sick.”
“Don’t, please,” Draco whispers, curling his forearm back towards his body protectively. “I can’t feel it, there’s some sort of… statis charm in here, for people, I think, because I haven’t been hungry or thirsty and this– my arm has been the same since the day they put me in here.” Except for when the doorway appeared, but he doesn’t voice that thought, not willing to make Harry feel guilty.
“Draco,” Harry chokes out, still frozen in his crouched position on the floor. There’s a thin trail of blood traveling downwards from the corner of his lip, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “I– I can’t I– let me look at it, I have to heal it–”
“Magic dampeners,” Draco replies sadly, but he holds his arm out anyways and Harry blanches with horror all over again. “It’s really... I can’t feel it,” Draco reassures him, staring down at the raw edges of skin and the now-familiar shine of white bone carving out a circle where the Dark Mark was branded. He’s spent hours (seconds?) acclimating to the scooped-out gore of his arm, the ragged cords of his own muscle, and now all he can muster is a faint alarm. “I think what they want is for me to bleed out almost instantly if I’m removed from the room.”
“Oh god.” Harry makes a sound, keening and raw, and Draco realizes he’s crying. Silvery tear tracks glitter on Harry’s dark cheeks as he looks back up to Draco’s face, his expression a mess of horror and anger and sadness.
“I also think I’m in shock,” Draco continues quietly, sure of the truth of the words as soon as he speaks them. “I think I’ve been here too long, and I think staring at my own bone has done something rather irreparable, and I think that that that I love you so much I could die, and I don’t want you to be here because it means they hurt you too and–”
“Draco,” Harry whispers, voice cracking. He moves to hold Draco again, careful of his arm, humming something tuneless and soothing. “They didn’t hurt me too badly,” and Draco looks at Harry’s molars on the floor, the way Harry winces when he moves his knee a certain way. “We’ll get you back to St. Mungo’s and they’ll fix it, and then we’ll go home. It’s been… you’ve been missing for eight weeks.”
“Oh,” Draco says faintly, unable to wrap his mind around anything but the fact that eight weeks is neither a day nor a year; he wasn’t right on either count. Then– “I missed our anniversary?”
“Yeah, that’s how I knew something was– wrong. Because you wouldn’t...” Harry stops talking with a harsh breath, crushing Draco to his chest for a moment. “I’ve been frantic, I can’t– I didn’t know where you were, and then…”
Draco looks down, twisting Harry’s wedding ring around his middle finger. “How did you get here?”
“Well…” Harry trails off with a grimace. “Don’t tell me I’m stupid.”
“You clearly– you didn’t come in without a fight. How did you get here?” Draco repeats.
“There was a note, it just had coordinates and said you were alive and I didn’t stop to think–”
“You didn’t stop to think?” Draco interrupts, willing his jumble of thoughts to form something coherent, anything plausible, because he knows Harry, he knows that Harry is much more careful than he was when they were young, that Harry now pauses to consider the ramifications of his actions. He wouldn’t just Apparate to a point on a random note. Would he?
“I couldn’t stop to think, it’s you,” Harry says, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling for a moment, and Draco belatedly realizes one of his glasses lenses is cracked neatly down the middle. “I just… it’s you.”
“Merlin, Harry,” Draco says, laughing so he won’t cry. “Stupid. Stupid. I love you so much I– I– I can’t believe you’d just–”
“It’s you!” Harry exclaims, meeting Draco’s gaze head-on. “You’re my husband, I was out of my mind, I am out my mind, your fucking arm–” Harry turns his head away sharply and takes one deep breath, then another. “God, Draco, I didn’t know if you were dead.”
Draco blinks, blinks again, then presses his forehead down onto Harry’s shoulder. The two of them are all tangled up on the hard floor and Draco never wants to be anywhere else but Harry’s arms. “I’m not dead.”
“I know that now,” Harry snaps, huffing in exasperation, and the sound is so familiar that Draco’s chest aches. He curls up smaller, feeling ridiculous for even letting himself be in this situation; Harry’s voice goes tender. “And having a large chunk taken out of your arm and being held in isolation for weeks is still a worrying state of alive-ness. What… what happened, Draco?”
“I was just walking from the university, to the– the Apparition point right over by that corner store, and I wasn’t even thinking about anything important, just how I was planning to improve my lesson plans in the upcoming semester, and then it was dark, and I was here?” Draco shifts, trying to keep his tone steady, but he apparently hasn’t spoken in a very long time (eight weeks?) and the feeling of his voice in the back of his throat is overwhelming. “I didn’t even see– I should’ve been more aware.”
“No,” Harry says fiercely, so fiercely Draco startles. “No, you shouldn’t have to watch out for people who want to fucking torture you. It’s been twelve years since the war, you’re an English professor, and I run a fucking animal shelter, we shouldn’t be worrying about this shit. I can’t–” Harry breaks off as though choked and suddenly he’s sobbing the way he never allows himself too, heaving and wet, so Draco pulls his husband close, lets Harry’s tears soak the shoulder of his jumper.
“I hate that it’s me, it’s always me, because they just used you to get to me and now–” Harry’s breathing too fast, hysterical, and Draco is shaking because he doesn’t know how to make this better, he’s numb and feeling too much all at once. “They hurt you, they hurt you so badly because of me.”
“Harry, shhh, it’s alright–”
“It’s not!” Harry bites out and the volume of his voice is enough to make Draco flinch; he’s been in complete silence for eight weeks (eight weeks?). Immediately Harry starts rubbing small circles onto Draco’s back, lowering his voice to a soft murmur. “Sorry baby, sorry, it’s just not. Okay. It’s not okay. When we’re back home I– we’re going to figure something out. I don’t know. I’m never letting this happen again.”
When we’re back home.
“Harry,” Draco begins, his voice flat with horror. “Did you– did you tell anyone where you were going? When you Apparated?” Harry pulls away, looking at Draco with an unreadable expression. Unblinking, he stares for a few long seconds before glancing up towards the ceiling again. The moment stretches out long enough that panic has clawed through Draco’s heart by the time Harry answers.
“Harry,” Draco sobs out, because they can’t keep Harry here, he’s too radiant, too beautiful, to be dampened by this place; Draco can’t lose that, they can’t make him lose that, he can’t lose his husband, they took Draco’s flesh and his ring, but they can’t take Harry not like this–
“Draco,” Harry starts, then turns in surprise as there’s a faint noise beyond the room. In the circle of Harry’s arms Draco freezes, uncertain what’s happening.
“Oh, good,” Harry says brightly, as though they’re not still held in a magic-dampening stone room (cell?) that has streaks of Harry’s blood on the floor. Before Draco can react, there’s a sharp pop and a flash of red as the doorway appears in the wall again, presenting Head Auror Ron Weasley himself.
“You look like shit,” Ron immediately tells Harry, his adrenaline-soaked grin falling away as he turns to Draco. “And we’re getting you out of here. C’mon.”
“Wait, Ron, Draco’s hurt– there’s something about the room–”
Draco’s vision wobbles horribly as Harry shifts away from him, standing up to face Ron and favoring his right leg. Clutching at the floor, Draco realizes with a jolt that whatever statis was held in the room has been broken by the appearance of the door, and oh, that’s what the pain was when they threw Harry in. The smell of blood lays metallic in his nose, and he knows with a terrible certainty it’s his own, but he can’t open his mouth, he can’t do anything, he’s on fire.
“We’ll get the medic out here, she… do you know… long it’s been like… shit, Draco…”
“No no no no darling no–”
Harry’s warm hand on his cheek is the last thing Draco understands.
“Hush now, he’s coming to–”
“He is? Right now? Is he going to be okay, you said he might not– you said–”
“Mr. Potter, if you cannot control yourself you will be asked to leave the room–”
“It’s Malfoy-Potter, actually, and he is my husband.”
