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basicallyahedgehog · 1 year

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Today marks one year of the incomparable @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm making this little corner of the world a better place. Joy, you were one of the very earliest Drarry accounts that I followed, in what I realise now must have been your 2nd or 3rd week of posting. I found you through 25 days of Drarry, and stayed for your your beautiful art and even more beautiful heart and soul.

It has been such a blessing and a privilege to watch you grow as an artist and a person over the last year. Every piece of art, every word that you post leaves me feeling raw, like all of my nerves are exposed, in the very best way. Your brain never stops blowing me away.

So happy anniversary, my friend. Thank you for being your incredible self and making so many lives brighter just by being here. I hope you enjoy this fluffy little sequel to The Strings That Weave Us.

Read on AO3 or under the cut

Links to sources can be found on AO3

Draco sat in the back of his little shop, fingers stitching intricate designs onto fresh linen with utmost precision. These would not be the first handfasting cords that he had embroidered, but they were by far the most important. In less than a week he and Harry would be formalising their betrothal, and Draco was determined to give Harry the best cords in England.

Blue, for patience and devotion.

He grinned as he pulled the new length of thread through the eye of the needle. Between Harry’s stubbornness and his own prickly personality, patience had been something that they had needed in spades when they had first come together. Draco had quickly discovered, though, that he could be infinitely patient when it came to Harry.

Harry, who waited quietly until Draco was ready to make their relationship public, even though he had been bursting to share his love for Draco with the world. Harry, who still seemed to expect Draco to leave after every nightmare, every panic attack. Harry, who never once raised his voice in anger, who never let Draco go to bed without telling him he loved him.

No, patience came easily when it came to Harry, the natural outpouring of the devotion Draco felt towards his incredible man.

Grey for balance.

From day one, it seemed like the whole world had been waiting for them to implode. Even their loved ones had expressed concern when they first started dating, worried that they were too different in the ways that mattered most.

But it was those differences that had made their relationship so strong.

Harry was a morning person, practically bouncing out of bed to make Draco’s requisite three cups of coffee. By 8pm, though, Draco was bundling him under their duvet, watching Harry’s sleep-slack features as he read or worked for another two hours.

Harry went soft over any living creature. The tiny kittens he found shivering under a bush now hunted rats in the Grimmauld Place basement. Their garden was tended lovingly as Harry spoke to the plants, telling them about his day and his plans for the little patch of soil. Every person Harry crossed paths with left with a lighter heart, and almost always a fuller stomach.

Draco went soft over things. Coffee mugs were placed tenderly back on their shelves, matching sets together so they wouldn’t be lonely. Books were dusted weekly, in case their allergies flared. Every year Harry would bring Draco another plushie for their anniversary, and Draco would tenderly tuck them into place on the sun bed — not the spare bed, never spare when his little friends sunbaked on top of one of Molly’s quilts.

Harry’s emotions were big, were loud. Bounces in place, clapping hands, exuberant yells. Shuddering gasps, heart-rending screams, gut wrenching sobs. Slammed doors and kicked chairs, melodramatic apologies with big bouquets of flowers.

Draco’s emotions were small, quiet, secret. Trembling finders and shaky limbs, lips pressed tightly together. A rigid spine, a face towards the wall, the inward curl of shoulders. A hand carding through hair, lips on cheeks, a single rose in a vase.

Yes, they were different, but it was what made them work, perfectly balanced against each other.

Pink for unity and truth.

And for his hair, Draco thought with a chuckle, starting on the third interweaving design. Once, about a year ago, Draco had let the charm fade, his natural blonde peeking through the fairy-floss pink. Harry had sulked for days, singing dirges to his peonies and curling up with the cats for hours on end, refusing to speak to Draco.

The pink had stayed.

It was one of their greatest strengths, Draco thought, that they never concealed anything from the other. They hadn’t even made it to a “proper” proposal, the thought of keeping such a secret — a good one though it was — from each other so unnatural.

Every thought, they shared with each other. Every fear, every doubt, every self-recrimination. Every dream and hope and decision were shared and cradled and made together.

