drarrymicrofic

[drarrymicrofic]

expectant

@drarrymicrofic prompt: expect. summer bingo: 50 words, humor, older drarry. 3 years and finally an actual micro. yay me ⭐

“So while women are going through menopause, pureblood wizards instead develop exceptional fertility?”

“In simple terms, yes.”

“Ha,” Draco deadpans. "Checkmate, feminists.”

“Stop it,” Harry puts his glasses back on, freshly rubbed eyes now watery. “Scorp, what’s this about requiring mutuality in both spirit and affection?”

Draco looks away first.

[drarrymicrofic]

A very silly (and quite late) fic for @drarrymicrofic - prompt: brief

‘I thought your closet would be more organized, y’know,’ Harry said. ‘You seem like someone who would iron your Y-fronts.’

Draco rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t iron, but if I were going to iron anything it would be something less ridiculous than my underwear.’

‘You know in America they call them “briefs?”’

‘Why? You wear them all day; there’s nothing brief about them!’

[drarrymicrofic]

For @drarrymicrofic prompt “expect”; 100 words! Bingo squares: no adverbs and love potion/spell/pollen”

—

“He’s not showing the expected symptoms; we didn’t even use the straps,” the nurse explains, vexed.

“He’s either dull as dirt or -,” Draco’s cut off by the sight of Potter on the gurney, annoyed but quiescent. The only sign of his supposed sex mania is his unruly hair. “Oh. Yes. Nothing impure about Saint Potter,” he drawls, dismissing the nurse. Once they’re alone, Potter clears his throat, cheeks flushed.

“That’s not true, you know. I have … urges. I just also have strong defenses against will-inclined magic.”

“Of course you do.” He snaps a glove on. “Let’s get you treated.”

[drarrymicrofic]

matchmaker, matchmaker

“I can’t believe I have to do this with you again, Potter. I thought you and Justin were a decent match. He was everything you said you wanted in a partner." Malfoy picked a piece of paper off of his desk and started reading from it. “‘Nice to me and my friends. Romantic. Easy to talk to. A good sense of humor.’”

“Yeah, but there wasn’t any spark.” Harry shrugged. “I don’t know why I came back here either. I’m starting to think you’re not very good at your job.”

“I’m amazing at my job. I’m responsible for thirty different marriages, at least nine of which have resulted in children. I’m the biggest boon to the wizarding birth rate since Celestina Warbeck’s ‘Bedroom Magic.’ You’re just picky.”

“I know what I want, sue me.”

“Relationships that last aren’t about what you want, they’re about what you need. You want someone who is nice, who will say all the right things and swoon on command. But you’re too hopped up on public adoration for any of that to feel real. What you need is honesty. Someone who will tell it to you like it is and call you on your shit so that when they tell you they love you, you actually believe them.”

Harry’s brain short-circuited for a moment, not entirely sure how offended he should be by Malfoy’s frank assessment before another, much more offensive thought crossed his mind. “You realize you just described yourself.”

“Fuck, I did. I’m blunt in a way that would be good for you, and I know you think my jokes are funny, don’t try to deny it. You’re impressive and competent, which is what I want. And you don’t take my shit, which is what I need. It would be a good match. Fuck.” 

“Fuck,” Harry agreed. “I’ll pick you up at 8.”

“7:30.” Malfoy slid as far down into his chair as possible. “I hate how good I am at my job.”

--

for @drarrymicrofic prompt: expect | on ao3

[drarrymicrofic]

Daddy D and Daddy Dumb

@drarrymicrofic | words: 81 | prompt: expect

Draco’s hands clung to Harry’s as he beamed down at him, eyes brimming with tears.

“Harry,” he breathed, “we’re expecting!”

Harry’s face lit up, smile splitting wide, eyes full of wonder.

“Expecting what?” he asked eagerly.

Draco blinked. Then blanched.

“What?” Harry prompted, inching forward. “What’s gonna happen? What are we expecting?”

Draco sighed in exasperation and sulked out of the room.

Harry spent the rest of the day nervously glancing over his shoulder—unsure of who or what might be arriving.