The words filter through Draco’s mind as though through deep water, wavering in their insistence. Trying to open his eyes, he finds his body sluggish and limp, and he makes a panicked noise in the back of his throat.
“Draco,” someone says frantically, and then Harry’s hands are on Draco’s face, cupping his cheeks and his jaw.
“Mr. Potter, get off of him–”
Draco finally blinks open his eyes and there’s Harry, his green eyes overly bright and his mouth pulled taut with worry. There’s someone trying to pull Harry away from him, he thinks, and that alone makes his blood run hot and fearful.
“Harry,” he tries to say, but the word splits in his mouth and comes out as a groan.
“Shh darling, I’m here, I’m here, don’t worry,” but Draco is surrounded by blinking multicolored lights pouring out of a Healer’s wand, and he’s already fading away again.
“I’ll be right here,” Harry says, and Draco closes his eyes.
When Draco blinks awake again, the room is dim and Harry is slumped over in a chair pulled directly next to the bed Draco is tucked into. Gentle diagnostic spells float in the air and throw light red, purple, yellow across Harry’s sleeping face. Thankfully, Draco can’t see any more visible injuries, though there are still dark circles under Harry’s eyes and a tense furrow in his brow, even in sleep. His face rests on his hand, cheek scrunched up in a way that’s surely uncomfortable, and Draco wants to hold his husband’s chin himself, but his limbs are still uncooperative.
“Harry,” he says gently, then louder. “Harry.”
Harry jerks, pitching forward before snapping his gaze to Draco’s face. Blinking quickly, his sleepiness falls away as he realizes Draco is awake. “Baby,” Harry whispers, his voice raw. “Oh, darling, oh, how are you feeling?”
Draco tries to take stock of his own body as Harry’s hands come to rest on his cheeks, unbearably gentle. Everything feels heavy, like gravity suddenly has a stronger hold on him, but nothing actively hurts, which he assumes is either a good sign or an indication of how strong his pain potions are. With effort, he brings his heavily bandaged left arm out of the blankets and covers Harry’s hand with his own.
“Heavy. But no pain. My… my arm?”
Harry exhales, close enough that Draco can feel it brush his cheek. “It’s going to take a while to heal, and you’re going to have a nasty scar, but they reassured me the regenerative potion has already restored full muscle function, which is good. I’m supposed to let the Healer know you’re awake, but first I have something for you.” Reaching into his pocket, Harry pulls out a gold ring, and Draco’s breath catches; even though he can’t see it well in the dim light, he knows it to his core; the ding on the edge from when he accidentally slammed his hand into a stair rail, the inscription inside the band that reads yours, always in Harry’s handwriting.
“How…” Draco whispers, too breathless to finish asking his question, but Harry understands.
“I asked Ron if they could look for it while they swept the scene. They were able to find it immediately with an Accio.” Harry gently holds Draco’s hand, sliding the ring onto his fourth finger where it lies next to Harry’s band, still loose on his middle finger, both glinting gold.
“Take yours back,” Draco says hoarsely. “We have to– we have to both have them or– or–”
“Shhh, I know.” Harry flexes his fingers, ring glinting, then threads his fingers through Draco’s. “I have to call the Healer so they don’t yell at me.” Harry grimaces. “Again.”
“No, tell me– tell me how Ron found us.”
Harry turns away, biting down on his lip. “Well I had to… lie to you. I didn’t Apparate directly the coordinates in the note. Even though I nearly did,” he says, turning back to Draco with an intense light in his eyes. “I nearly did.”
“Harry, it’s alright,” he whispers, and it truly is; Draco would rather know that Harry lied to him than worry that he didn’t truly know his husband.
“I hate lying to you. I just– Ron said they were probably watching you, and I didn’t want to give them any hint that the Aurors were coming. Apparently, the group had already been stirring up Neo-Death Eater shit, but they hadn’t been able to find their base yet, so I went in absolutely covered with tracking spells. Not sure what else happened on the Auror side, but honestly, I don’t care. I just needed to get to you.”
“Harry… you’re not trained for that, they shouldn’t have made you…” Harry shakes his head, and Draco falls silent.
“I told Ron I was going in one way or another. I couldn’t– when I knew you were still alive, I– God, Draco, there was so much blood by the time we got you to St. Mungo’s. All over my jumper. Even once I showered I could still feel it.” Harry closes his eyes tightly, bringing his hands up to rub his temples. “They didn’t know if you would survive. If you’d… Draco, I can’t breathe without you.”
“That sounds rather codependent of you,” Draco says weakly, trying to hide the roughness of his voice, but Harry shoots him a look and Draco softens. “Harry, you’re… every day, I knew you loved me.”
“You didn’t have your ring,” Harry murmurs. Early into their marriage, when Draco had explained why he has to wear his ring all the time, how if he doesn’t he spirals into his own head, Harry had simply nodded and kissed the inside of Draco’s palm. Logically, Draco knows Harry loves him, knows that a ring doesn’t change that, but panic is rarely logical.
“You didn’t have your ring?” Harry says again, a question this time. Unable to explain it better, Draco simply nods, and Harry grabs Draco’s face rather desperately. “You were in isolation for eight weeks and didn’t have your ring, and you knew every day that I loved you?”
“Yes.” Draco tries to turn his face away, suddenly hot with embarrassment. Harry is better at confessions, at words; Draco shows his love with his hands and cups of tea. “It was the only thing I was sure of.”
“Oh god,” Harry breathes out, pressing his forehead hard to Draco’s. “I love you. I can’t even begin… I love you, I love you.”
“Harry.” Draco's voice is punched-out; it suddenly hits him that he’s alive, he’s still alive, and Harry is here. “I– I love you too. So much.”
“I really do have to call the Healer,” Harry says, but makes no move to take his hands off of Draco’s face, and for a moment they simply breathe, wrapped up in each other and the flickering red purple yellow light.
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dorthyanndrarry · 10 days ago
Whatever You Want, Draco Malfoy -12-
Tags: alcohol use, marijuana use, cigarettes, smoking, reckless behaviour, lack of self preservation, anxiety issues, chronic illness, deportation, racism, the fucking Tories, ptsd, super unhealthy coping mechanisms, Down and out Draco who’s friends with muggles, various OC’s, enemies to lovers, angst, mentions of throwing up/vomit
suggested rating: Mature
Part 1 (contains links to all parts) <- Part 11 || Part 13 ->
Draco went straight from the back of the building, up the stairs, to Elle’s flat. His mind was only on one thing, or several things, or several bottles waiting for him. His hand shook as he raised it to knock.
Draco squeezed his eyes shut.
It was too much. It was so much. And he just wanted it to stop, just stop for a little while.
He tried to tell himself it was just Potter, just stupid fucking Potter. The last thing he was supposed to care about was what scar-head said. There was just something- something about the way Potter stood, the- his fists- Draco’s breathing stuttered in his chest- the way he threw the money, like a voice in his head saying, foolish boy.
Draco shuddered, his knuckles brushing against the wood.
The door swung open and Draco jumped back with a startled laugh.
“Fucking hell, Draco!” Elle chided and laughed, “You scared the shit out of me!”
Draco wobbled backwards until his back pressed against the railing.
“Looking for something?” Elle teased. “Like a pillow?”
“Right,” Draco nodded, “My pillow.”
“It got pushed under my dresser,” Elle frowned and stepped close. “Draco?” She touched his shoulder lightly.
Draco jumped, his whole body feeling like a live wire, he tried to laugh again, but it came out forced.
“Sorry,” Elle said, pulling her hand back.
“It’s fine,” Draco said. “It’s fine.”
“I can tell that it’s not,” Elle said, “Can I help?”
“I ...I don’t know,” Draco managed.
“Let’s walk,” Elle said.
“What?” Draco said, confused.
“It helps. It feels like running away,” Elle smiled ruefully, “A little bit. But a little bit is enough.”
