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Closing Time

An H/D reunion story told in four panels: 

Draco busies himself with returning his precious books to their rightful places on the groaning wooden shelves of the library when he spots a sole patron sitting in a corner reading. He starts to tell the man that the library will be closing shortly only to realise that this man is no stranger but an old acquaintance he hasn’t seen in over ten years.

Originally created for @hdowlpost​  Ao3 link for larger view: X

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In Draco’s jacket

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Veela Draco dancing in the woods at night. Thanks for the Kofi Sgorpion!

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What is it like? Chapter 1

Rating: Mature (for now, I don’t know if it’ll change).

(Main) Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter. 

Summary:  "It wasn’t supposed to be so excruciating. Honestly. It was just another year at Hogwarts. He had survived six years there before, so there truly was nothing to be worried or anxious about. Nothing at all." In which Draco Malfoy is confused and doesn't know how to talk to his roommate, Pansy Parkinson is unsure about the future, and Blaise Zabini is way too patient with them.

Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Light Angst, Internalized Homophobia, How to live a normal life after traumatic events when you’re eighteen and the world hates you, Roommates, Some humour (?), A mix of Draco’s pov and the narrator’s, wholesome friends.

This work is available on Ao3. 

CHAPTER 1:  Hogwarts, annoying friends, and a roommate

It wasn’t supposed to be so excruciating.

Honestly.

It was just another year at Hogwarts.

He had survived six years there before, so there truly was nothing to be worried or anxious about.

Nothing at all.

It was nothing except for the students who all hated his guts, who called him names when he passed by them, who looked at him with disdain, who completely avoided him, who did not even spare him a glance (these ones he quite liked), who tried to hex him, and who happened to be the people he had spent the six previous years with. Amongst them stood the sole beacons of hope in the walking catastrophy that was his daily life: a grumpy Pansy Parkinson and a not-so-grumpy Blaise Zabini.

“When you’re done with the whole soliloquy in your mind”, Pansy said, interrupting his thoughts about that time yesterday when two Third years from Gryffindor called him a “scummy death eater” and wished he was dead (maybe he deserved that one after all he thought), “and I don’t even want to know what you’re thinking about and I’ll kick your arse if you don’t stop! But, to go back to what is truly important, could you be a dear and help your oldest and bestest friend in the world chose her outfit for her ...date?”

“Why me? Ask Blaise, he knows far more about fashion than I do”. He looked at her and at the pile of clothing on her bed, some of it thrown to the ground during the selection process. Turpin, her “ravenclaw” roommate, was out, surely lurking around her primal environment (the Library). The Eighth year dormitories were spacious and intimate, far more customizable than the ones before, but they still shared a common bathroom (it was one of the banes of Draco’s current life). Well, the girls shared one bathroom and the boys shared another. Because fighting in a war, seeing people you love die and coming back to the exact place they died were insignificant next to “conventional and arbitrary gender separations” (Blaise's words).

His answer did not seem to satisfy her. “I want you to do it. With me. Together”, she pouted.

He had a feeling her attitude had more to do with him than with her outfit, he knew her too well. And she knew him too well. He sighed, “Yes, I’ll spend time with you so that you don’t have to worry about me brooding in a corner like it’s sixth year all over again. And I do need to point out that we’ll be spending time together at Hogsmeade this weekend.”

“That’s the most I’ve heard you talk in weeks!”, she squealed joining her hands, her eyes sparling with glee. The mocking tone and the overenthusiastic answer was not lost on him. “Mind doing it again so I can copy it word for word in my journal? Or should I call Blaise so that he can witness the historic scene that just unfolded in front of my eyes? ”

“You don't have a journal”, he grumbled, he was far too tired to try to bite back at her and simply watched her grin from ear to ear. She was far too pleased with herself.

“Well, I could start one. I could call it Draco Malfoy’s Aphorisms and other Philosophical Words: a Biography of Pansy Parkinson’s Frigid Best Friend. It would be such a hit, I could make so much money out of selling it to the Prophet”, she said while giggling gleefully.

He stared blankly at her, not even deigning to acknowledge what utter nonsense she had just uttered and decided he was better off guiding the conversation back to her date.

“You know you could wear McGonagall’s nightgown and your date would still find you… hum…  charming? ”.