[drarrymicrofic]

harry/draco | 100 words | @drarrymicrofic prompt: expect | nsfw

Thirty years, two divorces, four kids between them before they got here. Before Harry got him naked. But got here they did, and naked he is, in Harry’s bed, legs and smile spread out wide, yet aberrantly quiet.

“You’re not what I expected,” is what comes out when Harry lines up. Ever the charmer.

Draco, rightfully, scowls. “What did you expect?”

“Bossy.”

The scowl flips into a smirk. “It’s polite to let a man bottom out before one starts barking orders. Or do you plan to linger in the doorway all night, as it were?”

Harry grins and pushes in.

-

Read on AO3

[drarrymicrofic]

For @drarrymicrofic prompt: “expect” wc 150

An hour hasn’t passed since Voldemort hit the Great Hall floor. Exhausted, Harry walks through Hogwarts toward Gryffindor Tower. All he can think about is his old bed—

With a scuff of flagstone, Malfoy manifests from the mouth of a corridor ahead. He halts abruptly. So does Harry.

Malfoy’s alone. They’re alone.

Harry clears his throat. “Er. A word?”

Malfoy nods, so Harry gestures them into a classroom. The second the door closes, Harry is shoved up against it. Fight or flight kicks in, then. . .

Stalls.

Their kiss breaks. Malfoy’s body pushes warmth into Harry’s, still fighting chill from the train station. Harry clasps the front of Malfoy’s robes in a fist so tight he’s convinced fully now of his reclaimed heartbeat.

“This. . .” Uncertainly touches Malfoy’s blazing gaze. “This is what you meant, right?”

Harry pulls them back together. What the hell. Draco’s wand can wait.

[drarrymicrofic]

Drarry microfic: Expect

Draco’s been pacing around the Time Room for an hour when Potter finally shows.

“I was told to expect you at eleven o’clock.”

“I had to pick something up on the way,” Potter says, shrugging off his Unspeakable robes. “Change of plans. We’re going to a different year.”

“The hell we are, Potter. I have strict orders—”

“This will be better. Trust me.”

Draco watches helplessly as Potter resets the knobs and dials on the Portal with quick, practiced movements. He’s obviously spent the past few years dipping in and out of Time, trying to thwart the Dark Magic that’s seeping into everything. How desperate is the situation now, Draco wonders, if the Ministry suddenly wants the two of them to blow up seventy years of history?

Fuck it. Draco never liked this plan, anyway. Hit Wizards aren’t in the business of murdering children, no matter who they might grow up to be.

When Potter’s done fiddling, he hands a torn photograph to Draco. It looks nearly a century old, with fading charmwork that makes the subject’s movements snag and sputter—a small girl, wearing patched robes and a ribbon tied into a half-hearted bow around her head. Her dark-eyed, wary gaze shifts between the photographer and whatever family members were standing beside her before Potter ripped the snap in two.

“Who the fuck is this?” Draco demands.

“Our new target.”

Draco turns over the photograph. The words “Gaunt” and “Hangleton, 1910” are written in faint, looping script, one above the other, beside the torn edge. With trembling fingers, he flips back to the girl. She can’t be more than three years old.

“Potter, I can’t do this. Killing him is one thing…”

“No,” Potter says gently, setting both hands on Draco’s shoulders. “No, Draco. We’re going to save her.”

Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt, "expect."

Masterlist of my microfics

[drarrymicrofic]

For @drarrymicrofic prompt: “expect” wc 100

It takes a decade for Harry and Draco to wear out their first mattress. Harry thinks it’s a load of crock, Draco insists.

Harry doesn’t expect how quickly his back pain disappears when he and Draco test a new mattress at the shop.

Beside Harry, Draco lays with his ankles crossed, fingers folded over his stomach, and smirk triumphant. He’s watching Harry closely. “Well?”

“It’s all right, I guess,” Harry concedes.

“Say it.”

“Say what?” Harry pleads ignorant, following up with a sigh; Draco’s eyes glitter with long-practiced playful malice, and he’s grinning now. “You twat. Fine. You were right.”

[drarrymicrofic]

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy microfic. Happened during a Quidditch match at Hogwarts.