It was their greatest strength, and Draco’s greatest joy.

He felt a smile tug at the edges of his mouth as he stitched, the pink the exact colour of Harry’s cheeks when he blushed.

Pink for rosy cheeks, soft lips, the tips of his own ears when he was embarrassed. Pink for cotton-candy kisses and Teddy’s hair yesterday and the flowers that Harry grew in the spring.

Pink for the colour of his love.

Green for prosperity and health.

And Slytherin, Draco thought ruefully. Green to remind him of his roots and how far he had come. Green to remind him of the good sides of ambition and cunning, and to warn him of the dangers.

Green for prosperity, not in wealth, but in love and laughter, in bright sunshiny days and soft, tender nights.

Green for prosperity shared. With friends, family, strangers in the street who looked like they needed a lift. Shared with schools and orphanages and animal shelters.

Shared with each other, always.

Green for health, of body, mind and spirit. Health for their relationship, that it never go stagnant. For the strength to push through the unhealthy times, determined to be healthier and wiser on the other side.

Green for Harry’s eyes, for the mother he never knew.

Red for passion and strength.

It had been the first colour Draco had chosen. Red for his Gryffindor, his Lion in word and in deed. Red for the strength of Harry’s devotion, his emotion, his conviction.

Draco wasn’t a strong man, he knew that. He was easily hurt and easily swayed. He gave up when the going got tough. Until Harry swept in and showed him true strength. Until Harry encouraged him and challenged him and loved him enough that he forgot what it was like to give up.

Forgot what it was like to feel weak and helpless.

Red for the blood shed on both sides, that they may never forget what brought them here. Red for the father Harry could not remember, for the uncles he doesn’t have enough memories of.

Red for the Weasleys, the strength of their love holding them together on the worst days. Draco had been nervous that first summer after the war, when Aunt Andromeda had orchestrated first his friendship with Harry and then his integration into the Weasley clan. He hadn’t deserved their love, their compassion — still didn’t think he did, in his deepest, darkest thoughts — but they had given it anyway. Strong and steadfast, unwavering in their loyalty first to Harry and then to him.

They had shown him what it was like to be truly passionate about a cause — what it was to be passionate for a person.

And then Harry had shown him another kind of passion, burning hot, bubbling under the surface, ready to explode at any given moment. A passion shown through tender caresses and whispered endearments as much as it was through lips on lips and skin on skin, sweat-soaked and feverish.

A passion that matched their string, the shiny red on the vast tapestry of their family, around their wrists. Binding them to each other, and to everyone they loved.

Draco ran his fingers over the finished embroidery, admiring the contrast and harmony of the various colours. Green for family, blue for godfamily, grey for the beloved deceased. The pink of soft hair and softer lips.

The red of his soulmate, his heart-mate, the love of his life.

As this knot is tied, so are your lives now bound.

Woven into this cord, imbued into its very fibers, are all the hopes of your friends and family, and of yourselves, for your new life together.

With the fashioning of this knot do I tie all the desires, dreams, love, and happiness wished here in this place to your lives for as long as love shall last.

In the joining of hands and the fashion of a knot, so are your lives now bound, one to another.

By this cord you are thus bound to your vow.

May this knot remain tied for as long as love shall last.

May this cord draw your hands together in love, never to be used in anger.

May the vows you have spoken never grow bitter in your mouths.

As any child discovers when they are learning to tie their own shoes, the first move is to cross the ends.

As your hands are bound by this cord, so is your partnership held by the symbol of this knot.

May it be granted that what is done before the gods be not undone by man.

Two entwined in love, bound by commitment and fear, sadness and joy, by hardship and victory, anger and reconciliation, all of which brings strength to this union.

Hold tight to one another through both good times and bad, and watch as your strength grows.

#happy fandomversary Joy #all the best things for Joy #my favourite mouse #look at my talented friend #this led me down a rabbithole very late at night #you bet i'm not done with handfasting #drarry #drarry fic #basically just a load of fluff #draco has pink hair #and is besotted with harry #that's it that's the plot #handfasting #handfasting cords #colour meanings #the red string of fate

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