Pansy smirked, “Charming? Are we ten Draco? You can use the adjectives like hot or sexy you know...Oh, look at you blush, you’re so adorable when you’re embarrassed! What? No don’t run away! Come on Draco, you haven’t told me which one to pick! The button-up jacket or the casual-but-not-too-casual jumper! Draco! DRACO ! I’LL TELL BLAISE! ”.

He could still hear her yelling as he hurried down the corridor and up the stairs to dart back to his own room. He thought he heard her grumble something about “revoking his status as her favorite best friend”. As if she did not love them both irrevocably.

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Sometimes Draco wondered about how the three of them fit together so well.

Pansy was the intense one. She grew from a quiet and pliant child with a small rebellious streak into a storm. It was as if she was constantly ready to rain down on anyone and anything, anywhere she went she rumbled with unspoken words, hidden stories, and forgotten feelings. It was as if she felt for the three of them and it was too much all the time.

Blaise was the calm one. What he lacked in intensity and interest in life overall, he compensated for in what appeared to be thoughtfulness and maturity. He had been the adult in his life for quite some time, with an absent mother more interested in potential suitors than in the result of one of her nights with one of them. He had raised himself on his own or so he claimed. He would do anything and everything for the both of them, even if it required breaking a few laws. Draco and Pansy both knew he was a carefully crafted facade and sometimes when they stayed up too late they wondered whether the Blaise they loved was even real.

And Draco, well, like Pansy and Blaise, he was an only child heir to a fortune, a legacy, a name, and a specific set of beliefs about the order of the world and where his place was. He had believed in it for so long. They all did. It was pleasant as a child to know that you deserved the world solely because you were born better and superior. The precious pedestal he was so precariously perched onto since childhood toppled during the war. No, it would be more accurate to say that it had been shattered and smashed to the ground into fragments so small he saw no point in collecting them. The foundations so carefully laid by his father were now rubble. After the battle, he had been left standing on ashes and all he could taste was blood.

In the aftermath of the war, his father was sentenced to life in Azkaban, but his case had been reopened in July with some people appealing the judgement, thinking the justice was too lax. They wanted him dead. The manor was taken by the Ministry as a "way to pay the debt the Malfoy family owed to the British wizarding community" as it was the case for most of the Malfoys’ fortune. What little money his mother and him had, they shared (although he insisted on her taking a bigger part and she insisted on him taking it all). His mother kept sending him letters from France where she settled after their trials. In them, she asked how he was doing, what the weather was like there, what or he thought about blue curtains for the tiny flat she bought in Paris. Fine, rainy as always, and grey curtains would be better. She wanted him to join her there. He could not leave England. It was in part of his probation deal and she knew it. It was selfish of her to keep asking him, but he loved her too much to mind.

Pansy, who had not taken the mark, accommodated the Dark Lord or witnessed and played a role in the torture of innocents, was left rather unperturbed by the war. Only her reputation and wealth were hurt, since Pansy’s father was going to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life for numerous crimes. Her mother on the other hand was slowly losing her mind and focused what was left of it on her only daughter’s marriage. Over the Summer, Pansy had been dragged to numerous receptions and dates with old wizards only interested in what remained of the Parkinson’s wealth. As far as Draco could see, she happily complied with her mother’s wishes.

Blaise was the only one who did not seem affected by the war. True to his diplomatic side (Pansy called it conflict avoidance), he had not taken a side during the war and continued to live as neutrally as possible. As for his relatives, his mother had been living in Italy for several years already and did not seem to care about the war and his well being

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He made to open his room, but was stopped by laughs coming from inside it.

Fine, he turned around and went down to the common room. It was not as grand as the Slytherin common room, but it was welcoming enough that he did not feel as alienated from the castle as he usually did. He spotted Blaise sitting in a corner, a book open on his lap, and hesitated. He did not have classes this afternoon, he was not supposed to come out of the Common room. He clenched his teeth, stepped out of the room and into the empty corridor.

The problem with Draco Malfoy was that he never talked about anything personal, if he could sit somewhere all alone and bottle everything up he would. At least that was what Blaise thought Draco’s problem was as he followed him out of the Common room.

If you asked Pansy, she would have said Draco's problem was a mix of parental abuse, dreams crushed at a young age, guilt, not being able to have fun like a normal eighteen year old, repressed feelings, terrible decision making, and brooding, a lot of brooding.

Draco Malfoy would tell you that he does not have problems, that he is perfectly fine thank you. He only wished it would all stop. He did not know clearly was “it” was, and he was not that interested in finding it out.

