#drarry wip

[oflights]

The Star Splitter, a Harry/Draco fic by oflights, NOW COMPLETE.

Summary: On a routine time travel assignment to the past, Draco stumbles upon 7-year-old Harry Potter and witnesses his neglect and mistreatment by the Dursleys. In the moment, there is only one solution, even if it goes against all his training as a Time Agent: he has to bring Harry back to the future with him.

In which Draco burns his life down for the sake of his former school rival.

Notes: The Star Splitter is now complete! It has 32 chapters and clocks in at 219k words.

thank you so so so so much to everyone who read along, commented, left kudos, bookmarked, recced, sent asks: you have made this a phenomenal posting experience unlike anything else i've ever done, and i am so incredibly grateful to you! i'm also grateful to the folks who may start reading this today or over the weekend. i hope you all enjoy this fic; it was so lovely and fun to plot out and write, and i'm so excited to share it with you.

also check out both playlists, if you'd like: regular playlist | orchestral playlist

thank you to everyone who was excited about the snippets and voted in the poll!! i hope you like this, and let me know what you think!

read from the beginning.

#drarry #drarry wip #drarry fic #harry potter fanfiction #harry x draco #oflights #time travel fic #the star splitter

[rockingrobin69]

Draco Malfoy: avid reader, passionate horse-lover, biscuit-inhaler, and always, always composed. Even when stuck in his old ancestral home for a dreary season, and especially when things start spinning out of control. With creepy Lord Riddle and weird murderous schemes and, worst of all, rude stable hands intent on 'saving' the proverbial 'day'. Yes, he's keeping oh-so composed, thank you for asking. Victorian era sort of mystery with murder! Romance! Horses! Humour! And Draco who's finally learning to, ah, let go of the reins.

In Defence of Good Taste

Choice tags: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Draco Malfoy is a brat, Draco Malfoy is a horse girl, dom/sub, mystery, secret identities, how to say gently: daddy issues

Excerpt:

“Hold!” a voice he didn’t recognise. Draco paused with a curious brow raised. “No-one’s allowed to take this mare. You’ll be so kind as to put her back, my lord.”

“How do you mean?” Draco frowned.

“She’s the young sir’s own horse, and he doesn’t allow anyone to ride her. If you’re a guest of Lord Malfoy’s, then you’re free to pick any of the other, most excellent steeds.”

Draco didn’t know whether to be amused or outraged. “Are you saying Isolde is not most excellent?”

“Well, if you ask me, she’s a little bit prissy, terrible temperament, and altogether not so—hey!” when Draco rounded behind her and stabbed an accusing finger in the man’s chest. “You’re—oh.”

“Oh,” Draco breathed out, dangerously. “Oh, indeed. One more word about my horse, and I’ll—who even are you?”

The man—boy?—gulped, bright green eyes wide behind round glasses. “I’m Harry. And you’re—”

“Draco,” as venomously as he could spit it. “Draco Malfoy.”

“Oh.”

He was shorter than Draco, but wider, a strong-looking build. Possibly around his age, give or take a year or so. Dark skin and darker hair, wide brow and respectable jawline. And stupid, as was painfully obvious from his remarks about the world’s best horse. “You’ll have to apologise, of course,” Draco smiled icily.

“I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t realise—”

“To the horse.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Harry opened and closed his mouth twice. “To the—horse?”

“Apologise to Isolde. For someone to speak of a divine creature so coarsely is an offence to nature herself. Apologise, now.”

Harry’s mouth was slightly open. He had very red lips. “I,” he said, and gulped, “am. Sorry. Isolde.”

“For speaking so coarsely,” Draco offered helpfully.

“For speaking so coarsely. You are of course a divine creature and I regret besmirching your name with my foul mouth. Is that enough, my lord?”

Read In Defence of Good Taste, new-shiny wip, prologue and chapter 1 posted on AO3!

#drarry fic #Robin is alive i promise i promise #lately not much has been giving me joy #but today i read this and it did #so i'm sharing it with you #it's funny a little sad a little different #brat horse girl draco is ticking so many of my boxes currently #and when smut will come to play - oof! #drarry wip

[skeptiquewrites]

WIP Snip

thank you for the tag @tackytigerfic and @wolfpants! this is a little ditty that i'm finally finishing ft disaster politician harry potter, and an overworked draco moonlighting as his press secretary.

“Well, what if he thinks you're holding a grudge, or you don't trust him? Not to bring up the war or anything, but you testified for him and never spoke to him again.” 

“That can't possibly be it.” 

“Imagine this. While you were in your hermitage—” 

“Godric’s Hollow is hardly a hermitage—”

“Being broody and tormented and glaring at the paparazzi—”

“Post traumatic stress is much less sexy than you're making it seem—”

“Selling knick knacks to villagers—” Penelope knew it was Quidditch supplies and was just trying to rile him at this point.