Elle grabbed a rolling cart from inside her apartment and quickly shut and locked the door. When she headed down the stairs, Draco followed her.
“Is it- Are you okay to be out?” Draco asked.
“I feel good today,” Elle said, “So I wanted to do some shopping. Grocery deliveries are all well and good, but they can’t pick out the perfect colour of toothbrush or the fluffiest bath towel.”
Draco nodded silently.
“The thing is, my health gets worse every year,” Elle said, her tone deliberately light. “There’s this saying, ‘live like you’re dying’ well, I live like I’m deteriorating. Someday, I won’t be able to go out like this. Someday, I may not be able to live on my own, but until that day comes, I want to do anything and everything that I can, while I can still do it.”
“That’s...” Draco trailed off.
“Don’t say ‘brave’,” Elle laughed, “It’s just realistic. And I’ve cried plenty over it. Anyone would. It’s a shitty thing, what my body is doing to me.”
“I wasn’t going to say brave,” Draco said.
“I wasn’t sure what I was going to say,” Draco said.
Elle laughed. She slowed down so they could walk side by side.
“So?” Elle said.
“So, you look a bit worse for wear,” Elle said. “Did you have a rough night?”
Draco smiled faintly to himself, “I wish. I’m a bit... sober at the moment.”
Elle hesitated, “That’s… is that good?”
Draco laughed.
“You’ve never tried to sober up before,” Elle said.
“It’s for a lark mostly,” Draco said.
“That’s not something you do on a lark,” Elle said, “Does it have anything to do with that bloke who stole your rent hanging around?”
Draco scowled.
“Uhuh,” Elle said.
“We made a deal,” Draco said, “He wants to make up for all the shit he’s done.”
“And that includes being sober?” Elle said, “Because from what I know of you, that seems more like a punishment than help.”
“Potter thinks he can save me,” Draco said. “I’m not supposed to fuck around either. Literally.”
Elle wrinkled her nose, “What do you get out of this?”
“A place to stay.”
“I was happy to give you that,” Elle said.
“You weren’t any trouble. And I mean that,” Elle said.
“Well… I felt bad about it,” Draco said.
Elle gave him a look.
“What?” Draco said defensively.
“You’re always helping us, but it’s like pulling teeth trying to do even the smallest favour back,” Elle said.
They stopped at the corner, waiting for the lights to change. The traffic was growing steadily heavier as they got closer to the shopping centre.
“So, what are you getting out of this? Because it seems like it’s just… more trouble for you,” Elle said.
“It’s- Well… when you put it like that-”
Elle snorted.
“It’s complicated,” Draco said.
“Ooo, do tell,” Elle said.
Draco laughed.
They crossed the street, and Elle headed towards a small discount shop Draco had never been in before.
“We went to school together. Same year, different houses,” Draco said.
“You were the rich brat, and he was scholarship student-” Elle said, with an airy voice.
“It sounds like the start of a million kids books. Very cliché,” Elle said.
“Potter might dress like he fell out of a wheely bin, but from what I’ve heard, his parents left him quite an inheritance,” Draco said.
“He’s an orphan?”
“A tragic orphan?” Elle asked conspiratorially.
Draco rolled his eyes, “Yes.”
“I’m afraid that makes up for the secretly wealthy bit,” Elle said, “Still cliché.”
Draco frowned.
“So? Tell me more.”
Draco remained silent.
“Come on,” Elle cajoled.
“You’re going to laugh,” Draco said.
Elle grinned, “That only makes it better.”
Draco sighed, “...We were rivals.”
“Of course you were!” Elle laughed.
“You’re lucky I needed to go shopping, as well,” Draco said, grabbing one of the plastic baskets next to the door.
“What else, what else?” Elle asked.
“You’re the worst,” Draco muttered.
“Were you footy rivals too?” Elle asked.
Draco didn’t respond.
“You were, weren’t you!?”
Elle cackled with delight, completely indifferent to all the people staring at them. Draco spotted an aisle with toothpaste and headed down it. He frowned at the toothbrushes and picked out a two-pack, decorated with bright neon colours and a suction cup on the bottom to stick to the sink.
“I like those too,” Elle said, joining him, “They’re for kids, but the bristles are softer, and it’s smaller. I hate how big normal toothbrushes are. I have a very small mouth.”
“Seems like a very big mouth to me,” Draco said, putting the toothbrushes into his basket and moving down to the toothpaste.
“Ouch,” Elle said lightly, “I hit a nerve, huh?”
“I’ve lived my whole life without the knowledge that my childhood was some sort of cliched nonsense, and then you come along-”
“Sorry! Sorry!” Elle said. “I was just teasing!”
Draco frowned at the stupid amount of different kinds of toothpaste and picked a random box with a lot of sparkles on it.
“You don’t talk about yourself much,” Elle said, “Except the cult thing, which is pretty… amazing on its own but, I mean, it’s nice to talk about other stuff.”
“You’re fine,” Draco said, “I’m...I’m just not used to teasing.”
“Your friends never teased you before?” Elle asked.
“They did, sometimes,” Draco frowned to himself, “Not often. My father commanded a lot of respect.”
“Your father did? Not you,” Elle said.
“It was the cult thing,” Draco said, “Most of my friends were the kids of other people in the cult or scared of who my father was or… yeah.”
Elle put an arm around Draco’s back and gave him a squeeze.
“What’s that for?” Draco asked.
“No reason,” Elle said, “What else do you need to buy?”
Draco gave her a suspicious look. “A razor and shaving cream. Something to wear that isn’t… this,” he gestured down at himself.
“I wasn’t going to say anything….” Elle said.
“I know,” Draco said.
“Teasing again,” Elle said.
Draco rolled his eyes, “What else do you need?”
“A new towel and a bra, some other clothes, maybe some socks if they have some that are really soft and fuzzy,” Elle said.
Draco nodded, “Then perhaps you can explain how bra sizing works.”
Elle snorted, “You think I know?”
“You wear them, don’t you?” Draco said.
“Yeah, but I figured out my size by trial and error. And half the time, it’s different depending on the brand and material it’s made of,” Elle said.
“That’s ridiculous,” Draco said.
“Yup. I usually just wear sports bras, but I like to have a few nice ones. They’re my going out bras,” Elle said.
Draco grinned.
“I’m glad I ran into you,” Elle said, “Shopping is always more fun with someone else.”
Draco nodded, “Yeah, it is.”
Draco returned late in the afternoon, after spending most of the day Elle. They shopped for several hours and then dawdled in a fast food place for a while before making their way back to the building.
“You can come back and stay with me,” Elle said as they walked back up the street.
“I know,” Draco said, pulling Elle’s rolling basket behind them, both their bags piled into it.
“Are you even friends with- with Potter now?” Elle asked.
“No. Definitely not,” Draco said.
“You never said what you were getting out of staying with him,” Elle said.
“Danish,” Draco said.
Elle looked up at him in confusion.
“He bought me danish and made me some sub-par coffee,” Draco said.
“That’s it?” Elle said.
“No...” Draco said.
“I’m thinking.”
“Draco, you can just move back in with me. I haven’t even moved my furniture back yet,” Elle said.
Draco grimaced, “...I can’t.”
“We made a deal… I quit drinking and sleeping around, and he gives me everything I want,” Draco said.
“Like danish.”
“And terrible coffee,” Draco said with a nod.
Elle raised her eyebrows.
“He gave me the money to go shopping as well.” Draco said, “And it’s only been a day.”
Elle puffed out her cheeks and blew out a raspberry.
Draco laughed in surprise.
“I just have a bad feeling about it. You don’t have a great history with the guy,” Elle said.
You have no idea, Draco thought and very much didn’t say.
“And I don’t just mean when you were in school,” Elle went on, “He took your rent money so that you lost your flat. Because he thought you stole it. And now he’s trying to fix you? It just feels... icky.”
