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Drrary <3

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none but the brave

Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt 'brave'. Filling the following 5 bingo squares: veela, werewolves, Harry POV, idiots in love, 250 words.

It had been different, with Fleur.

He hadn’t felt the compulsion. Not like Ron.

But now, watching Malfoy make his fashionably-late entrance into the pub, all pearlescent skin, hair like moonlight, Harry feels something snap.

Something primal.

He stands up so fast his chair scrapes loudly. Shouldering past a floating tray of firewhisky shots, almost toppling them, he grabs Malfoy’s wrist.

“Malfoy,” Harry says, breathless, “have I ever told you about the time I wrestled a rabid werewolf to the ground with my bare hands?”

“No, you haven't, Potter.” Malfoy's voice lilts, like birdsong, a quivering flute melody. “Because you never did that. You’re on the literal board of the Werewolf Rights charity, you idiot.”

Harry falters. Feels a bit stupid. 

Stupidly in love. 

And Malfoy just isn’t getting it. “I’d protect you!” Harry blurted, “if one ever tried to hurt you. I’d do anything—”

“Yes, yes, you’re terribly brave. Now, snap out of it.” He clicks his fingers, and like that, Harry's mind clears.

“Fuck, sorry about that.” He releases Malfoy's wrist. “I don’t usually fall for the allure.”

Malfoy frowns. “The what?”

“The Veela allure… that activated on your twenty-first birthday?”

“Do you believe every stupid rumour Witch Weekly prints?” Malfoy’s delighted laugh is musical and lovely, and Harry desperately wants to impress him all over again. What the hell—?

“So, wait, you’re not—”

“No, Potter. Now, does this sudden gallantry extend to buying me a birthday drink? Or do I have to fight a werewolf for it?”

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why am i still awake and why is dawn always like this. magic

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For @drarrymicrofic prompt 'brave'. Bingo squares: epistolary, angst, Draco POV. 355 words.

Dear Harry

Potter

Attn Mr. Harry Potter

Dear Mr Potter

Dear Harry Potter, (can I call you Harry?)

It was nice to see you

It was a pleasure bump

I'm glad you're

I hope you're

I'm sorry

You look well; I'm glad.

I'm sorry about your divorce. You're better off without her. She wasn't right for you. 

I can't know what it's like, but I have some familiarity with growing apart from loved ones. It isn't easy. I know you will love again, even if you don't feel like that's possible.

There's no way I can

I can't begin to say

I'm so sorry for

I owe you an apology. I'm sorry.

I can't make up for what I did to you and the ones you love. I'd never try; I know that's not how the world works. All I can offer you is my sincerest remorse. I can't undo the past, but I hope you believe me when I say I spend every day trying to do better. I would never be so vulgar as to list my good deeds, nor could I possibly expect my word to have any value to you, but I'm telling you just the same, in case you'd like to know.

I want so desperately for you to forgive me, but I know you won't

I know you can't forgive me

I know I don't deserve forgiveness

I will never ask forgiveness because it undermines the apology, but I want it more than you can imagine

You deserve to be happy

I'm sorry the world is shite

You should bugger off and let your friends sort out their own drama and come see my flat and spend time with my tabby and I'll cook--I can do that now!--and

I wish you and yours nothing but the best. Ironically, the most deserving seem to have the hardest time finding peace. I hope you find your peace. I hope you find love.

With love

In awe

Grovellingly yours

Full of remorse

Desperate for your approval that I don't expect or deserve

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy (please call me Draco)

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this next wip will fix me 

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Another unfinished old art 💀💀 but I really like this one

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brief (50 words)

“It’s high time,” Malfoy said seriously. “Don’t you like them tall, dark and handsome?” Harry glanced briefly at Malfoy, the curve of his lips, the neon lights dancing on his cheekbones. “Sure. Totally.” “Exactly,” Malfoy nodded, grabbed Harry by the shoulders and steered him across the room towards Mister Tall-dark-whatever.

for @yellowfork and maya | prompt from @drarrymicrofic | my Drarry microfic collection on Ao3

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All Right

For the glorious @short666bread, 800 words of hurt and comfort, TW for panic attack and mentions of blood. Thank you so much @curlyy-hair-dont-care for your help!

There’s blood on his trousers. Why is there blood on his trousers? There’s sunlight in his eyes, too bright to see properly. He’s outside, he thinks. It smells like—grass, and like jasmine, like sweat, like blood—why is there blood on his trousers? They’re white. It’s so noticeable. Why… it’s too hot for Halloween, this isn’t fake, why, why would there be, why—

“Harry?”

How did he get, where even is he? He can’t see anything, he can’t see. It’s all so bright. And bloody, why is there blood on his hand, on his finger right there where—

“Harry!”

It’s suffocating him. Suffocating, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t see anything, he can’t breathe, but there’s something—something warm, next to him, and it smells like—Harry breaks down, huge heaving sobs, up and down, up and down, and the something warm takes him in, whispering nonsense he can’t hear into his neck. And he’s crying, crying, crying…

“Shh,” the warmth says. “Shh, darling, you’re all right. It’s just a little—oh—erm, just some…” he stops when the voice shudders, when he recognises it. “Darling, you’re all right.”

“I can’t…” he still doesn’t see so well, blurry shapes floating in the blinding sunlight.

“It’s all right. You just cut yourself on—Merlin, that’s quite a bit of—no, no, it’s all right.”

And it must be Draco, because he’s always squeamish when it comes to blood, and this must mean Harry really is all right, because Draco won’t be squeamish if—if Harry had done something horrible. If he ruined everything—the light dapples the ground with gold. Above his trousers, there’s gold. He shakes his head, and the sound that comes out of him is horrifying, a wild plea.