“I wish your constituents could hear you, Pen. You have lost it.” She grinned.

“Draco, similarly brooding and tormented, was here with Percy and the rest rebuilding this place brick by brick. And now he's working for you. Bit of an upset, no?” Penelope finished with a flourish. As if on cue, the voting bells started ringing. 

tagging @the-starryknight @nv-md @maesterchill @mintawasalreadytaken @saintgarbanzo @elskanellis but only if you'd like

#drarry wip #wip snip #crossed wires #coming soon!

[tackytigerfic]

sorry i'm late with this, mate! - For the word ask game: 'tradition'

Never too late for you, mo chroí! Thank you babes, I found one WIP with this word. It's a forced marriage bond fic where the divide between Muggle and magical worlds is being eroded. Draco and Harry have to go on the run with Dudley and his magical baby. This is just after the marriage bond is performed.

It’s grotesque,” Potter said, and his voice was scratchy with horror. “Who would want to do that to me?”

“They tried to kill you before,” Draco replied, before he remembered that he probably wasn’t supposed to know about that. “And stop moaning. You're safe now—" because of me, he wanted to say, but didn't "and bonding spells are totally normal in Pureblood betrothals. It’s practically tradition.”

Potter’s face worked at that, with that same ridiculous open play of emotions that he had never grown clever enough to hide. 

“I hate you, you know,” he told Draco in a conversational tone. “You disgust me. And your Pureblood traditions disgust me. And I’m going to break this bond if it kills me.”

Draco was so, so tired. 

“It’s not you it’s going to kill if you break it,” he said over his shoulder as he headed towards the bathroom, hating the low tug of Potter’s magic that accompanied him, demanding and insidious as it curled somewhere around his heart.

#drarry #drarry wip #drarry wip snip #word excerpt tag game #rowing and chatting #asked and answered

[maesterchill]

WIP Snip Tuesday

(it can be a thing!)

Thanks for the tags @tackytigerfic and @wolfpants - your snippets were a delight! Find them here and here. I'll post a snip from the fic I attempted to write for Wireless, but never got even close to finishing. Perhaps some day.

It was after a raid on Dervish and Banges two months later that Harry saw Malfoy again. After he and Ron had arrested the illegal artefact dealers and had them Portkeyed into custody, Harry went for a little walk through Hogsmeade village. 

He hadn't intended on Madam Puddifoots as his destination. Not consciously at least, but he realised after five minutes that his feet had led him there. It might have had something to do with Malfoy standing outside the entrance on a stepladder stretching for something with his wand.  Over-stretching by the look of it—Malfoy’s jumper was riding right up his back, and he’d gone up onto his tiptoes. 

"Careful!" Harry shouted, to which Malfoy startled, and wobbled, and tried to right himself, and then wobbled some more, until finally the stepladder tipped over, bringing Malfoy down with it.

Thankfully Harry had one of those new wand holsters. Nought to spellcasting in zero point four seconds, or so the saleswix said. It was thus he managed to soften Malfoy’s fall with a speedy Cushioning Charm. 

Was Malfoy grateful? No, of course he bloody wasn't. Shouting at Harry and calling him all manner of offensive names, and Harry had certainly never heard Godric Gryffindor’s name used in such an imaginative and crude way before. It was kind of impressive.

Harry wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Draco Malfoy really and put his hands up in an I surrender fashion. Malfoy stopped his tirade and scowled, picking up his wand and pocketing it. His cheeks were pink, and they ballooned as he blew warm air onto his hands.

“Sorry, Malfoy, it looked like you were about to fall, so I thought—”

“You thought you’d make sure that I did by roaring at me at full volume.”

“Well, no, that wasn’t my… Listen, can I buy you a drink to apologise?” Harry was as surprised as Malfoy looked by that question. It was clear neither of them had been expecting it.

Malfoy frowned. “It’s quite obvious that I’m working, Potter. Besides, as an employee, I get all the free tea I like, so I’m really not that thirsty.”

“Alright, fair enough. Well, I’m heading to the Three Broomsticks now for a butterbeer or three, so if you get off soon and you change your mind—”

“I’m not off for another forty minutes, so I…” He paused and fiddled with his scarf, pulling it tighter around his neck. “Anyway, I’m not sure your girlfriend would be too impressed, you buying drinks for someone like—”

“I’m single, actually. Have been for a few months. But that’s not— This isn’t a date," Harry laughed. Perhaps a little too loudly. "I just wanted to say sorry for giving you a fright. So, yeah, pop over when you're done. I should still be there.”

“Oh.” More scarf-twisting. “I see. Well, I shall think about it.”

“Do,” Harry said, feeling pleased for some reason. Walking away with a whistle.

Malfoy never showed up. 