“It’s not like that,” Draco said.
Elle made a face.
“And I can leave at any time,” Draco said, “Besides, he’s going to break first.”
“He promised me ‘whatever I want!’ That’s ridiculous! Being sober is… fucking atrocious, to be honest, but it’s the only difficult part of my side of the deal,” Draco said.
“You’re not in school anymore, Draco,” Elle said sharply, “You don’t have to compete with him. You don’t have to win.”
“You should put you first,” Elle said. She frowned and repeated stubbornly, “I really think you should put you first.”
Their pace slowed as they stepped through the archway leading into the courtyard.
Draco frowned to himself.
Elle let out a huge sigh and waved her hands emphatically, “You don’t have to do anything I say. It’s your life. Don’t let other people control your life.”
Draco blinked.
“That said, I care about you, and I’m worried, and I want you to be safe,” Elle looked up at him, “Does that make sense?”
Draco nodded, “It does.”
“Okay,” Elle said. “Good. Today was great. I’m glad we got to hang out.”
“I am as well,” Draco said.
Elle smiled faintly, “You should have this Potter bloke buy you a cell phone, so we can go out again the next time my traitorous body lets me.”
“It couldn’t hurt to ask,” Draco said.
Elle grinned, “Now, if you don’t mind, would you help me carry my bags upstairs?”
“Of course,” Draco said.
💜 Next update will be tuesday pst 💜 I’m working on a Liar’s Department halloween special for the week halloween falls onto. I’m excited 😁 I hope y’all like it
Tags below v (I don’t have a permanent tags list. All tags are of the wonderful people who left messages on the previous 2 parts.)
💜 @pain-changes-everything thank you so much!!!!! 💜
💜 @slyther-ink smoothing sailing is no fun lol :D  💜thank you!!!!! 💜
💜 @cats-extra-tails thank you! 💜
💜 @devilrising draco is such a little shit :D  💜thank you so much!! 💜
💜 @shadowybook  😂they’re such squabbly little children, still pulling pigtails but neither one of them knows when to stop 💜 💜thank youuuuuuuu!!! 💜
💜 @justafangirlslikes thank you! 💜
💜 @languedor71 they have suuuuuch different communication styles it’s funny 💜 💜thank you so much!!! 💜 💜
💜 @havingaverydrarryday thank you! 💜
💜 @dewitty1 god they are idiots, still just kids that never had the time to grow up 💜 💜 💜thank you! 🥰💜 💜 💜 
💜 @dracodragon19872 they are always getting under one another skin, they’ve had years of practise 💜 💜 💜thank youuuuuu!!!!! 💜 💜 💜
💜 @onomtonks  💜 @cloack  💜 @chosenpotter  💜 @addicted-to-w0rds  💜 @snarkyship  💜 @champagnemonarch  💜  
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shealwaysreads · 20 days ago
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drarry | E | 1.4k | kinktober, uniform kink, strip tease, leather gloves, lots of buttons, a whisper of boot worship, auror!Harry, unspeakable!Draco
Summary: Harry gets caught watching.
Read on Ao3
“What are you looking at?” Malfoy asked, cut-glass accent perfectly disdainful.
Malfoy’s lip twitched, almost a sneer, almost. “You’re watching me, Potter.”
“I’m not.”
He was. Harry had been watching him since they were both eleven, but that wasn’t what Malfoy meant. No. Harry was watching him now and he wasn’t even being subtle about it.
It was only the two of them in the changing room that the trainee Aurors and Unspeakables all shared, everyone else had left the building ages ago. It was late. Later than either of them should be here; later than they would be if they weren’t both working more than they should, if they weren’t both trying to prove themselves.
Harry had been in the duelling room, sparring with the automatons. Malfoy had been doing who-knew-what in who-knew-where. But they had both ended up here—in the sweat-scented changing rooms lined with lockers on both sides of the room. Harry was sitting on the uncomfortable wooden bench in the middle and Malfoy stood—defensive and as likely to admit it as a snake—against his locker.
Harry hadn’t meant to look, at first. It’s just that he was tired, bone-tired, and Malfoy was a curiosity now. Proven not-dangerous and maybe-decent by his wartime spying on behalf of the Order, but still sharp and unknown. Not-dangerous was an overstatement, perhaps. Malfoy had shown himself to be just as lethal as Voldemort had hoped for, only it was by hamstringing Fenrir in the middle of the battle rather than by felling Dumbledore during their sixth year.
The Unspeakables only took on talented witches and wizards with rare minds and a proclivity for deep thought and ambitious magic. But Harry wasn’t thinking about Malfoy’s mind. He was thinking about the fact that he had never seen Malfoy in less than perfectly neat clothes. Even in the midst of Fiendfyre and battle, Malfoy’s shirt had been buttoned up to the top, long sleeves covering his arms.
Unspeakable uniforms were even worse. They didn’t wear loose robes—like the Aurors, their uniforms had been streamlined after ‘incidents’ involving overly long sleeves and too much fabric—but tightly tailored black with so many buttons Harry couldn’t count them. Malfoy was covered from his neck to his toes; he even wore gloves, leather gloves.
Harry had started looking because Draco took his gloves off like it was some kind of personal ritual. He used the thumb and forefinger of his right hand to pinch the tip of each finger on the glove covering his left hand, until it was loose enough for him to slide off. The revelation of his hand—pale skin, slender fingers, perfectly manicured nails—had caught Harry’s attention. Then Malfoy did the same thing to his other hand.
It was like a present being unwrapped. Only the present was Malfoy.
That’s when Malfoy had opened his mouth and Harry thought that would be the end of it. Malfoy obviously knew Harry had been watching, and Harry’s denial had been more about keeping to form than any real protestation. Malfoy would pick up his gloves, snort derisively in Harry’s direction, and then bugger off home—wherever that was, these days.
Only Malfoy didn’t do any of that. He threw his gloves down on the bench next to Harry and with that quirk of his lip that said you are so far beneath me he brought his hands—his uncovered, unclothed hands—to the button glinting just under his chin. It slipped out of its hole. His fingers moved down to the next. Nimble and quick. The buttons were smaller than a knut, black and shiny, and Malfoy had only undone two of about a hundred but Harry’s chest felt like he’d just run up three flights of stairs.
Malfoy showed no signs of stopping.
The hollow of Malfoy’s throat, framed by the black collar of his uniform, was as startlingly pale as his hands. But more than that. This was the first time Harry had so much as seen this part of Malfoy.
Harry’s pulse thudded in his ears. He was just sitting, watching, but it felt like he’d just discovered something.
By the time Malfoy’s nipples—light pink, like the bit of the inside of his lip that Harry could see when he spoke—were revealed, Harry was hard. He didn’t bother trying to hide it. Malfoy had slowed down, made a show of each button sliding from it’s fastening, each inch of skin revealed.
Harry thought it might be the stark contrast of Malfoy’s black uniform against his fair skin that made Harry’s brain slow and slide like molasses. Or maybe it was the unexpected trail of dark blond hair that started on his sternum and trailed down, and down. Or maybe it was the silvery trace of scars on his skin. Or maybe it was Malfoy’s grey eyes, watching Harry as he watched Malfoy. A twin observation.
“Do you like to watch, Potter? Like to see, but not touch?”
“I—” Harry swallowed. He didn’t know the answer. He’d never done anything like this before. Never tangled himself, even accidentally, with someone as complicated as Malfoy. Malfoy who could make getting changed after work into something like a dance, something like a minefield.
“Of course.” Malfoy’s voice had dropped into something lower, softer. “You want to touch yourself. Go on then, do it.”
Harry stared. Malfoy unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, and then there were pale wrists on show. Harry could see the tracery of blue veins there, and wondered if Malfoy’s pulse was racing as fast as his own.