And, according to the Prophet, and to almost all of the wizards and witches in the UK, Draco Lucius Malfoy's problem was that he was neither in Azkaban nor dead. He had received threat after threat when it was publicly announced (by the Prophet) that he was to go back to Hogwarts. Many parents refused to send their children to the school, claiming that it was not safe and that the Minister should do something about it.

The Minister did something about it. He made Draco sign a paper accepting to be put under a tracking spell which would restrict his movement within the school (by making aurors appear out of seemingly nowhere whenever he was not where he was supposed to be, that much he was not told and rather discovered during his first day of classes when a swarm of aurors bursted into the empty classroom Blaise, Pansy, and him had been sitting in), all of this with the approval of a reluctant McGonagall. Because of it he was forbidden from going too close to other houses’ common rooms. He was not supposed to wander around the halls alone outside of his class hours, and he was to be followed by aurors during his few Hogsmeade trips. Obviously he could not do like the other Eighth Years and go to Hogsmeade on every weekend, no, it would be too nice. He only had one weekend per month and the last one had been a disaster.

He almost asked Shackelbolt if he planned on having aurors accompanying him in the showers or in the toilets, but thought it was better to not be even more on the Minister's bad side.

Despite all this, the worst of it all was the wand.

Potter, like the sorcerer with his mighty staff from old times that he was, sent him his wand back during the Summer. It still responded fairly well to him and he thought that it would have to do since he quite frankly was in financial ruin. However, the Minister of Magic had other plans and declared that him having a wand outside of the classes when it was required was too risky and the students' families would be reassured if he did not represent a threat. Draco wondered whether Shacklebolt was only trying to please families (his potential electors) or if he actually thought leaving Draco powerless among students who would love nothing more than seeing him in the Infirmary was a neat idea.

So, he was wandless most of the time (this information was not known to anyone outside of the eighth years who he shared classes with, yet) and the loss was driving him crazy.

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He was sitting on a large windowsill, looking down onto the northern inner court when Blaise caught up to him and sat opposite to him. He had brought his book with him, a dusty old thing written in latin. One time, Draco had asked his friend how he knew latin and Blaise had simply said that it was similar to italian (which he spoke fluently) and that a lot of the books at the Zabini estate were in latin. Afterwards, he foolishly thought that his friend was interested in learning more about latin, so he bought him a complete latin dictionary and owled him the gift for his twelfth birthday. Blaise never answered. Draco never dared to ask if he liked his gift or if he even opened it.

Blaise abhorred gifts and he made sure to show it to Draco and Pansy when they were seven by throwing into the fire a stuffed toy they got him. Pansy cried and Draco never looked at Blaise Zabini the same way.

“Not sure the Ministry would trust you as a supervisor to the dangerous death eater Draco Malfoy”, he said his eyes fixed on a couple of students playing and laughing.

“If you know you can’t be out alone, then why did you leave the Common room?”, Blaise asked.

“My room is currently occupied.” He insisted on the last word, drawling out every syllable of it.

“And Pansy?” They both knew that Blaise heard her yelling so Draco told him about the outfit, the date, and Pansy being annoying. “She worries about you.”

Draco looked at Blaise. He looked serious as usual, but there was also something else he could not understand. “She should worry about being married to the first geriatric man with money Mother Parkinson encounters.”

Blaise sighed and looked away from Draco for the first time since he arrived. He knew he was being unfair. His own parents had planned an arranged marriage for him and Astoria Greengrass. It only fizzled away partly because they did not fancy their daughter marrying the son of a noble who lost his estate and his status in high society, but also partly because the Greengrasses also to fled to France with both of their daughters. Then, Draco had what he called a brilliant idea.

“She could marry you.” Blaise, startled, looked at him like a third eye just popped open on his forehead. “No, listen, listen, it could work. Her mother only wants her to marry the heir to a fortune with a nice status, which you are!”

“That’s why Pansy and I always plan things, you’re shit at coming up with ideas,” Blaise said with a little smile. “It wouldn’t work because I don’t want to marry Pansy and Pansy doesn’t want to marry me. And before you say anything about how I should help her because I’m her friend, not marrying her is helping her.”

“You could be engaged and cancel it afterwards, it doesn’t have to be an official thing,” Draco said, thinking that his plans were not as bad as Blaise said. Sure, they involved a lot of “mocking Potter” or “fighting Potter”, but other than that, they worked fine.