Which was a relief really, Harry thought as he went to bed that evening. He would’ve had to have had a conversation with him, and that would just have been awkward. 

It was just, well Harry’d been wondering why Malfoy worked at Puddifoots, of all places. Wondering for a while.

#yet another fic with light stalker harry potter wondering if draco malfoy is up to something #because why not #it is my catnip #my emotional support trope #drarry #drarry wip #drarry wip snip #maesterchill writes

[oknowkiss]

hollow or underneath for the ask game please!

thank you!!! i went with hollow. :) this is from an unposted getting back together WIP, in which exes drarry keep running into each other at the soho whole foods.

“Are you being purposefully antagonistic?” Harry grabs Draco’s basket without asking and begins shuffling items around. He's put produce on the bottom of his basket, like a sociopath. “I know it thrills you to see me in pain, but these tomatoes are innocent. Why punish them?”  Harry stands, fist gripping Draco's bag of chemically-modified tomatoes, too bright for this time of year. He dangles them in Draco’s face, only tries a little bit to not think of other things he’d like to dangle in front of Draco’s soft (always so soft, how?) pink lips. "You think I enjoy bearing witness to your pain? How very nineteen nineties of you." Draco snatches the tomatoes and his basket back, "You going all hot and bothered, on the other hand...”  “Or that,” Harry says, voice hollow.

#ask game #drarry #my wips #wip snip #drarry wip

[drarrymyheart]

Word excerpt: mouth

This is an excerpt from one of my long WIPs. When will this fic see the light of day, you ask? Maybe around the end of the year???? Someone give me an arbitrary deadline.

Hermione was sitting on one end of the musty brown couch, holding a cup of tea on the armrest and fiddling with some papers in her lap.  There was a second cup of tea on the coffee table and Harry picked it up and curled into the opposite corner of the couch, drawing his knees up to rest his heels on the edge of the cushion.   “Thanks,” he murmured, taking a sip.  The tea felt sharp in his mouth as it flowed along his recently-brushed teeth.  Harry grimaced. Hermione just nodded.  She set down her cup and papers on the table, then shuffled to the centre of the couch, pulling one leg onto it, facing Harry. “How are you feeling?” Hermione squinted, assessing him again.  Her lips were downturned and her eyebrows drawn together.  “Ron said you’d been ill.” Harry shrugged.  He wasn’t ill.  He did, however, feel like a troll was sitting on his chest and like his head was full of wrackspurts and like his eyelids had a permanent sticking charm on them, but those didn’t feel like things he could say.

this is also completely unbeta'd, no one has looked at it but me, so, it is where it is.

#drarry #drarry wip #drarry fic #this fic is still untitled #drarrymyheart #draco x harry #writer ask game #ask game #wip snippet #fic snippet

[mxlfoydraco]

Do you also follow some Drarry WIPs? Its very hard to find stories like that on recs. I am reading Tales from the Special Branch /by femmequixotic) and its amazing and very worth it and feels as satisfaying as reading a complete fic: do you have any recs of other uncompleted stories?

I would say Tales from the Special Branch first, you took it from my mouth! I’m new to reading WIPs but I know a few,

The Same Sweet Shock by @xiaq (20k, WIP)

One day, Draco Malfoy is going to get his life together. One day, he will be a respectable citizen. He will have a respectable job and his last name will no longer be a scarlet letter and people will no longer try to hex him in the street. One day, he is going to live a good, honest, ordinary life.Today, however, is not that day. Because today, he is driving a stolen police car and will likely be responsible for murdering Harry Potter.

survival is a talent by ShanaStoryteller (471k, WIP)

In the middle of their second year, Draco and Harry discover they’re soulmates and do their best to keep it a secret from everyone. Their best isn’t perfect.

In The Dark by @bixgirl1 (102k, WIP)

In the aftermath of an apocalypse, Harry receives an order to find and bring Draco Malfoy nearly a thousand miles, to the tenuous safety of Hogwarts. But more than distance separates them from their goal. The world has fallen, and death is hungry.

Close Behind by @oflights (91k, WIP)

To rescue Draco from the Underworld, Harry has to look forward. Unfortunately, Draco has to look back.

Leo Inter Serpentes series by Aeternum (902k, WIP)

Just one conversation between two eleven year old boys goes slightly differently, and the world changes. Just how much will be different with Harry being sorted into Slytherin, and how much will stay the same?

The Dementor's Child by @xx-thedarklord-xx (119k, WIP)

Curiosity—the kind that got him here—was the reason his mouth opened and out came, “What is it you get out of stealing life from people?” The creature floated closer and all common sense that should have told him to step back was non-existent. Instead, Harry took a step closer. It was obvious what the creature wanted. He only stared for a moment, no hesitance before his eyes slipped closed and he took. Or the one where Harry encounters a Dementor as a child and doesn't flee, no he sticks around and mimics what he sees.

