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@drarrymicrofic | prompt: slander | wc: 50

“Pansy. Have you seen the state of his hair this morning? You’d think something crawled into it and died.”

A sharp tug on his wrist before he’s surrounded by stone, swallowed in green.

A pointed grin. Possessive hands.

Hot breath fanning across his lips. Harry, leaning further. “What was that?”

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Slander | @drarrymicrofic | 190 words

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Since my birthday is just two days before Draco’s, I made myself a birthday Draco so we can celebrate together! We’re blowing out the candles side by side, getting older, wiser, and obviously hotter than ever. 🎂🔥

Thank you so much for all the birthday love, I love you guys! 💚

Long live Gemini chaos! 😈

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How it feels to find a fanfic where your favorite character is going through literally the worst horrors you can imagine

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Percy Weasley loosens his tie, tucks a lone box of possessions under his arm, and resigns, effective immediately, from the Ministry of Magic on May 10th, 1998; fifteen minutes later the bell jingles above the door to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes as he pushes past the closed sign, shoes crunching on broken glass, and calls out softly: “George? I’ve come to help.”

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Drarry Microfic I 103 words

“You… love me?”

“Yeah…”

“You… love me?!” It came out angrier this time. 

“W-well, I–”

“You can’t just say things like that!”

“Draco, I’m sorry, I–”

“Do you know how long it took me? How many sessions with that stupid therapist? Just to accept that you would never love me back? That I just had to move the fuck on! And you love me?!”

Harry gaped up at him, unsure of how to respond.

“Yes?” He finally piped up sheepishly. 

Draco’s eyes flared. Harry moved to step back, but Draco held him in place by the collar. Then he smashed their lips together. 

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My ultimate sexual fantasy is to annoy a man so much that he falls in love with me

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY DRACO

90% wax, 10% frosting

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Microfic: Inhale

for @drarrymicrofic. unbetaed, and i'm sure there's mistakes, and apparently four years hasn't made me any better at the micro part! cw: suicide

Happy birthday @wolfpants! i'm sorry it's a bit of a sad one :D

***

Harry inhales.

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself back at Hogwarts, standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. He’s surrounded by a mist so pervasive he can see barely twenty feet in any direction, though it’s nothing like the dense gloomy Highlands fog he knows. This mist is brighter, otherworldly in its brilliance, and it's with a lurch of his stomach that Harry understands: he might have stood on this patch of grass dozens of times, but he’s only been here once before, and the last time round it looked like a railway platform.

He's not alone this time, either: there’s a man in the centre of the pitch, kneeling over two brooms. White hair on white mist; even so, it takes a while to make the connection. It’s been years, after all.

Harry clears his throat. I didn’t think I’d see you here, he means to say, but it comes out wrong. “I didn’t think I’d be here.”

Malfoy looks up, startled. “Well, hello to you too,” he says, in that snobbish, snotty, teenage voice Harry now hears only in his dreams. “I’d say I didn’t think I’d see you here either, but then shoving your partner out of the way so you can take a Reducto to the chest actually seems rather on-brand for Harry bloody Potter.”

It’s almost funny, except for all the ways in which it isn’t. Malfoy’s so young still, barefoot, his toes digging into the mist-damp grass. His robes are Azkaban-issue, comically large; he has to bunch them up in one hand as he gets to his feet.

“This place is an in-between,” Malfoy begins, spreading his arms to indicate their surroundings. Harry’s eyes catch on his left cuff, which is brown on the inside, a faded bloodstain blooming almost up to the elbow. Malfoy catches Harry looking, and drops his hands quickly to his sides.

“I know what this place is,” says Harry quickly. “I’ve done it before, remember?”

“Of course you have,” Malfoy says, tired. “Well, I suppose that makes my job easier. If you know where you are, you know what happens next.”

Harry’s chest feels odd, suddenly, empty of air. He presses a hand against it, finds his clothes damp with the mist. “What happens next,” he says, considering. “You going to give me a load of platitudes, say some vague stuff about death, and then let me choose whether to stay here or go back?”

Malfoy snorts. “Hardly. Fuck Dumbledore, honestly. And I’m not daft, Potter, I know you’ll go back. You’ve got people who… I mean, you’ve got people, haven’t you.” He glares at Harry, cheeks pink with embarrassment. “I just thought we might play some Quidditch before you leave. If you want.”

“Yeah,” says Harry. “Yeah, alright then.”

Harry captains his Sunday league team, and Malfoy’s been dead for five years, so it shouldn’t be close, not really, but this is the in-between place, and this is Malfoy, infuriating relentless Malfoy, with teenage reflexes and stamina to boot. Malfoy plays like he has no fear, which is probably true, and like he has nothing to lose, which is definitely true, and it is close. The Snitch is barely visible through the endless mist, and the two of them end up flying neck and neck over hills and valleys, arms outstretched towards every celestial glimmer. It’s Malfoy who makes the catch in the end, breathless and beautiful, laughing and laughing and so full of life as he heads back to the stadium. The scar on his wrist is clear to see, red raw as he lifts his fist up to the sky, and Harry flies over beside him, catching his outstretched arm. The wound’s a little jagged in the middle, like maybe he changed his mind halfway through.