For @drarrymicrofic prompt expect (425 words).

I’m back, finally. Today I saw a life-changing fan art, and it sort of inspired me to get out of my writing slump;)

The fall to the ground knocked a sharp, throaty gasp out of Malfoy. Potter landed on top of him, his eyes lingering on the opponent beneath him for only a fleeting moment — until he heard a buzz just inches from his reach.

Malfoy must have spotted the same golden glint — if only Harry’s curly head hadn’t acted as an improvised solar eclipse. Malfoy thrust his hips forward, and a disgruntled Potter reversed their positions; his fingers closed over thin air as the startled Snitch flitted a few inches away, spooked by the sudden flurry of motion.

Potter growled through gritted teeth, claw-like fingers aiming for Malfoy’s wrists. But Malfoy was already towering over him, straddling Harry with his knees pressed to either side, effectively caging him in. His head jerked around against the clear sky, and a sly smirk spread all the way to his crinkled eyes as the Snitch, almost as if charmed, began flying toward him. Malfoy was poised to catch it.

Harry wrapped both arms around Malfoy’s waist and, with all the strength of his upper body, managed to press the stubborn-as-a-mule Slytherin Seeker against his chest. He let out another involuntary croak when Malfoy’s pointy chin slammed into his sternum. One hand lunged for Malfoy’s sweat-damp hair, gripping tight to hold the squirming other in place, buying himself a few precious seconds of upper-hand control.

The Snitch darted again — fast, tracing what Harry noted to be a jagged, almost quadratic path. He hooked his leg over Malfoy’s, struggling to shift beneath Draco’s weight — who had a good two or three inches of height on him — his spine arching at an unnatural angle.

Then, in a few seconds, Harry managed to close his fingers around the golden ball, its wings still flapping frantically in the air.

“POTTER CAUGHT THE SNITCH!” the commentator roared, and the stadium erupted into wild cheering. “Well — not that it was unexpected.”

Malfoy finally broke free from Harry’s hand pressing down on his head. White-hot fury twisted his features; the fine muscles in his neck pulled taut like strings. He looked like he was about to spit straight into Harry’s eye. Good thing Potter wore glasses.

Harry’s face, meanwhile, broke into a relieved smile. His grip loosened, and one hand slipped down Malfoy’s back lightly as he started to push him off. Their noses brushed — yet nothing followed. Malfoy yanked at Harry’s Quidditch robes so suddenly that the fabric at his shoulder gave a scary, rending sound — but didn’t tear. Thankfully.

[drarrymicrofic]

for @drarrymicrofic prompt 'expect'; 50 words exactly to see that i can do it

"I didn't expect you to kiss me!"

"Yes, well, mistakes happen, Potter. Luna's mead got to me. I already apologized once so why are you whinging about it again?"

"Oh, so it was the mead?"

"Yes, Potter, absolutely."

"I see. And if I said there's a bottle at my place?"

[drarrymicrofic]

Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt Expect Words: 989

It was, quite unseemly, buttons that marked his downfall.

Rich black, small, round buttons. And mother-of-pearl ones, too. Once, they’d even been peacock blue, the exact shade of Draco’s favorite suit. It had felt like a fuck you — the no-fun kind — right to his face. Everyone knew peacock blue was Draco’s color. To wear it, and be so careless about it, was inexcusable.

Draco had, in the most dignified manner possible, reached his limit at the gala last month. He deserved a bloody Order of Merlin, First Class, purely for not having a full-blown public meltdown. With nails digging into soft tissue, he had fought the overwhelming urge to pick a fight with the guest of honour. Over buttons. 

Draco had been livid. Slytherin green. The buttons on Potter’s dress shirt that night had been Slytherin green. He’d made an absurdly high donation and simply fled the scene of the crime.

Honestly, Draco still couldn't fathom why Potter kept wearing shirts with buttons when he so clearly had no idea how to do them up properly.

What, or who, was on Potter’s mind when he got dressed? How did he keep misbuttoning his shirts? It wasn't just silly shirts with silly old buttons — it was custom-designed shirts, too! That was almost the worst part. Didn't Potter own a mirror, for Merlin’s sake? It wasn't exactly advanced potion-brewing — connecting a button to a buttonhole. 