“Come on, Potter, I’m showing you mine.”
Harry moved almost without thinking—he certainly didn’t pause to wonder what would happen if someone walked in—he undid his jeans and pulled himself out. But Malfoy interrupted him before he could do anything more than that.
“Wait a minute, I need your help.” Malfoy stepped forward, the top of his uniform unbuttoned all the way—the shirt hanging open and his navel level with Harry’s eyes—and placed the tip of his foot on the bench between Harry’s spread thighs. “Undo my boot for me, Potter.”
He was serious. Malfoy watched, waiting as though he had reserves of patience where Harry was concerned (contrary to all prior evidence). Harry looked down at where the shiny black leather of Draco’s boot sat, right in front of his own cock, still hard and standing proud of his open jeans.
Malfoy’s boots were laced halfway up his calf, and the knot was tight, but the leather was warm under Harry’s fingers and Malfoy’s skin was responsible for the warmth. Harry undid the laces quickly, and held onto the heel of the boot as Malfoy pulled his foot out, then set it on the bench beside him and pulled Malfoy’s sock off too. Malfoy’s bare foot was as pale and elegant as his hands, Harry wondered if he liked having his feet rubbed, and what it would feel like if Malfoy pressed the ball of his foot against Harry’s erection. Malfoy brought him back to reality—even better than his imagination, for once—by placing his other boot in the same position, and patiently waited once again for Harry to do his bit.
“Only seems right for you to help me, before you help yourself,” Malfoy murmured, his eyes on Harry’s cock.
Harry didn’t know what to say, so he stayed quiet—it had worked for him so far, and it worked again. Malfoy almost smiled, and his hands went to the waist of his trousers; there were buttons there, too. Swiftly undone, they revealed more of that dark blond hair—curling and neat—and then Malfoy’s cock. He was hard. Maybe he liked being watched as much as Harry liked watching.
Malfoy nudged Harry’s thigh with the toe of his boot, dangerously close to his balls. “Come on, take it off.”
Once again, Harry pulled off Malfoy’s boot, and then his sock. Malfoy put his foot back on the ground, widened his stance, and then stepped forward even closer—till his open trousers were almost close enough to touch Harry’s face.
“Actually, I think you should properly help me. Seeing as I’ve so kindly let you watch the show.”
Harry looked up, and Malfoy’s eyes were dark, his lips slightly parted. He was serious.
“Are you sure?” Harry asked.
“Do it, Potter.”
Read on Ao3
October 2nd & 3rd from this prompt list 🖤
Read the series here on Tumblr or here on Ao3
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corvuscrowned · a day ago
night visits
100 words | written for @hp-fearfest‘s day 20 prompt: it’s came from the black lagoon | thank you @cavendishbutterfly for the ever-phenomenal betas!!
Draco visits Harry in his office every evening, brimming with critiques of Harry’s Defense curriculum, his discretion doling out House points, the state of his robes. 
Most days, Draco is lucid. Some days, he can’t quite remember where he is.
Harry tried to explain it to him at first, why Draco was always slightly damp, why his age never caught up with Harry’s. But eventually, he gave up.
Harry watches from his window every night: pale fingers digging into the side of the Great Lake. Draco hoisting himself out, wringing out his hair, and taking sloshing steps toward the castle.
crow’s fearfics
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phoebe-delia · a day ago
little do you know i need a little more time
I have put off this @drarrymicrofic prompt because every time I'd listen to the song I'd think of a different, unrelated story idea lol. But here's some angst. CW: mental illness, slightly hopeful ending?
"If you need an answer now, it has to be no."
"I'm not ready. I can't...It's not fair to either of us, Harry. All my heart can do for now is keep me alive and I can't give it away when it's just learning to beat again."
"Then take mine, Draco. Be mine."
"I need to belong to myself. I need to own myself, for once."
"Then I'll wait."
"...You shouldn't."
"I want to. I'll wait, Draco."
"I don't know how long it'll take. If ever."
"You don't have to know. "
"I wish I was ready for you. I wish I was ready to love. I wish I could do more than...exist."
"That's all you need to do."
"Exist. You, exactly as you are; that's enough for me. I hope you'll find me again when you realize that you're enough for yourself, too."
"I will, Harry. I promise."
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the-boy-who-bottomed · 10 hours ago
Draco : I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just gonna whisper it to Ted and he’ll blurt it out
Draco : * whispers *
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written-in-ash · a month ago
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Tender is the Night
CW: unhealthy relationships and implied domestic abuse (not between Harry and Draco)
Draco stumbles into my flat two hours later than expected. His eyes are crimson red, and his smile is pulled taut against his porcelain skin. Draco used to stand as elegant as a statue, confidence vibrating through his very being. Eventually, the corrosion of each blackening brand of decaying love won out as the bruising marks tarnish his radiance.
My heart sinks as I hold his trembling body close to my own. After each breakup with Kiran, I resign myself to a solid object obstructing the sun’s rays. I force myself to watch as Draco folds into himself to fit into the shadow.
He loves Kiran, Draco confessed to me under the sun’s scorching beam one day. Love, he said, is loyalty. And loyalty is knowing when to back down. When not to walk away.
I told him he was wrong. I explained that love was meant to encourage, to bloom. Draco simply bit his lower lip and bowed his head like a servant to the sun above.
Against me, he tries to hide the falling of his tears as my heart aches in phantom sympathy, the acidic trail of his tears burning me just as much as it does him. I feel the heavy sensation of yearning settling into my hollow bones, causing me to reach for something that is and will never be there.
I hold him closer as Draco’s wandering fingers trace my tattoo; the words tender is the night etched in ink scrawled across my chest. Right under the words lie the heavy pieces of my broken heart.
Kiran meaning: Sunbeam
Tender is the night
For a broken heart
Who will dry your eyes
When it falls apart?
A sequel
Thank you @phoebedelia for the beta! Love you, my hufflepuff sis 💛
Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt: Space Song
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calypsotempete · 25 days ago
Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt Peculiar! I’ve had this vague idea kicking in my head for ages and had great fun finally getting it down. 
Peculiar Boys and their Pretty Dresses
Harry enters the common room—shoulder sore where his bag digs into it—to the sound of hushed and vitriolic arguing. He spots Malfoy and Blaise by the message board, Malfoy drawn up to his full six feet to point up between Blaise’s eyes. Harry creeps closer, unnoticed, and hovers beside an armchair within earshot.
“If it’s not down by the time I get back from dinner, Blaise, so help me, I will make you rue the day you decided to step foot on these grounds.”
Blaise calmly pushes Malfoy’s finger out of his face.
“Rue the day, darling?” Blaise asks with a wry smile.
“You forget I have pictures of my own.”
Blaise’s smile falls just a bit, but his nose remains defiantly in the air. Harry shifts around, curious to see what could have Malfoy so worked up. As he moves, his bag slides down his arm and catches on his elbow with a deafening rustle of canvas on robes, and both heads snap towards him.
Harry freezes. He gives his most sheepish smile and watches in slight horror and fascination as Blaise’s face lights up with glee while Malfoy’s screws up and turns the most brilliant shade of red.
Malfoy whips back to Blaise, and in a low voice that sends a shiver down Harry’s spine, says, “Take it down. Now.”
Blaise clicks his tongue. “No.”
“I’ll put up the picture of you cooing over Professor McGonnagal.”
Blaise shrugs.
“I’ll release copies of the time you snogged Greg. I’ll send out a newsletter detailing the time you popped a boner in Snape’s class. I will personally hand deliver the drunken letter you wrote to Lovegood professing your undying love for her.” Malfoy counts off his threats, looking more and more desperate with each shake of Blaise’s head.
“Worth it, love.”
Malfoy balls up his hands into fists and lets out a frustrated noise through clenched teeth before storming off in what can only be described as a magnificent temper tantrum. Truly, one of his finest, and Harry has been witness to many.