A Knife to the Throat by deluminatormischiefmaker (127k, WIP)

Draco Malfoy has always been the boy without a choice. When he finally gets the chance to switch sides, he picks The Chosen One. Set in Deathly Hallows. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione get caught by Snatchers and brought to Malfoy Manor, Draco decides to join their cause. The usual camping trip, but with a few tag-alongs, several detours, and quite a bit more romance.

Most Favourite Bedtime Story by SasuNarufan13 (42k, WIP)

Scorpius' most favourite bedtime story? The story of how his parents fell in love. And his grandmother tells it the best!

At the End of All Things by @quicksilvermaid (91k, WIP)

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are real and Harry starts dreaming of them.

Mutatum series by Vichan (298k, WIP)

In the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry is drawn to a room in Grimmauld Place. Like the Gryffindor he is, he enters the room without fear. The room is a library, and Harry is surprised to find that he’s eager to learn. Then he gets the bad news: he’s been accidentally expelled from Hogwarts, and he needs to be sorted again. Everyone is confident that he’ll go straight back to Gryffindor, but with what he's been learning, Harry’s not so sure.

Whatever You Want, Draco Malfoy by DorothyAnn (92k, WIP)

Draco lost his home and the only society he knew after the war. He ended up living in the muggle world, making new friends and new connections and maybe some sort of peace. Even if that peace was usually found at the bottom of a bottle. It was enough for him. He was content to just exist. Then Harry Potter decided to ruin everything.

I’m sure I’m missing a lot of great on going fics. Open for call any Drarry writers to add on their WIPs!

#drarry #drarry fics #drarry fic recs #my recs #drarry recs #drarry wip #drarry fic rec #drarry reclist

[oflights]

wip snip 5.1

i've been tagged a bunch of times over the past few weeks to post wip snips and only had the last few chapters of star splitter to post, so i bailed. i finally have something new to preview!! have a bit of the gilmore girls fic, still in progress. 🥰

Just about 8 years ago, the bell over the doorframe jingled violently as Draco Malfoy threw the door open and swept in, already talking. “Bloody hell, that snow is abominable,” he was saying. He hefted a bundled, starfish-shaped form that would turn out to be a toddler by his hip, a pram scooting behind them and leaving a wet trail on Harry’s floor. With a flick of his wrist, the pram had folded up and nestled in the corner of the dining area, dripping there ignored, as Draco descended upon the counter much the same as he did almost every day.

“You, there—please tell me this place has something warm to—” And then Draco froze, because back then he had not done this every day; this was the first time, and more specifically the first time he had seen Harry Potter in the flesh since their eighth year of Hogwarts.

“Malfoy,” Harry had said, eyeing the puffy bundle warily. He didn’t know it was a toddler then; every bit of Scorpius was covered up and radiating Warming Charms. In hindsight, he was probably sweating, but Harry was to later learn that Scorpius had been a quite agreeable child until he learned to read—an apparent mistake that Draco despairs of having made a few times a week—and he made no complaints even dropped onto a stool as he was, propped up against his father.

“What are you doing here?” Draco, then Malfoy, had demanded. He looked utterly thrown and somehow offended, as if Harry’s existence in his own place of business was a grave insult to him.

“This is my place,” Harry said, and then as an instinctive response to Draco’s disbelieving scoff, he added, “I own it.” He’d hoped Draco would pick up on the implied threat—don’t be an arse or I’ll kick you out.

...

“This place is called Al’s,” Draco said accusingly. “You’re not Al.”

“Nope, I’m not. I’m Harry.” When Draco stared at him, Harry clarified, “Harry Potter.”

“I know you’re—who is Al, then?” Draco went pale beneath his winter flush. “Wait. Did you name this place after—Dumbledore?” He whispered the name as if ashamed, and Harry supposed that was about right, though it garnered him little sympathy.

Harry let that dread sit on Draco’s face for a few moments before he said, “No, it was already called Al’s when I bought it. Didn’t feel like changing the name.” He had changed everything else about it, though, spending one exhausting summer converting it from a pub no one really liked to go to anymore to a greasy spoon that people liked much more.

...

Harry had not opened this place and kept it open so he could be insulted and bullied; he was long past the time in his life when he would accept that, especially from the likes of Draco Malfoy. And so he opened his mouth once again to tell Draco to get out—ignoring all the questions he had for him, like what he was doing in this town, out in the snowstorm, carrying some sort of doll, maybe?

Before he could say so, and even before Draco could interrupt, the doll made a noise that made Harry startle and drop the rag he’d been wiping down the counter with. The doll made another noise, reached out, and grabbed the rag.

“Mine!” the doll said, lifting its head until a nose poked out of its bundling. That was when Harry realized that what Draco had set down on the stool was a toddler.