At this point, Draco would applaud a bathrobe on Potter. In public. In front of the Minister for Magic, even. As long as he stayed far, far away from clothes with fucking buttons.

Potter clearly needed help. Where were his thousands of friends and adoring fans in all of this? Incompetent, the lot of them — letting him roam about when he was so obviously struggling.

Any time Potter wore a button-down shirt, which he often did these days, Draco’s fingers itched to take hold. To undo, to smooth, to calmly and precisely redo the row. Like a sane adult. Not like a child dressing in the dark. This would be Draco’s undoing. He knew it. He was unravelling. Spiraling.

To add pixie dust to injury, Potter had — out of the blue — started smiling at Draco more. At work, and at pub nights when Pansy dragged him along. Not like he was wont to do — just colleagues nodding and smiling politely at each other. No, he smiled like he knew something Draco didn’t. And it was driving Draco mad.

Draco was presently trapped — with no way of escaping — at Pansy’s engagement party. Potter was somewhere nearby, of course . He was the best man for the groom — just as Draco was for the bride. How Pansy had ended up with a Gryffindor, Draco had no idea, even if he actually did like Weasley now. At least Weasley knew how to dress. Or maybe he was just smart enough to let Pansy help him.

Potter, on the other hand, would probably always be single. Too complicated. Too messy. How he ever expected to court anyone — when he couldn’t even tie his shoes or brush his hair — was anyone’s wild guess. And then there was the business with the shirts. Potter would be single forever — or shacked up with the only other person just as loony: Lovegood.

Not like Draco, who was single because he had standards. No, not like Potter at all. Potter couldn’t afford to be picky. Draco could. He had value, something solid to offer a suitable suitor, like sanity.

And there Potter was, smiling at Draco again, hesitant and soft. Draco should have him committed before the night was over. The man was unhinged. A danger to society.

Draco was drinking heavily. Someone kept toasting to true love. He was a bit afraid that someone was him. Oh, he was going to wake up with the worst hangover tomorrow. 

“Hello, Draco.”

He really shouldn't, but he had to look — it was the polite thing to do, and after all, he'd been raised with impeccable manners. He steadied himself with a deep breath and one hand on the nearest wall.

Oh, why? Why was this man real? Harry Potter wasn’t like the other men Draco dreamed about. For one, he was not fictional. And worse – he was actually here.

“What are you doing?” It came out slurry, but unmistakably full of blame and accusation. Oh, good. Harry was, after all, ruining his life.

If the unsteady hand braced against the floral wallpaper hadn’t already given it away, this sealed it: Potter had just become Harry in his head. Draco was well and truly fucked.

Harry looked confused. So endearing. Draco was crumbling.

Why him? Why this man? Why was he the one Draco had fallen for?

What did it say about Draco that, despite all his protests and denials — despite Harry’s complete inability to function like a sane person — he was the one?

“Please,” he begged. “Please let me—” He didn’t give Harry a chance to reply – or to run. He was shaking, hands unsteady as they finally — oh yes, Merlin, please — latched onto Harry’s shirt.

The small, flat, round fuckers resembled smug little eyes, twinkling and winking at him. Slowly, DRaco pushed each one free, until Harry stood there, shirt open, mouth slightly parted, warm breath ghosting across Draco’s already overheated skin. He was wearing a vest underneath. Draco had never been more grateful for anything in his entire life. If his hand so much as grazed Harry’s bare chest right now, he might actually combust.

“I was trying to flirt with you.” Harry’s voice was faint — a mere whisper, but all the same bold. Draco had not been expecting that.

Merlin, this man. This impossible man. Draco had to kiss him. Soon. He might actually die if he didn't.

“You’re mental,” Draco said — the only thing he could think of in that moment. 

Harry smiled — for once, not a button out of place. “Yes,” he said. “Quite mental for you.”