Harry watches the common room door close behind Malfoy and turns back to find Blaise gone, too. He looks around, ensuring that the common room is empty, before carefully walking up to the message board.
There, given a place of honor in the center of the board, is a photograph of Malfoy standing sullenly in the middle of the Slytherin common room in a too-short and ill-fitting girl’s uniform. It looks to have been taken at the end of fifth year, judging by his floppy hair and gangly limbs that look too long for his body. He scowls at the camera, pink-cheeked, before looking sharply to the side and flicking off whoever caught his attention, fruitlessly pulling down the skirt in an endless loop. His legs look scrawny in the knee-high grey socks the girls are meant to wear, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot as if ready to bolt the second he’s released from his torture.
Harry’s cheeks heat. Malfoy looks pissed-off and awkward and embarrassed and entirely human, and it makes Harry’s stomach swoop each time that scowl makes its way back to the camera, to him.
Harry reaches up and tugs on the photo, but of course, it’s stuck to the board. He pulls out his wand and tries a Finite Incantatem, but the photo stays fast. He tries tugging on it harder, ignoring the part of his brain that’s asking why it’s so important to have the photo to begin with, when suddenly, it pops off.
He wheels around to see Blaise pocketing his wand and smirking at him. His heart stops and he gapes as Blaise crosses his arms and leans against the back of the couch with a smug smile. Harry looks down at the offending photo and then back at Blaise.
“I—that—I wasn’t—” He stutters, gesturing helplessly at the board and the conspicuously empty rectangle at the center.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got copies.”
“No, I didn’t—”
Blaise laughs to himself and walks away, leaving Harry alone in the common room once more.
Harry looks at the photo. Malfoy scowls at him.
“Shut up,” Harry hisses before pocketing the photo and hurrying to his dorm.
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poljupci · 2 months ago
Hey there, cheers to 7k!
My prompt request 246. “Nooooo, don’t leave! I’m cold!”
Thank you so much for the prompt! Happy reading. <3
246. “Nooooo, don’t leave! I’m cold!”
Harry woke up to someone playing with the hair on the back of his neck and an occasional gentle kiss on his jawline. Knowing that that someone can only be Draco made him smile, even in his still dazed state.
“’ Morning,” he grumbled, his voice hoarse but warm. He peered through his heavy eyelids to see his favourite person in the world sprawled all over him.
“Hey,” Draco whispered back and angled his head for a kiss in which Harry readily obliged him. “How did you sleep?”
“Good. Your cold feed woke me up a few times though.”
Draco scoffed and pressed his clearly cold feet deeper under Harry’s shins. “I don’t have cold feet.”
“Sure. You also don’t hog the blankets.”
“It’s cold,” Draco said as an excuse.
“It’s warm when you’re with me,” Harry quipped and kissed Draco again.
“It’s warm when you don’t forget to renew the warming charms before bed.” Draco pressed himself more firmly against the furnace that was his boyfriend and then buried his cold nose in Harry’s shoulder. The fact that he could breathe in the authentic Harry Potter scent all the more easily this way was just a bonus.
“They wear out in this weather anyway,” Harry shrugged and absentmindedly began carding through Draco’s hair. Sure enough, only a glance towards the window showed him the endless whiteness of fresh snow and frost gathered during the night.
Harry reached for his wand on his bedside table, temporarily dislocating Draco from his embrace. As soon as a warming charm was cast, though, his body was once again overtaken by a bunch of knobbly limbs.
They lay together for a while, content and half asleep before Harry asked, “Want tea?”
Draco made a muffled noise in response which Harry took for vague agreement. Taking a few more moments to bask in the peace, Harry sighed and then made himself leave the warm cocoon of their bed.
“Nooo, don’t leave!” Draco mumbled into the pillow previously occupied by Harry’s shoulders. He made grabby hands towards his boyfriend which only went to show how close to sleep he was. “I’m cold!”
“I literally just cast a warming charm,” Harry laughed but sat back down next to Draco anyway.
“You’re hotter than a warming charm.”
“Of course, I am. I am the hottest man in the world, didn’t you know?”
“I did know. It’s why I started dating you,” Draco informed him turning to his side to better see Harry’s pretty face.
“So you could use my awesome hot body for your pleasure?” Harry asked and leaned forward, intending to steal a kiss.
“No. To use your awesome hot body as a furnace in January,” Draco said and then grabbed the hand Harry was leaning on, pulling him to lie down. “Come back to bed so I can steal your body heat.”
“What about tea?” Harry tilted his head in question but was already arranging his body so it would fit his cuddly boyfriend perfectly. “It would warm you up.”
“Tea can wait.” It was a decisive decision. “You warm me up just fine.”
Harry snickered and pulled Draco even closer, unable to disagree.
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wheezykat · 2 months ago
Fic Claim: stitched and sewn
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stitched and sewn
Rating: Explicit  Word count: 7.9k  Warnings/Tags: Implied Infidelity, Anal Sex, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Auror Partners, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Friends to Lovers, Co-workers, Smut, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV Draco Malfoy, Unreliable Narrator, Brief mention of scars, Briefly Mentioned Canon Typical Violence, POV Third Person, Porn with Feelings, Mutual Pining, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language  Song prompt: Fine Line - Harry Styles
Written for @hd-wireless​ 2021 💕 Big thanks go out to the mods for putting this fest on and all the work they’ve done running it! Lots of love to the one and only @peachpety​ for all of the amazing beta and alpha work, as well as listening to me screaming my head off everyday about this fic! 😂 My utmost gratitude to @nv-md​ for wrangling me in at the last minute, coming in clutch, beta’ing my hot mess fever dream writing and her support at every turn. To @lou-isfake​​ for letting me yell into the abyss via DM and helping me brainstorm and get this idea out and figuring out a way that something so terribly sad could possibly have a happy ending. And special shout outs to @vukovich​ for cheerleading me through this, continuously convincing me to not give up in the midst of all my real life stress and @thusspoketrish​ for going on an epic 7 hour sprint with me so I could finish this up and for keeping me sane (or at least vaguely coherent) and making me laugh instead of cry. I couldn’t have done it without you guys, and I love ya’ll. Finally, so much love for all the wonderful readers who left me lovely comments and made me proud to have written this story. 
Harry shudders, fingertips pulsing against Draco’s thighs. Draco can feel the sharp, metal edge of Harry’s wedding band digging into his flesh, knows he’ll have a bruise there in the morning, a small imperfection that only he’d be able to see. It’s one of the only marks he’ll vanish, not wanting to think about its implications; the rest he’ll keep for himself.
Slowly, Harry relaxes, shoulders sinking, breaths changing their cadence to a new tempo. Resigned, surrendered to this dance they do.
He wants to keep this. He wants to spend hours in adoration, praising Harry’s bronzed skin, the tufts of hair peeking out from his waistband, the scars littering his frame. He wants to taste him, memorize the feeling, until he knows Harry like the back of his own hand. But he knows it’s impossible, intangible, something that will always remain beyond his grasp. So he takes what he can get, reminds himself of the ticking clock, and moves on far more quickly than his heart wants.
Draco slowly runs his hands against Harry’s stomach, watching as it tenses beneath his gentle touch with each desperate gasp. Slowly, so slowly, he slips beneath the waistband, delicately pulling his pants down below muscular hips, waiting for Harry to lift up so they can join the rest of his clothing on the floor. Harry inhales, deep and steady, once. Exhales shakily, his fingers twisting up the duvet at his sides, staring at the ceiling, blush blooming across his cheeks and spreading down his collarbones. Finally, finally, he lifts his hips briefly, letting himself lose this last layer, baring himself to Draco at last. Hands trembling slightly as they rest themselves back at Harry’s hips, fingertips tracing the sharp jut of bones and muscle, Draco takes a shuddering breath against Harry’s skin.