“Harry. Harry, look at me. Look at—you’re perfectly all right, yes? I’m sorry if… you’re all right.” Harry can’t see, but can still tell what it looks like, what Draco’s face is doing. How his mouth goes all soft.

“I can’t… what’s…” his words won’t come out, and instead of berating him, Draco comes closer. Wraps his hands around Harry’s head, kisses his cheek.

“Just a cut. It’s all right. Just a tiny little cut. You look so gorgeous, this Sherwani is perfect, it brings out your—darling, hey, hey, it’s okay.” He cuddles closer, and Harry’s breathing stills, then goes rampant. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay.”

It evens out, in the end, his breathing, and Harry rubs his eyes on Draco’s waistcoat. Thinks about how livid he’ll be to discover snot on his expensive suit. And Harry’s trousers—no, it had a different name, they went to three different shops before he found the one he liked, his Chudidar—and shit, the wedding, their wedding—

“Shit,” Harry says out loud, and he can see now how pink Draco’s cheeks look. But he’s smiling, and he’s so dear, so very dear that Harry starts crying again. Then worse, because the sound of his crying is so pitiful, but Draco only spreads his arms and Harry leaps back in there, hysterical and grateful and confused and fuck, the wedding, he’s ruining it, he’s doing that thing again where he’s too much, too wrong, and he’s ruining everything. He must be saying that too because Draco makes a sound, big and undignified.

“You’re not—Harry James Potter, you listen to me now. I love you. I love you, and this is still the best day in my… you’re the most important… I can’t, fuck, I don’t have my… in my jacket pock—listen. Harry, are you listening?”

He can’t manage words, so he just grunts.

“You make it better,” Draco says, and his voice wavers. “You aren’t—you’re not too much. Anything you need, I love to be able to, I love that you—that you let me see you. That you let me help. It’s the most… being around you, and I thank you every day for… and for seeing me, too. I’m far from perfect. I’m scared of so many things, petrified, even, and there’s so much I don’t know, that I might never know. But I know you, yes? I know you. And I’m not afraid of some tears. Of some blood. Here.”

He takes Harry’s hand with the blood and kisses it. “See? Not a problem. It’s not… you’re not ruining anything.”

“You’re such a fucking,” Harry wails, and they’re hugging again, and they’re both crying, and laughing, and Harry’s outfit will need a lot of cleaning, but he doesn’t really care. He loves, loves, loves, and panic subsides, eventually, but this will remain.

“We should—”

Draco stops him, finger on his lips.

“Whenever you’re ready. There’s time.”

There’s time. Harry lets the knowledge settle in his bones. There’s time.

You can prompt me too!        

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the thing is i actually wrote some seriously sweet things.

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ms slyssnakes can we see some dlm on his knees covered in blood whimpering and begging for forgiveness? the kneeling can be sfw or nsfw…ur choice…

Guards! Put that man in the blender

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really appreciate how to know chu wanning is already halfway to falling helplessly in love with him. like, yeah

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pick-me-up

[ boys falling over themselves & making fancy coffees. for the @drarrymicrofic june prompt: ground. ]

drarry | word count: 370 | warnings: n/a

_ _ _

He’s just pulled the shot, tamping the grounds into the portafilter, when the bell over the door gives a jingle. (Never mind the jingle is a nicer one than it used to be— after all, what’s a little charm to Muggle ears?)

“With you presently,” Draco calls over his shoulder, dunking the steam wand into a pitcher of oatmilk. The loud hiss almost covers the sudden clatter of furniture. Almost.

He’d turn, polite, but as before: steam wand.

Milk frothed (in record time), he taps the pitcher on the counter, rounds to the sound.

Harry Potter is in his café.

Harry Potter is on the floor.

A couple at one of the tables is staring, glances darting between them. Waiting for Draco to exercise some sort of hospitality, some sort of care, apparently.

“Get up,” he snaps, and Harry fumbles for the edge of the table, untangling from the chair he’d upended.

The woman’s eyes narrow, and Draco quips, quick, “Are you alright?”

Harry’s tugging at his t-shirt, righting himself. “Yep,” he says, eyes averted. “Fine!”

Draco pours the latte, foam flower blooming, slides the cup over the counter to the older man who’d ordered it.

He has about eight seconds to compose himself.

Then (as Potter hovers): “Can I get you anything?”

Then (as he approaches the counter): “Those chairs are prone to violence.”

Harry’s eyes go scrutinizing before an honest-to-Godric dimple flashes in his cheek.

“I’ve heard of the sort,” he says. “Not surprised you have them here.”

Draco gapes a mere moment. “I don’t cultivate attack chairs, Potter,” he says. “They’re drawn to coffee.” He grins. “And charm.”

Harry shakes his head, dimple insisting upon itself. “Could I get a chai latte, please?”

“Milk?”

“Whole.”

“Size?”

“Large.”

Draco hums, punching the order into the till, a suggestive quirk to his brows, and Harry laughs, a puff of a sound, kettle-like.

“You should join me,” he says, then, faltering: “Would you like to join me?”

Draco gives him a once over.

“Will you knock over my furniture if not?”

“Not on purpose,” Harry answers.

Draco bites down on a smile. “My break’s at half ten.”

Harry glances at his watch, the hands ticking just past 10am.

“I’ll wait.”

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REALLY like a character who cares and the characters who has no idea why the ever loving fuck would they even

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anyone: how are you doing??

me: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh anyway how are you.

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i'm SO tired but this fanfic just keeps being good, any advice????

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