“Not yours,” Draco said as Harry tried to process this. “Let it go, Scorpius, it’s disgusting!”

“Oh,” said Scorpius, in a very wobbly sort of voice. His head tipped up so much that Harry could now see wide eyes, which were a complex hazel shade that made him really start to wonder what Draco was doing with a toddler. Said eyes were glistening slightly, and to accompany the look, Scorpius said, “Okay,” in the saddest little voice Harry had ever heard. He dropped the rag back on the counter; he could barely move his arm in his heavy, puffy coat.

“He can have it,” Harry said quickly; he grabbed up the rag and tried to hand it back, unable to deal with that stricken face.

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry wip #wip snip #oflights #gilmore girls au #tbh it's not a proper AU it's just borrowing the gilmore girls setup #each chapter (there are four) will cover a season in a year + flashbacks to past seasons and i am done with winter 🎉

[evergreensandthunderstorms]

My first ever ficlet, an unbetaed oneshot. This was inspired mostly by “Danger Granger” from the inimitable Vukovich’s Fearful Trill. @vukovich thanks for writing that, Danger Granger lives in my queer little head rent free.

•••

The Golden Trio — not so golden anymore. Still always together, though. They walk like shadows of each other, nearly in step, rarely apart. Weasley slouches to the height of the other two. Looks at the floor like a criminal. Granger walks like she’s tiptoeing, and flinches at loud laughter. Potter’s eyes are the only thing about him that look alive, and they don’t look sane, wildly casing every room for an exit, a threat, anything but another pair of human eyes.

This is my first impression of them, two years out from the war. It’s grim.

It’s also my second, third, and four impression of them, the first weeks of my apprenticeship.

That is, until Antonin Dolohov wipes the slate clean.

When it happens, I’m in the ministry canteen. Sipping a tea, and watching them, as always. They huddle at a table in a corner near an emergency exit. Weasley looks like he’s talking the other into eating — not that it’s going well. Granger takes a bite of an apple looking for all the world like she’s being forced to eat a kitten at wand point. Potter doesn’t appear to hear the entreaties, concerned as he is with something in the middle distance: a fly? Those eyes track like a starving predator’s. Then they meet mine.

I have no time to process the jolt of adrenaline that rushes through me. There’s a bang and a scream. Black robes. A flash of red light. I freeze, still staring at the Ruined Trio.

They rise in unison. The mask clears from Weasley’s face, revealing in its wake a bloodthirsty sort of glee. Granger may well have disapparated, except the witch who puts her back against Weasley’s and grabs Potter’s hand, already firing curses — was that green light? — looks just like Granger did when I saw her at the Battle of Hogwarts. Incensed and vicious, single minded, and absolutely loving this.

Potter, though. I chance one more glance before my muscles obey my mind’s screaming command to hide under the table. His shoulders have relaxed down, his chin is tilted up. He’s bloody smiling, holding a shield over himself and his friends with — with what? His wand is spitting spell after spell, and his left hand is held loosely in Granger’s. He looks taller and broader. A wayward curl falls over his forehead. He licks his lips.

It’s a dance they’ve clearly danced many times, each of them stepping and spinning in time. I realize most of their spells are nonverbal when I watch Weasley say something and the other two laugh quickly, not missing a beat in their choreographed battle.

Dolohov and company are dispatched ten seconds after they entered the room. Four neat Incarcerouses and several bloodied faces. No one else in the room has time to pull a wand.

Granger leads the trio languidly forward. She gestures at Dolohov. I think of the smell of vodka and piss that used to saturate the dungeon at Malfoy Manor. Weasley waves a disguise detector spell over Dolohov. Granger is already speaking the words before it flashes blue — no polyjuice, no glamour.

“Avada Kedavra.”

#drarry #drarry oneshot #drarry wip #this is my first time ever posting my writing sos it’s terrifying #ao3 stuff

[rockingrobin69]

In celebration of joy

This is actually a snip from a wip (700 words) and also a ‘hey I’m alive’ and most of all, it’s a (humble!!) present for my pride and joy @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm who is out there being the best in us etc. etc. Joy, I love you, I love you, I love you. And so does this special lil guy.

The coffee machine went on a strike on a Tuesday, roughly around nine. A big notice all over the screen, CHANGE FILTER that didn’t relent no matter what Draco attempted. He changed the damn filter, three times. Changed the water. Emptied and reloaded the bean tray. Nothing worked: the notice remained, and the smell of coffee pervaded the kitchenette, made his eyes water.

The manual was in Italian, which, according to his CV, shouldn’t be a problem. Apparently there was a world of difference between chatting up pretty boys in the Piazza and fine mechanics. Apparently, Draco was equally rubbish at both. And the coffee machine, blast it to high hell, kept at its pouty, childish rebellion.  