This is Draco’s favorite part, if he had to choose - though most of it ranks among some of his life’s greatest delights on their own. But it’s at this point that Harry has chosen him, has given in. It’s the point at which Harry has surrendered himself that is truly intoxicating, the heady rush of lust and acceptance coursing through Draco’s veins, the pure, unadulterated, unfiltered need that fills them both. He sometimes thinks that it’s in this moment that he can finally know him, spread out beneath him, limbs loose with want, all walls between them fallen to dust. No more lies here, or denial, or expectations. Just this. Harry, in his barest form, lips swollen and panting, looking at Draco and nothing else.
Read stitched and sewn on A03!
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dreamsofdramione · 4 months ago
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Harry felt Malfoy's breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory.
Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy.
Malfoy felt inevitable.
Right Hand Red by @lqtraintracks
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dorthyanndrarry · 3 days ago
Whatever You Want, Draco Malfoy -13-
Tags: alcohol use, marijuana use, cigarettes, smoking, reckless behaviour, lack of self preservation, anxiety issues, chronic illness, deportation, racism, the fucking Tories, ptsd, super unhealthy coping mechanisms, Down and out Draco who’s friends with muggles, various OC’s, enemies to lovers, angst, mentions of throwing up/vomit
suggested rating: Mature
Part 1 (contains links to all parts) <- Part 12 ||
Chapter 7
Draco woke with a gasp, heart racing and blinking fiercely into the darkness as the image of the plummeting fall slowly faded from his mind. He tugged the sweaty fabric away from his skin with a grimace. He remembered that he was still wearing Potter’s clothes and dragged the t-shirt over his head, wadding it up into a ball and throwing it across the room.
He pushed the blanket down to his feet and grabbed the plastic shopping bag he had left on the end of his mattress. Draco left Potter’s baggy joggers in a crumpled pile on the floor, unceremoniously kicking them under the sink. He took another shower, turning the dial for hot water until it wouldn’t go any further, but the water remained pleasantly warm and refused to get any hotter. But at least it washed the sweat from his skin.
He shaved and brushed his teeth, putting his small neon coloured toothbrush next to Potter’s boring blue one. Potter hadn’t been in the flat when he had come back from his day with Elle, and from how unsettlingly quiet everything remained, Draco guessed that Potter was still out. It was mildly baffling what Potter would be doing out in the middle of the night. He hadn’t struck Draco as the type to go out clubbing.
The last things left in the bag were a few items of clothes. Pants, jeans that were too stiff, black t-shirts sold in packs of three and some very soft socks that Elle had found. A few cleaning charms helped make the jeans softer; he added tailoring spells to lengthen the legs and tighten the waist. Draco pulled on a t-shirt and brought the fabric up to his nose without thinking, but it just smelled like new clothes and plastic.
Draco dropped all the extra things on the end of his mattress and walked into the dark living room, using a lumos to find the light switch on the far wall. The light made the room feel emptier than it had been before. He went into the small horseshoe-shaped kitchen and put the kettle on to boil, opening cupboards until he found Potter’s tea.
There were boxes of black tea, bags of fancy green teas mixed with fruit, and a few herbal teas, all shoved haphazardly on the same shelf. Draco went through and smelled each one while he waited for the water to boil, picking a sweet green tea mixed with coconut, lemongrass and ginger. Potter had nearly as many mugs as he did teas. Draco sat on the countertop as he took out each mug and examined it. There was a bright orange Chudley Cannon’s mug, a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes mug, a black mug that had ‘reading is lit!’ written in white, a mug emblazoned with the Gryffindor seal, wrapped in red and gold-
A shrill whistle from the kettle made Draco jump, and he quickly moved it off the heat and turned off the burner.
Draco pushed the other mugs aside until he found the largest one, a green and gold Holyhead Harpy mug. The paint was far more faded and chipped than on the other mugs.
Draco filled the mug, cradling it in his hands as it heated the ceramic until his hands stung. The small digital clock on top of the oven said it was two in the morning. He stared at the clock as the minutes passed, and water inside the mug began to cool before adding the green tea. The steam lifting from the cup was instantly sweetened, but after three minutes of steeping, he added sugar anyway.
Draco idly scraped his thumbnail over the Holyhead Harpies gold lettering, scratching off the faded paint.
This time of night, he normally would have been leaving a bar. Or already left, to spend the night in someone’s arms. Even if he hadn’t found someone to go home with, he would have drunk himself blind and passed out in his own bed to sleep most of the next day off.
He had to wonder if days had always been so long. So empty.
Draco sighed and sipped his tea. It was too sweet.
He cast a stasis charm over the mug as he set it on the counter. He’d come back to it later.
Draco turned on the tv and flipped between the channels. Late night programming was a mix between strange and boring with no middle ground. He chewed on his thumb absently as the different colours and lights flashed across the screen, shifting his weight from foot to foot and back again. He went back to the kitchen, drank more tea, moved it to the coffee table. He sat on the couch but couldn’t stop bouncing his leg.
Draco gave up on the tv and stood up, going to Potter’s room and opening the door. It was empty, which Draco had been fairly certain of, but he was still surprised it hadn’t been locked, cursed or alarmed. It seemed incredibly stupid to him that Potter would trust Draco around his things. It wasn’t as if Potter didn’t care about his things; he had to. Like the photos.
Draco found himself standing in front of the collage of pictures above Potter’s dresser. He searched through them, watching the wizarding ones through their loops one person at a time. Potter had his mother’s smile, the way it crinkled up at the corners of her eyes the same way. Potter’s father’s hair was a carbon copy of his, but a few pictures of the older Potter showed that he could control it sometimes.
Draco blinked at the picture of Sirius Black; they had similar eyes, the same grey. He had been very handsome once. He found one photo of Sirius with a young Remus Lupin. Sirius had his arm slung around Lupin’s neck, pulling him close. At the end of the loop, their faces almost met.
Draco stared at that for a long time, wondering if he was naive in thinking maybe they had kissed. It made him wish he had had the chance to meet his cousin just to have someone in his family he could talk to about… about being different from everything he was supposed to be.
Draco brushed his fingers over that photo before stepping back. He found a copy of the Quibbler on Potter’s nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, flipping through it. He was almost certain it wouldn’t have made any more sense if he tried to read it when he was well-rested.
Draco put the magazine back. As he was leaving, he spotted a large plastic basket near the door filled with clothes and plucked a flannel shirt off the top, shrugging it on over his t-shirt. It was soft and warm against his skin.
Draco returned to the couch, laying down on the plush red upholstery and letting his eyes drift shut, half-listening to the people on tv. He must have dozed off because when he opened his eyes again, it was to the piercing light of dawn.
Draco yawned and pulled his socked foot up onto the counter where he was sitting, resting his cheek on his knee as he watched the toaster beside him. Inside, the little metal wires glowed red with heat. Draco let his hand hover over the top, warming his palm.
There was a crack of apparition from inside Potter’s room followed by a faint, tired groan.
Draco levitated the kettle over to himself, pulling off the lid and directing it into the sink. He had to set it down in the bottom before turning on the water and filling the kettle. As he put the lid back on and put it on the hob, turning on the heat with another spell, Draco had to wonder at his own ineptitude. Then again, charm twining, casting and overlapping multiple charms at once with wordless casting was something they were meant to learn in seventh year.
The toaster popped with a horrible metal sound.
“Jesus-fucking-christ!” Potter said in startled surprise.
Draco turned his head to look at Potter, just outside the kitchen. The shadows under his eyes weren’t a patch on Draco’s own, but they were fairly impressive.
“Malfoy? What the fuck are you doing?” Potter asked.
Draco gestured mutely to the toaster.
“I meant- It’s six in the morning,” Potter said.
“I did notice that,” Draco said flatly.
Potter narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to get a better look at Draco, “Did you sleep last night?”
