“Macmillan,” said Draco, shaking his hand. “How are you? Introduce me to your fr–”
The lovely woman turned towards Draco as he spoke.
It was bloody. Fucking. Granger.
Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love | Chapter 8: The Party / Orphans, Or Something | written by @isthisselfcare
commissioned by translators!
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Aesthetic of Breath Mints/Battle Scars written by @onyx-and-elm
“First to the end?” Malfoy proposes, breathless.
She laughs. Nods.
“On three! One—”
She breaks forth on one, giggling and kicking her way through the array of goblets as he shouts after her.
“Cheating brat!”
But he’s laughing and he catches up quick. In absurd unison, they smash their way through the rest of the table, kicking plates and bowls against walls. Screaming encouragements at one another. Laughing like she doesn’t think she’s ever laughed before.
The floor crowds with tiny shards of crystal and large pieces of china, until there’s no safe space to walk.
And in some wild fever dream, the two of them hop down off the table. Laugh and scream and jump around in it like they’re splashing through puddles in the rain. Jump until they can hardly breathe.
Until they’re hunched over, gasping and red-faced.
Hermione closes her eyes. Heaves out smiling breaths at the ceiling. Then she shuffles her way through the mess, feeling sharp edges prick at her ankles and not caring a bit. She kicks aside the debris next to the wall and collapses into a seat against it.
Malfoy joins her moments later, sliding down and leaning his head back against the stone.
Together, their panting slows. Fades to quiet, simultaneous breaths.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, foot playing with half a teacup. “Destroying things.”
“Yes,” she answers instantly. She can’t think clearly in this moment. Doesn't want to. She hasn’t felt a release like this since long before the war.
October 7th, 1998
Diary,
It doesn’t mean anything.
Draco
February 8th, 1999
Diary,
My fucking Amortentia smells like flimsy hot chocolate now and I’m not fucking okay with it.
Draco
If you love me don’t come for me.
“Are you ready?” Hermione asks, aggressively wiping away a few tears.
“I saw what he wrote,” says Pansy, voice quiet and inscrutable. “Draco. I read it over your shoulder.”
Hermione’s tone comes out more cold than she intended. “So?”
“He doesn’t want you to go.”
She bites down on the back of her tongue. Says again, “So?”
Only Pansy could ask it so bluntly. “So you don’t love him?”
A bitter, incredulous laugh bursts from her chest. She sniffs angrily and slaps away one more tear, then tightens her grip on her wand and takes Pansy’s wrist.
“If loving him means letting him die, then no. No — I guess I hate him.”
She touches her foot to the gargoyle, and they’re gone.
“Promise me,” she says.
“I…”
“Promise me.”
He forces himself to nod. Forces his eyes back open. “I promise,” he breathes. “I promise. I love you. I promise.”
She smiles brightly, then, a ghostly tear cascading down her cheek. “Took you long enough.”
He tries to put his hand over hers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “No. We both know I forgot to say it too.” She huffs a sad laugh. “We’re both idiots.”
“Idiots,” he echoes, nodding fiercely.
“But I do love you. And now I want to see you love someone else. I want to judge every stupid little mistake you make and I want to watch you fall in love all over again. Alright?”
“Alright.”
“Promise me?”
“I swear.”
“Good.” She flashes him a final smile, utterly incandescent. “Then it was all worth it.” And she lets her palms fall away from his face in the same moment the stone falls from his trembling hand. "Behave yourself, yeah?" she asks, voice faint — trailing off.
A moment later she vanishes.
Swallowing back a sob, Theo turns to look at Hermione.
It takes him almost half a minute to manage the words.
But then he whispers, “Thank you."
“Just admit it.”
“Shut up! Shut up!”
“Say it. Say you’re in love with him—”
“Fucking shut up!”
“You’ll feel better once you do—”
“I swear to Merlin, I’ll—”
“Say it!”
“Fuck you!”
“Say it!”
“I’M IN LOVE WITH HIM!” Pansy shrieks, and she sweeps an arm across the black marble table, sending crystal goblets flying against the hearth. Shattering them into thousands of tiny pieces.
…
“I’m not in love with Draco,” Pansy says again, completely composed, wiping at more stray tears. “I’m in love with—”
“Theo.” Hermione finishes for her.
And it all suddenly almost, almost makes sense.
Pansy releases a slow breath through her nose, face tight. “Theo,” she finally forces herself to say. Finally confirms.
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How great, that I have such a talented friend 💚
Well… it wasn’t supposed to happen tbh
I have been struggling with one Dramione art that is still in process (hopefully I will finish it one day) and decided to take a break — that’s how 3-hour-Draco-sketch appeared.
Eventually I came up with an idea to draw Blaise and Theo as an addition and they turned out much better than Draco (damn it)
So… I won’t redraw Draco — let it remain in history as the first digital art that I’ve made.
Blaise Zabini
Draco Malfoy
Theodore Nott
Slytherin trio
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Sometimes I’ll just be grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, sending emails... when all of a sudden I’m like...
“She was a non-active member of the Order of the Phoenix and did not fight.”
...And that’s the power of fanfiction.
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💔
Three big turns and she will be here.
He chuckled, imagining how he would have to share her with himself and die of jealousy. Although it was worth everything — it was worth anything.
First turn and Draco knew he wouldn't let her go anywhere else. If necessary, he would lock Hermione in the dungeons on the day she was killed, then tie her to him or create a Horcrux for her — he would do anything to prevent this happening to her again. Not again.
The second turn, and the edges of reality began to blur.
The third turn, and the circle is closed, so that history will repeat itself again.
Aesthetic of Russian fanfiction “Repeat?”/“Вам повторить?” by Cup of Madness
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He froze. The shock instantly made his storm colored eyes look dreadful. It felt as if all the fluid in his body had turned into a transparent solid film, nailing him in place. Polyjuice? What the hell? But no one could get into the Manor under any morph. And all the glass seemed to crack at the moment, accumulating in his throat, tearing the skin.
— Hermione! — Draco shouted, pushing his aunt out of the aisle and falling to the floor.
— No, no, no...
He repeated these words like a madman.
— You couldn't, you just couldn't...
Malfoy shook her body, trying to get the mockery out of her throat or wheeze or anything that would mean that his life would not end like this. End here: holding the body of his beloved in his hands, in the midst of a blood-soaked carpet and swollen veins from torture.
The Manor could collapse, the world could burn, but everything in him was focused on the brown eyes that no longer belonged to his wife — bright and sparkling with a drag when he touched her.
Absolutely dead.
Aesthetic of Russian fanfiction “Repeat?”/“Вам повторить?” by Cup of Madness
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It's all true 🥺
I’m so in love with this work 💔
I have read Manacled in two languages a month ago and still cannot find any words in any language to explain what I feel.
Fact: you won’t be able to explain the deep essence of this work in words to another person.
I understood that readers are in the same position as Aurora: they know the real story and they can show the truth to others only by putting the book right in their hands.
@senlinyu Manacled stole my heart and soul. I cannot imagine how much effort you have made to tell this story to us. I just wanted to thank you. This experience was so abruptly emotional - the reality of the war is unbelievable — the one that finished reading Manacled would never eventually get over it.
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