He didn’t even like coffee. Did have an espresso every once in a while, half in punishment, half-reward. Drowned it in sugar until no flavour was discernible, went on a glucose-fuelled paperwork rampage, terrorising the office till the inevitable crash. But he liked making coffees for some of the others—liked being trusted with a task he could perform. The coffee machine was tricky, needed a gentle touch: the frothing settings, the roast, all had to be perfectly calibrated. Usually he had it. And now, change filter, and no coffee in sight.

He's going to have to go back to Harry empty-handed.

Going to have to look him in the eye and say, hey, so, remember when you hired me, all that long month ago, and I promised I’d do my very best? Right. Yes, failed at the most basic of tasks today, what else could you expect. Also, please don’t fire me.

Draco rubbed his eyes a little harsher than recommended. Bore the angry flashes behind his eyelids, tried to breathe. Why must everything be a panic, why couldn’t he just. Be normal about this. Be a man, not a muppet, for a change.

Opened his eyes, grit his teeth till the world un-blurried itself. Took a deep breath. Went back to the manual, skimmed till he found the right place, and tried again.

In the end he ran down to the Costa across the street. Took him exactly forty minutes and twenty-three seconds to get back at Harry’s office door, red-faced and soaking wet, but with the flat white he’s promised. Tried not to look too smug about it as he sauntered through, gently laid the cup (still hot, he thought, he hoped) next to Harry’s computer screen.

“Thanks,” murmured Harry, not even looking up from the folder open on his desk. “Mm, that smells nice.”

Draco allowed himself a little smile. “No problem, Mr. Potter.”

As he knew, that zapped Harry’s attention back to him. He flushed so easily, and so sweetly too, fixing his glasses on the bridge of his nose for an excuse to use his hands. Calling Harry Mr. Potter always had the same effect—sometimes, when Draco was feeling rather cheeky, he even threw in a Sir, just to watch him flail.

“Erm. Yes. Thank you, Draco. Are—why are you wet?”

“Hmm?” looked down, remembered. “Oh. It’s raining again.”

Harry turned his head to the window, stared for a moment. “Yes,” he said, chewing on a poor lower lip. “Yes, it is indeed.”

Winding Harry up sure was one of the biggest perks of the job, but Draco actually had work to do. “Anything else, Mr. Potter?” (couldn’t help himself, he just couldn’t). “If you wouldn’t mind, the paperwork for Mr. Dougherty’s case requires further attention.”

More of the fidgeting. “No, no, that’s quite all right. Certainly, er, important that you get to it.” Draco nodded, and was already at the door when he heard, “Wait, why does the cup say Costa?”

Rushed out of Harry’s office without closing the door behind him. The prat never did anyway. Went back to the kitchenette, opened the manual, and a pocket dictionary from the shop right next door to blasted Costa. (The Dougherty dossier was compiled and completed two days ago. Not his fault he was good at his job). Stared the machine down until it bowed before him, spilled its mechanical guts.

He’ll get it, eventually. He thought. He hoped.

#drarry wip #office draco for the win #rockingrobin69 #everything is for joy always but this one is also.

[skeptiquewrites]

WIP Snip

I've been mostly writing for two fests, and otherwise feeling a little blocked creatively even for microfics. This is something I didn't quite let be a drabble, but isn't a full fic idea.

"Professor Emeritus Potter—"

"Just Harry will do, Tansy." It's unsettling about being in the presence of someone she's been studying for years. After all the research she’s read, the reality of his age sinks in. His face is deeply lined, and his hands shake slightly when he gestures for her to sit. She sinks into a plush armchair that smells faintly of crushed lavender. She doesn’t touch the steaming cup of tea he’s prepared for her. 

She side-steps his absurd offer to address him by name. “I would like to interview you as part of my study.”

“Yes, I assumed. Why?” Tansy has the distinct feeling that she’s being teased, but as it took several dozen persistent letters (and one Howler) to get this meeting, she barrels forward. Despite her hands leaving sweat stains on the black satin dress robes she borrowed from her older sister. 

When she meets his eyes, there's warm encouragement there, as if he's still teaching in a classroom. 

"Many books about you omit the context of the Post-War period.”

One bushy white brow raises. “They do. Come now. Be more specific.”

“The recession. And the trials. And the policies?” It’s not a question but her voice squeaks out of nerves.

“Yes, of course, but that’s not all you’re interested in, is it?” The chiding is so gentle, and his amusement so genuine that it makes her brave enough to blurt it out. 

“There’s also not much about your relationship with Grand Magister Malfoy.” 

"Draco," he corrects. “I suppose you’re right. How’s your Sonorus?”

“Sorry?” She almost spills her untouched cup out of surprise. 

“My husband has become a bit hard of hearing nowadays, but he won’t admit it. Stubborn. Always has been. Hermione spoke highly of you and your research. You should interview us both.”