“Take a wild fucking guess,” Draco said flatly, then before Potter could answer, “A few hours, I think.”
Potter frowned.
“Don’t be a hypocrite, Potter. You were gone all night,” Draco said.
“That was for work. There was an… incident. They needed all aurors on deck,” Potter said.
Draco noticed that Potter was indeed wearing the trousers and dragonhide boots for his auror uniform. He must have shrugged the robes off in his room.
Potter sighed, “And here I was trying to be careful and not wake you.”
Draco smiled faintly, “Sometimes you can be very considerate for an arsehole.”
“And I see you helped yourself to one of my shirts again,” Potter said.
Draco looked down at the flannel shirt hanging open loosely over his t-shirt and felt weirdly embarrassed. “I was cold,” he said, carefully pulling a waffle out of the toaster.
Potter stepped further into the kitchen as the kettle began to whistle faintly and turned off the stove. He picked up the green mug Draco had left next to the sink, still half full of stasis-warm tea.
“It was too sweet,” Draco said.
Potter glanced over at him, “I didn’t think that was a problem for you.”
Draco shrugged one shoulder. He grabbed the knife sticking out a jar of Nutella; the chocolatey hazelnut spread, melting as he swiped it across the waffle.
Potter brow furrowed, and then he took a sip of Draco’s abandoned tea.
“See? Too sweet,” Draco said.
“This is one of the green teas?” Potter said.
“Whenever I made them, they were bitter,” Potter said, taking another drink. “I never understood why she liked them.”
“You have to let the water cool,” Draco said.
“What?” Potter looked up in confusion.
Draco nibbled on the corner of a waffle, “With green teas, you have to let the water cool for a few minutes. If it’s actually at boiling, it scorches the leaves and makes them bitter.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Potter said.
Draco wondered, rather belatedly who ‘she’ was.
“Why does my mug say ‘Holy pies’ instead of ‘Holyhead Harpies’?” Potter asked.
Draco figured the answer to that ought to be fairly obvious, so instead, he asked, “What do you suppose a holy pie is anyway? Do you think the pope would be involved, or could any old priest wave his hands over a pie and make it holy?” He took another bite of waffle and chewed slowly. “...can you eat a pie once it’s holy, or would that be sacrilege?”
Potter frowned at him in confusion, “Wha- Where did you even learn about the pope?”
“There was this one flat I lived in for a while. Really, really shite neighbourhood. This young priest would come around to talk to people. He was trying to get us to come to his church, to save us, but he helped people out even if they weren’t interested. And he didn’t mind answering all my stupid questions. Was rather nice to look at as well,” Draco took the other waffle out of the toaster and began applying nutella.
Potter frowned “...Toaster waffles? With- what are you doing to them?”
“Nutella. Or well, off-brand nutella,” Draco said,  “I could only afford a knock-off version with the money I had left.” He held out the waffle to Potter.
“You could use more chocolate in your life,” Draco said.
Potter sighed and begrudgingly took the waffle from Draco.
“It won’t kill you,” Draco said.
Potter took a bite off the corner and conceded, “It’s pretty good.”
Draco nodded.
“Not really breakfast food, though, is it?” Potter said.
“Where in the rule book does it say that?” Draco asked.
Potter made a face, “I mean, it’s just one of those things. Unwritten rules.”
“They tend to be the stupidest kind,” Draco said, “The only good thing about being an adult is you can eat whatever you like, whenever you like.”
“And sit on countertops apparently,” Potter said.
“It’s very satisfying,” Draco said.
Potter rolled his eyes, “It’s unsanitary.”
“That’s what cleaning spells are for. More waffles?” Draco asked.
“…Nah, I better not. I want to get a couple hours of sleep and clean up before the- the press thing,” Potter said sourly.
“Mr Potter is as popular as ever. Do things ever change?” Draco said.
“Unfortunately not,” Potter glowered.
“Tea?” Draco asked, looking through the cupboard for another mug.
“This is fine,” Potter said, lifting Draco’s old half-finished cup.
Draco raised an eyebrow.
“Waste not, want not,” Potter said under his breath as he deliberately took another drink of tea.
Draco found a mug at the back of the shelf that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. It had a picture of a kitten on it clinging to a branch. Beside the kitten, it read ‘Hang In There!’ in large comic sans type with all apparent sincerity.
Draco gave the mug a cursory wipe out with a kitchen towel before filling it with hot water and a teabag from one of the nicer black teas.
“He didn’t manage it then,” Potter said out of nowhere.
Draco frowned at him.
“The priest. He was trying to save people but, you- well, you’re-”
“A massive fuck-up. Yes, I have noticed,” Draco said sarcastically. “I would hazard to guess he was trying to save people in the religious sense. Not the drinking themselves to death way.”
Potter chewed on his bottom lip, looking down at the mug in his hands. “So you were drinking even before you were living at that place? The flat I saw?”
“...I think I started drinking when I was seventeen.”
“What?” Potter looked up, startled. “Seventeen?”
Draco absently toyed with the sting on his teabag, fighting down a yawn. “...Hm… might have been sixteen. Yeah... I think that was before my birthday.”
“Malfoy, that’s- I...” Potter’s words seemed to die in his throat.
Draco took the teabag out of his cup and vanished it.
Potter awkwardly looked back down into his mug.
“Weren’t you going to sleep?” Draco asked. He dropped his foot off the edge of the counter, looking around for the sugar bowl. Draco frowned; everything was a mess.
Potter lifted the mug to his lips, finished the tea, and set it in the sink. He grabbed the sugar bowl sitting on the other side of the kitchen and handed it to Draco.
“You should probably try getting some sleep too,” Potter said.
“I have to go to group counselling today,” Draco said.
“Three? Two?” Draco said. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember the exact time but couldn’t.
“Then we can both sleep for five or six hours,” Potter said, “I’ll wake you up by noon. Alright?”
Draco blinked. Potter’s tone made him feel off balance.
“Malfoy?” Potter asked.
Draco nodded silently.
“...Good,” Potter said. He stood there for an awkward moment then left, going into the bathroom.
Draco finished his tea, listening to Potter clean up, going from the bathroom to his bedroom. As silence fell over the flat once more, Draco slid off the counter and went back to his mattress.
💜 Next update will be tuesday pst 💜 Next weeks update will be the Liar’s Department Lightly Haunted Special. It’s not directly related to halloween but it is lightly haunted. and hopefully funny💜
Tags below v (I don’t have a permanent tags list. All tags are of the wonderful people who left messages on the previous 2 parts.)
💜 @pain-changes-everything thank you so much!!!! 💜
💜 @slyther-ink if there is one thing draco is good at, it’s being annoy XD 💜 thank you!!!! 💜
💜 @cats-extra-tails 😆  💜thank you!! 💜
💜 @whenrainbowsend defo a little icky 💜thank you! 💜
💜 @shadowybook draco does have a pretty low opinion of himself :( 💜thank you sooooo much!!!
💜 @devilrising thank you so much!!! 💜
💜 @dewitty1 thank you!!! :D draco needs so many hugs 💜 💜 💜
💜 @justafangirlslikes 😁 thank you!!!! 💜
💜 @cloack  💜 💜thank you!!!!! 💜 💜
💜 @languedor71 thank you!! Elle is great, if headstrong and fiercely independent💜   thank youuuuuu!!!! 💜
💜 @havingaverydrarryday thank you!! 💜
💜 @snarkyship 😍😍😍thank youuuuuu!!!  💜 💜draco needs people, he thrives when he has attention, harry keeps neglecting him D: 💜
💜 @idareyoutotakealook 😆thank you!!!!! 💜 💜
💜 @addicted-to-w0rds thank you!!💕💕💕
💜 @chosenpotter thank you!
💜 @dracodragon19872 thank you! hope you like it ;) 💜
💜 @onomtonks thank you!
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