“Her mother wouldn’t have it. Besides, Pansy needs to stand up for herself for once. Alone. And maybe do a bit a thinking about what she wants on the way. Anyway, she’ll needs us to catch her when she’ll realise her expectations are never going to be fulfilled.”

Draco was not sure he understood his logic, and wondered why his friend had to be so cryptic, but Blaise always knew what to do (even more so recently, since he’d been the one piloting the half sunken ship their lives had become after the war), so he just defeatedly sagged against the window.

“Come back inside darling,” Blaise said softly. “And go talk to her.”

He nodded and after a final glance at the court, he walked towards the door to the common room, Blaise following him.

Another positive thing about the Eighth Year common room was the fact that it did not require a password, but was spelled to recognize the magical signature of the ones allowed in. At least, no one, other than the Eighth Years, could put flesh-eating slugs in his bed.

Draco told Blaise that he needed to grab a few things from his room before going to talk to Pansy. Blaise left him in the middle of the entryway to go back to the sofa in the corner of the room. He trudged up the stairs towards his room. He could still hear several voices through the door. Three voices. As he opened the door he thought that the most excruciating thing about being back in Hogwarts was not so much the ghosts, the old ones and the new ones, or the jeering and sneering or straight up hexing he had been the target of, but the fact that he shared his room with none other than the Boy Who Lived and Came Back To Life to Save Us All.

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I started a new fanfiction, it’s about Draco being a confused mess, Pansy being as confused but honestly she can handle herself better, and Blaise being the most patient person on earth.

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Draco Lucius Malfoy (b. 5 June, 1980) was a pure-blood wizard and the only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy (née Black). The son of a Death Eater, Draco was raised to strongly believe in the importance of blood purity. He attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardryfrom 1991-1998 and was sorted into Slytherin House. During his years at Hogwarts, he became friends with Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and other fellow Slytherins, but he quickly developed a rivalry with Harry Potter.

He was made a prefect of his house and was a member of the Inquisitorial Squad during his fifth year, at the end of which his father was imprisoned in Azkaban following the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Lord Voldemort charged Draco with making up for Lucius’s failure, and he became a Death Eater at age sixteen, but was quickly disillusioned with the lifestyle. Draco was unable to complete his task of murdering Albus Dumbledore, which was later taken over by Severus Snape, and only performed his other duties fearfully and reluctantly. He and his family defected hours before the end of the Second Wizarding War, fearing for their lives.

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priest : repeat after me

harry : after me

priest, whispering to draco : are you sure you want to marry this one

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life goals: have the office that every grandfather seems to have in movies. you know, the ones with the large oak desks and bookshelves covered in old books that’s being gently soaking in golden light from large windows behind the desk. also the cool red velvet chair that’s behind the desk. that’s the goal.

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Draco: *insults Harry and his friends*

Harry: *dislikes Draco*

Draco:

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James: So what’s the plan for tonight?

Sirius: Are you sure you want to talk about the M-O-O-N in front of the W-E-R-E-W-O-L-F?

Remus, sarcastically: Oh, in times like this I sure wish I knew how to spell.

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everyone talks about “did you put your name in the goblet of fire” being the worst book to movie dialogue fail but lets be real the worst is where hermione answers a question in class and snape calls her an “insufferable know-it-all” and in the book ron is furious and he goes OFF and says “you asked a question and she knows the answer! why ask if you don’t want to be told?” but in the movies they just make him say “he’s got a point, you know” and i’m still mad about it

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Hey! I started writing a Christmas fanfic about a silly Christmas card, I swear it’s a love story!

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I feel like writing something Christmas-y.

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I’d been reading a ton of 8th year HPDM fics….and so,

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breakfast at the slytherin table going smoothly enough until someone casually says to their mate, “did you know potter’s into dudes?“

draco malfoy chokes on his toast, climbs onto the table, crawls across it, grabs the poor slytherin by the collar and says “details right now, motherfucker“

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I just mixed them with hot chocolate this morning. It was nice, a bit soggy but still nice, not as nourishing as I would have liked though.

Anyone knows if there is actually something you can cook with popcorn because I have these two bags of non buttered popcorn and I do’nt know what to do with them. 

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Anyone knows if there is actually something you can cook with popcorn because I have these two bags of non buttered popcorn and I do’nt know what to do with them.