Tagging @teledild0nix @boxboxlewis @wolfpants @tackytigerfic @mintawasalreadytaken. Thank you for tagging me in the last while and thinking of me.

#drarry wip #wip snip #i won't ramble on more #but gosh have there been SEASONS re: creativity lately

[lupine-trees]

glass panes & evergreens

[ a wip snippet from a non-magical au in which the boys are (begrudgingly, then not-so-begrudgingly) renovating the manor, which has fallen into disrepair, for reasons. harry has called draco on christmas eve. ]

word count: ~458, unedited.

“Potter?” Draco reached blindly for his bedside alarm clock, squinting his eyes into the dim digital numbers. 11:47.

“What is it? Is everything alright?”

“Oh. Yeah, all good. I was just thinking.”

Harry’s voice was soft and sleepy over the line, static rustling occasionally as he shifted the phone at his shoulder.

Draco wondered absently at Harry’s degree of inebriation. He yawned, stifling the sound, and rolled to his side, cradling the phone carefully to his ear.

“What were you thinking?”

Harry hummed, the noise rumbling straight into Draco’s chest. “Was thinking... about the ballroom.”

Draco ran an easy hand up through his hair, resting it behind his head. “Mhm,” he prompted.

“Thought... It’d look pretty. All done up for Christmas,” Harry murmured.

Draco stilled, the soft warmth of sleepiness wrapped heavy around him, a feeling not unlike grief knifing delicately into his side. He pressed his face to the pillow.

“It did.”

Harry was quiet a moment, only the sound of his slow breaths ghosting through the phone.

“Tell me,” he said.

Draco rolled to his back, eyes tracing through the nothing of the dark. “I loved the windows,” he began.

“At Christmastime, we’d draw back the curtains. The big velvet ones? And I would always wish for snow.” He imagined the myriad glass panes, stretched floor to ceiling, glistening with the soft white of flakes falling, fluffy, and sticking.

“Every year we would have an evergreen tree brought in. From the back woods. The needles would fall all over the floor as it was carried through the parlor.” Draco could see it in his mind, the sparse green trail, smell the scent of pine.

“We’d string it in tinsel. Hang candles in the boughs.” His mother pulling him, small and quick, gently away from the lit tree, a careful chastise on her tongue. “My mother let me pick the star. Gold, glittering. She always preferred silver.”

Harry mm-hmmed. “You look good in gold,” he murmured, the words coming slow, a breathy slurry. “Warm.”

Draco’s own breath caught, something welling in his throat, prickling at his eyes.

“You should sleep,” he said eventually. “It’s late.”

“‘M not tired,” Harry insisted.

“I am,” Draco said softly.

“Oh.”

The clock down the hall chimed, ringing out low in the quiet of the night. Twelve times. Midnight.

“Harry?” he whispered.

“Mhm?” came the muffled reply.

“Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas,” Harry mumbled.

“Goodnight,” Draco told him.

“G’night.”

Draco heard his breathing taper, slow, the soft sound of sleep. He flipped his phone shut quietly, returned it to his bedside table. The flat was warm, and he curled into his bed in the easy dark; it seemed though, in a hazy sort of way, bigger, emptier, than it had done before.

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry drabble #drarry wip #this is me encouraging you to take a cozy lil christmas nap #genuinely tho— hope y’all find this one nice & warm & sleepy #<3 #if not a bit melancholy ha #this wip is long in progress but maybe one of these days #bgir wip tag #lup writes #fic tag #mine

[romaine2424]

The Azkaban Letters Chapter 33: The Close (End of Part 2) has been posted!

I've been posting since last Summer and finally this section of the fic has been completed! TAL is canon divergent after HBP and is a Drarry and Haphne story. Part 2 ends with the take down of Voldemort. The story is now 225K and Rom is a bit burnt out. :( However, what it is to come in Part 3 was one of the major concepts that originally inspired the story and I'm excited to tackle it. I'm really hoping to have the story completed by end of summer, if not before.

But for now, Chapter 33 is quite exciting, and if you've been following along, I'm hoping you'll be pleased with the results. Warning: the chapter is 15K. *dies*

The Azkaban Letters (Chapter 33: The Close) on AO3

The Azkaban Letters from the start (Chapter 1: Prologue: Beauty Released) on AO3

#romaine2424 fics #The Azkaban Letters #drarry wip #haphne wip #canon divergence

[lqtraintracks]

may i please see "lean"/"leaning" etc, "stride" etc, and/or "beg"?

Ahhh, thank you so much! As you can see below, I went wild with your words. :D <3 It’s a coincidence that they all happen to be in first person as well.

This first (’lean’) is from a short piece, Mad Sparks, written for @magpiefngrl‘s Summer Writin’ Challenge where you spin a wheel for a prompt, a trope, and a craft element, and I got these Prompt: Crashing a Party; Trope: Getting Back Together; Craft: Future Tense

I’ll stagger onto the balcony, and there I’ll find you, smoking. 