“I was there, for the Wizengamot,” Harry tells him, quietly, as they land together on the pitch. “I was going to speak for you.”

Malfoy makes a pained noise, turning his face aside. He opens his fist, lets the Snitch disappear off into endless white, and Harry slips his own hand in its place. There’s a rushing, roaring sound in his ears that’s growing harder to ignore.

“Decided what you’re doing yet, Potter?” Malfoy asks, voice tight. “It’s almost time, you know.” He moves to pull his hand back, but Harry tightens his grip.

“What about you?”

Malfoy snorts. “Me? What do you think?”

The roaring sound’s louder now. Harry can make out voices. Ron’s, maybe, and Robards’. There’s the whoosh of rapid casting, the pop of Apparition, and somewhere far off, a child is screaming.

Back in the silent in-between, Malfoy waits, eyes bright.

“Well?” he asks, squeezing Harry’s hand.

Harry inhales.

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Inhale - @drarrymicrofic prompt (#2)

Draco was dying.

Farewell to Mother, he thought, sputtering for breath. Farewell to the manor grounds, to his childhood peacock Pipsy.

Potter wasn’t much better off, flopping down next to him on the hot cement like a wet trout.

Draco squinted an eye open.

Droplets glistened in the hair on Potter’s chest, sluicing down his…

Potter was looking at him.

“Cannonball!” Teddy’s shriek was followed by an arc of water splashing over them both.

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Inhale: @drarrymicrofic prompt

“You’re going to say yes to that date, then?” Ron asks.

Harry shrugs. “I suppose.”

There’s a sharp inhale. A cough. Malfoy’s pink-cheeked, spluttering his drink. Ron whacks him on the back with an overenthusiastic thump.

“I’m fine,” Malfoy croaks.

He avoids Harry’s gaze for the rest of the night.

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Bound: First Watch of Night by @tackytigerfic

It finally arrived so I can share!

This one was a swap with @sits-bound (and you can peep the amazing bind I got from them here) and hoo boy, did I pack in the learning on this one! First rounded and backed book, first book weighing in over 600 pages, first case constructed to sit in the shoulders...

But before I go on, let me rave about this fic, which doesn't get talked about enough. Drarry fandom has more than its fair share of longer fic, but I don't think it's as common to find something this long that is so immaculately planned, plotted, and written. It has earned every one of its 270K plus words! It's rich and engaging and lovely and gripping, and it's Tacky, so the characterization is amazing and the storytelling is excellent. If you have not read it, you need to! (And tell Tacky about how much you loved it.)

Okay, on to the photos. There's a very subtle poppy theme here, not sure if it's noticeable lololol...

End bands are sewn with silk on a 2mm leather core. Sewing on a backed spine was new/tricky but worked out barring a few little snags getting the needle into the middle of a signature. @maleekamolscreates, acknowledged lovely mistress of end bands, has also let me know I’m fully bonkers for persevering with this tiny-ass silk thread. It’s like wrapping leather cord with angel pubes. I…have some regrets. But it’s so pretty!?

I need to continue to work on rounding/backing but this went okay and the swell was mostly handled?

(Last photo courtesy of sits because I forgot to photograph the delightful way the spine throws up!)

The punctuation in the pull-quote on that back was my personal Battle of Hogwarts.

The dust jacket was a whole adventure. Big thanks to @phoenixortheflame for support and advice on that one, and apologies to sits that I couldn't actually provide a perfectly laminated version. I did have to shout out her comment on the top of the back cover though...

I also failed to take photos of the endpapers, but they are the chiyogami pictured under the bind above!

On to the insides... I did some silver foiling on the full title page just because I felt like it and the needle-device (from the story!) seemed to call for it. I drew that needle in Illustrator, which is probably not impressive except I found it very hard and so I need a cookie.

Why poppies? Tacky prefaced every chapter (and named each chapter) with a bit of war poetry, and for me this evokes images of poppies in fields because Canada, probably. But happily, Tacky also likes poppies!

All told, it was a big undertaking! But also went surprisingly well? This is officially my 40th fanbind (and I've racked up a few more since then) and I'm happy to see how far I've come, and excited by how much more there is to learn. I continue to be challenged and delighted by this craft.

Thank you to @sits-bound for doing this swap with me! It was such an exciting project and a great experience.

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Stupid Love by @the-sinking-ship

Grumpy Draco on a motorbike is such a great image that I just had to draw it!

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Chudley Cannons FTW

Draco won’t wear it. He won’t. It’s orange, and awful and…

“Take it. You’re freezing.”

Draco pulls on the hoodie and inhales…Harry.

Harry, grinning to split his stupidly handsome face.