[drarrymicrofic]

"starfucker"

@drarrymicrofic I 50 words | Prompt: expect | summer bingo: Dialogue-Only, 50 Words

“Well, this is unexpected. The elusive Potter’s at a gala?”

“Should’ve known you’d be here, you ponce.”

“Come for the free champagne, stay for the pro Quidditch players.”

“Such a starfucker.”

“Guilty, I suppose.”

“Who’s the lucky man tonight?”

“Well, you’re the most famous one here, so you tell me.”

[drarrymicrofic]

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: expect | 221 words | Rating: T

It's hot in the club and he feels sweaty and disgusting and there's faceless bodies dancing everywhere and everyone is almost naked—and did he mention it's too hot?—and the pill Ginny gave him half an hour ago is probably starting to take effect and he's dizzy and he just wants some—

the metal door bursts open and Draco Malfoy is standing outside

—air.

"Potter I can't say I expected to find you here."

Harry feels his own body shake with laughter. His voice comes out tired and tame. "I guess I can say the same thing. I don't think this is for me though, I was actually just leaving."

Malfoy shifts to look at him, offers him a smoke. He looks just like Sirius when he smiles, Harry thinks wildly. Declines. "I heard that's worse for you than the Dark Arts, eh?"

Draco's laugh echoes brightly around the back alley. "You know me, easily tempted."

Harry steps away, "Right then I'll..."

Turns to go. Turns back.

"Hey Malfoy—Draco. Is it okay if I call you Draco?—Listen I was just going to go but I feel like—I haven't seen you since—well, you know, and... I guess what I'm trying to say is—would you maybe want to go for a walk with me?"

"A walk? Now?"

"Yeah right now."

"Uh… Yeah, sure, let's go."

[drarrymicrofic]

Impact Play Poem

For @drarrymicrofic prompt: expect. I blame the alliteration bingo square. Thank you @the-invisibility-bloke for your lovely eyes!

The only warning’s a whistle of air, then: whack.

Draco cries out. He’s lost count. How many left?

Fists twist in flannel sheets, face flushed, spine flexing.

Strung tight like a bow, he awaits the next blow.

Instead, soft hands evoke a sharp hiss, a shudder.

The burn a balm to his mind, the touch chokingly tender.

Flesh is spread, speared, and seated, a welcome homecoming.

Mouth slack in a lull, shocked at feeling so full.

The warm weight above gifts whispered deliverance:

“Gods, you are so fucking good for me.”

Cheeks crack, salt tracks into Draco’s smile.

Harry’s so fucking good for him too.

[drarrymicrofic]

for @drarrymicrofic promp 'expect'; musing on what Draco and the Silver Trio might have been doing during Deathly Hallows; 232 words

Draco never expected to be spending 7th year watching Neville Longbottom, of all people. Well, not just him but he's definitely the least discreet when he runs off with Loony Lovegood and the girl Weasley.

Surely they're not having threesomes when they all disappear at the same time? The world could not be so unfair that Neville Longbottom gets to enjoy ménage à trois on the daily with Potter's girlfriend, while the four-eyed git is off who knows where, certainly put to some awful use by Dumbledore. The old goat somehow seems to still be controlling Hogwarts from beyond grave, never mind that Severus is supposed to be Headmaster now. He tries not to think about how that role was freed up. Some of the time he even succeeds.

No, the replacement trio must be getting up to something else than sexual shenanigans, they look too unfulfilled for that. Then again, considering that both Longbottom and a Weasley would be involved, maybe that's a given. Poor Lovegood, really. In any case, they're lucky that nobody else is paying attention to them because it's so obvious they're up to something. Draco watches them, for a look of relief, for any indication that Potter might be alive and successful in whatever it is he's doing, for any sign that hoping to be free of the Dark Lord's madness is not in vain.

[drarrymicrofic]

Microfic - expect

Draco isn't what Abby expected. He looked like a vagrant. Someone she'd worry about if she had the energy. She didn't think he'd be on the serving side of the community soup line. Always a double shift. He's seeing Harry tonight. She doesn't know who that is. Hopefully someone nice.

For @drarrymicrofic bingo: 50 words, non-Darry POV, Unusual Jobs (err, volunteer positions)