“So you went back to it,” I’ll say, angry again, because I got you to quit, and now here you are, hurting yourself in ways that you know will hurt me, and I know, I know it isn’t about me at all, except that it is. How can it not be? A repudiation of me if nothing else.

But even though your cigarette will only be half gone, when you see me, you’ll stub it out. You’ll exhale into the night and lean on the rail, and my heart will be thudding, just racing to be this near to you, to be alone with you.

I found a ‘stride’ and a ‘lean’ together in my Drarry WiP which for now has the working title of Hate FBs. I’m going to tease @capipuff with this in particular, because it’ll be her very belated birthday gift at some point.

“Potter,” he starts, spitting my name like always. “I know that’s you in there, and—”

I cut whatever speech he had planned short, turning under the spray, opening the shower curtain. I lift my chin at him. “Take off your clothes.”

He hesitates in his stride, but then his gaze moves down my naked body, following the rippling tracks of water, and his lashes give a telling flutter. 

I lean my head back into the spray and then rake my hands through my hair. “Whatever it is you feel like fighting about can wait until after I’ve sucked your cock.”

And I couldn’t resist the word ‘beg’, so here is an excerpt from Wonderful Electric (cover my in you), though sadly this part has nothing to do with watersports, but rather playing squash, which is a completely different kind of sport. ;)

“I’m glad you came,” he says and gently takes my elbow to guide me over to the wand witch.

I don’t want to give her my wand, and to my surprise, when Potter says, “He’s with me,” she doesn’t ask for it. Just nods us through.

His hand gives a little squeeze to my arm, and then his touch is gone as we walk together to the lifts.

“You ever played squash before?” he asks.

“No. But there’ve been quite a few firsts in my life the past couple of months, so…”

As we step into a lift, he slants me a look, and there’s so much in it, I almost can’t bear to meet his eyes. I clear my throat and am glad we’re sharing the lift with a handful of other people or I might just beg him to shag me right here.

#word excerpt ask game #drarry fic #my fic #drarry wip #mad sparks #wonderful electric (cover me in you)

[januaryfirstreads]

Only we know ✍️🙏🏻 snippet???

AH for some reason I feel so shy about this fic??? Ok ok ok ------

Another week goes by, and Harry beats Malfoy to the seventh floor corridor for the first time. He stops short upon seeing the empty hallway, then slides down against his side of the wall, waiting. It isn’t long before he hears hurried footsteps and looks up to see Malfoy standing in front of him, jaw set and expression brittle. He looks like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t, just lets out a harsh breath and leans back against the wall. Harry just watches him, watches his hands open and close into fists at his sides, and feels a quiet sense of relief that he came.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” Malfoy bites out after a moment.

“Ask you what?” Harry asks, confused.

“Ask me why.” Malfoy's right hand comes to press reflexively against his left forearm, and Harry understands. “Ask me what the hell I was thinking.” His voice cracks at the end of the sentence, and Harry looks away.

He thinks for a moment, but the truth is he doesn’t need an answer. Harry has known since he saw Malfoy lowering his wand in the astronomy tower that Malfoy regretted joining Voldemort. In fact, Harry feels all but certain that Malfoy would have accepted Dumbledore’s offer of help if it had come earlier. He thinks of the visions he’d had over the last year - of Malfoy white and shaking while Voldemort forced him to perform the cruciatus curse, of his pale face twisted in horror as he surveyed the wreckage of Gringotts on the night of the Battle - and he knows that even if Malfoy had wanted it when he’d taken the Mark, he’d come to regret it. But Malfoy is still standing there, his face both angry and imploring, so Harry asks him a different question.

“Why did you lie that night? In the Manor?” Malfoy freezes, and Harry pushes on. “You knew it was me.”

“I didn’t,” Malfoy snaps. “Don’t flatter yourself, Potter.” 

Harry snorts. “Alright, fine. Whatever. Except we both know you fucking did.” 

Malfoy stares at him, still looking like he can’t decide if he wants to fight or beg. For what, Harry doesn’t know. Harry just stares back. Finally, Malfoy lets out a ragged breath. He presses his hands against his face and slumps to the floor. He brings his elbows to his knees, head resting in the cradle of his hands. “He would have killed you.”  

“Why would you care? I thought you hated me.” Harry says.

“Yes, well.” Malfoy shoots back, head still bowed. “You hate me.” 

“I don’t,” Harry says, and as he says the words he knows that they’re true. He hasn’t hated Malfoy for a long time. “Not anymore.” 

Malfoy raises his head to look at him, and his face looks more open than Harry has ever seen it. “Bloody hell, Potter,” he says, in that same ragged voice, “You really should.”

#wip tag #drarry wip #drarry #draco x harry