Draco won’t like him. He won’t. He’s unkempt, and kind and…

“You look good in my hoodie.”

Well, fuck.

***

1 june prompt: inhale

a part of my Microfic, I Love You collection 50 words || prompts by @drarrymicrofic

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Inhale - @drarrymicrofic prompt (#2)

Draco was dying.

Farewell to Mother, he thought, sputtering for breath. Farewell to the manor grounds, to his childhood peacock Pipsy.

Potter wasn’t much better off, flopping down next to him on the hot cement like a wet trout.

Draco squinted an eye open.

Droplets glistened in the hair on Potter’s chest, sluicing down his…

Potter was looking at him.

“Cannonball!” Teddy’s shriek was followed by an arc of water splashing over them both.

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Inhale - @drarrymicrofic prompt

Draco had started the practice of storing memories years ago. It was his first Mind Healer who recommended it. “Be intentional about noticing happiness in the everyday,” she had urged.

It made sense in a way, to bottle it up when he noticed a soft spark of contentment, the hushing of the demons in his head. Much to Draco’s surprise, he had found it helped.

Now Ginevra’s nonchalant, slurred words rang in his ears, hours after Pansy had carted her, protesting, out of the pub.

Draco willed his heart to quit pounding. He sat at his kitchen table, taking a shaky breath before plunging back into the Pensieve.

Disastrous black hair covered in snowflakes. A tea waiting on his desk when he said he was having trouble sleeping. The ripple of a warming charm against the rain. Green eyes meeting his over Teddy’s lolling head. Unwrapping a heavy frame meant for his potions certificate. A thigh pressed against his under the pub table.

Another memory. And another.

Toed-off trainers sitting next to his wingtips. Wind-burned cheeks from a pickup match in the Weasley garden. Murmured apologies, disappearing into the night breeze. The loud, Gryffindor laugh that had the Witch Weekly writers in a chokehold. The quiet, pleased smile that was only for Draco.

It was 2 a.m. and Draco felt like he had been dunked in cold water.

He didn’t think before Apparating directly into Potter’s kitchen, knowing the wards would let him in.

He didn’t think before crossing the worn wood floor where Potter stood, tea in hand, shirtless and rumpled and eyes round in shock.

He didn’t think as Potter stared at him for a second or an eternity, then set down his mug and lifted Draco clear onto the counter.

This time when Draco made the plunge, he didn’t think to breathe.

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closet panic

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt inhale

Pansy finds him in the back of the cramped cloakroom behind the rail of coats, sat on the floor with his legs awkwardly bent at the knee like a baby Bowtruckle who hasn’t quite figured out how to use all its limbs. His trousers are rucked up to the ankles, green polka dot socks exposed. One of his shoelaces is undone.

He’s breathing into a paper bag. It’s dotted with grease and it’s full of pastry crumbs. 

She knows this because she watched him stuff it into his pocket when they snuck out of the office for a cheeky takeaway coffee earlier that morning. Apparently it’s made it all the way to Granger’s birthday party.

“Well,” she says, glancing around the tight space. “Never thought I’d find you hiding in one of these again.”

He inhales deeply and removes the bag from his mouth. There’s a crumb stuck to his bottom lip. 

“I think I’m dying.”

“Crikey, are you really? Should I alert someone?”

Draco groans, his head thunking back against the wall behind him. “No. Let me die in peace. It’s what I deserve.”

“Okay, darling. Why are you dying, exactly?”

Draco closes his eyes and pulls in a bracing breath. “I said something utterly awful to Potter.”

“Okay,” she says slowly. “And?”

Pansy leans against the doorframe and glances over her shoulder. The party’s bustling. Chatter rises above the music, which to her ears is nothing more than a rhythmic bassline she can feel right in the centre of her chest. Amongst the sea of bodies, there’s a craning head, the lenses of his glasses briefly reflecting the sparkling lights. A beacon.

She squints at Draco. “What did you say?”

Draco doesn’t open his eyes. “I said… oh, god. I said, I would very much like to sit on your face.”

Pansy barks a laugh. “Well well well. Someone’s had more than their fair share of Gigglewater.”

“I’ve been spiked,” Draco groans miserably. He looks a little green. “Someone’s drugged me with some sort of… amorous concoction.”

“Are you sure it’s not just because Potter’s got new glasses and had a shave?”

He shakes his head a little too hard.

“Well. Don’t panic, but—he’s coming over.” Pansy grins and steps away from the doorframe, gesturing for Harry to come closer. 

Not that she has to. He’s walking with intent.

“What!?”

“In you go,” she says as she grabs Harry by the arm and pushes him inside. He looks down at Draco with, what she thinks, is an exasperated—fond—grin. He’s blushing, too. It looks good on him. “You boys need some privacy to hash this out, I suspect.”

She closes the door, pats it, and turns on her heel.

“Granger? Can I get you another drink?”

-

thank you @getawayfox for giving this a wee read over!