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@drarrymicrofic weekly challenge Prompt: Steal Word count: 107 Thank you @moonflower-rose for the beta! ~~~~~~

His wounds have barely healed before Harry’s paraded across a stage and pressed for a speech. Then come the funerals. Galas. Wizengamot hearings. His name carries weight, so he dutifully bears it. They steal his time and his energy and his history, then croon that no one lends a more understanding ear or crucial endorsement. 

They’re dementors by another name. They leave him just as empty. 

Then, there’s Draco. Who once moved through the world as if he was owed everything. Yet, he hasn’t asked for so much as Harry’s forgiveness. Out of all the things they’ve taken, it’s the one thing he’s ready to freely give.

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@drarrymicrofic weekly challenge Prompt: brief (narrator: "holygnocchi was not brief") Word count: 609 Thank you to @citrusses for the beta 🫶

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It’s been nine months since Draco was released from Azkaban, his record expunged, contingent on a stint restoring moth-eaten manuscripts in an abandoned corner of the Ministry archives.

It’s been eight months, 29 days, and 13 hours since he learned the only reason he was freed was because the Savior of the Wizarding World saw fit to save him, too.

It's been three weeks since Draco, nose stuck in a book he’d nipped from the archives, rounded the corner into the Ministry lunchroom and ran smack into the broad, firm chest of one Harry James Potter. It was the first time Draco had seen him outside the front pages of the Prophet. Harry’s hands had flown to Draco’s upper arms, steadying him with a “Whoa there, Malfoy!” 

With anyone else Draco would have apologized, politely and effusively. His reputation being…what it was. But it was Harry. And his dumb, symmetrical face. Infuriatingly, an easy, amused smile had replaced the suspicious scowl from school. Draco snapped.

“I know the sea parts for you wherever you go, Potter, but do try not to run over us mere mortals.” Nose in the air, he beelined to the nearest loo, hyperventilated in a stall, and skipped lunch altogether.

It takes the entirety of those three weeks for Draco to work up the nerve to confront Potter again.

It takes five minutes and 19 seconds to get from the Ministry’s subterranean 11th floor up to the second. Nine and a half, today, because Gilbert from Accounts catches him by the breakroom to drone on – again – about his 15th century gobstone collection. Draco spends about 6.2 seconds contemplating if it would be worth taking the next boat back to Azkaban just to escape this particular form of torture. 

In total, it’s 372 steps from Draco’s bleak, windowless office to the DMLE bullpen, with its charmed floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking St. James Park. Harry sits at a desk in the far corner, afternoon light glinting off his glasses as he throws his head back, laughing at something Weasley says. He sees Draco and stills. The flutter of nerves turns to a riot in Draco’s gut and he’s glad he skipped breakfast.

Draco must say something, or maybe he just stands there grimacing so intensely Harry feels compelled into action once again, because Harry is crossing the room toward him, Weasley watching hawk-eyed from their shared cubicle. The other Aurors are no longer pretending to be engrossed in their paperwork as Harry stops in front of Draco. 

“Do you need something, Malfoy?” His voice is pitched low in an attempt at privacy. Everyone else in the room wears expressions of mild suspicion or blatant distaste. One Ministry meathead clearly expects a fight and is leaning forward in his chair, eyes bright with bloodlust. But Harry’s expression is searching, open.

It sends heat flaring through Draco, an exothermic reaction of embarrassment and shame, resentment and attraction. But he’s come this far. “There are some things I need to say to you. Preferably in private.” Draco tries for a good-natured smile of his own. An unfamiliar contortion that probably comes across as a wince. But Harry just nods, once, and gestures down the hall to an empty conference room. 

When the door clicks behind them, Draco takes a steadying breath. Feels the air pressing against his ribcage, holds it there until it burns in his lungs. His first week out of Azkaban he wrote a letter he never sent. He went through dozens of sheets of parchment and countless words until the ink on his quill ran dry. Today he’ll keep it brief. Just two simple words to start. 

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Breathe in, breathe out.

Katara closed her eyes, taking one more minute to ground herself. She could still hear the music of the gala drifting through the heavy doors to the ballroom, but as she focused on filling her lungs with air and slowly releasing it, the music became a gentle background noise, rather than the panic-inducing racket it'd been just moments before.

Tonight held so much potential - she feared she was going to break under the weight of it pressing on her chest.

But as terrifying as the night appeared, the horrifying prospect of never knowing felt worse. Katara opened her eyes, took another deep breath, smoothed non-existent wrinkles from the skirts of her formal dress, and turned the corner.

She nodded, smiling gracefully at the guards at the entrance, and let them pull the door open for her. Scanning the crowded ballroom as her name and many titles were announced - Ambassador Katara, Southern Waterbending Master and Sifu to the Avatar - she spotted him. Her breath caught somewhere in her throat, but in the next heartbeat she recovered, moving towards him with a determined set to her shoulders.

Fire Lord Zuko was just as stunning in his formal robes as he was in his simple training tunics. Then again, Katara thought, she might be a bit biased. It was just as hard to keep her eyes on him as she moved through the crowds as it was when he smiled at her in council meetings, or walked with her in the gardens, or took tea with her in one of their offices as they drafted policy at all hours of the day. The evening's potential whispered around her, wrapping around her arms like a soft blanket, keeping her head up and her eyes on him.

The spirits must have looked favorably on her tonight, or perhaps they were pulling invisible puppet strings, because as soon as Katara was within polite distance of Zuko, the nobleman he had been speaking with bowed and retreated, leaving Zuko to turn and face her.

"Good even- Katara." Zuko swallowed, slowly taking in her meticulously styled hair and swishing skirts. "You came," he breathed out, barely discernible over the music.

But Katara always heard him.

"I told you I would. I do need to speak with Minister Yun at some point. But..." Katara trailed off, choking on the potential and hope and need and desire all competing in her chest, clawing at her throat.

"But?" Zuko prompted.

By some miracle, she squeaked out, "But I believe you promised me a dance, first."

Zuko's answering smile was warmer than a thousand midday suns.

"Of course. May I, Ambassador Katara?"

She nodded quickly, wiping her hands once more before she took his outstretched hand and let him lead her to the dance floor.

Let him lead her anywhere.

The line of his shoulders were straight, but not stiff, as he swept her around the room. His eyes were shining gold and his smile never left, even though she knew he hated dancing.

The music was just slow enough to encourage converstion, but Katara was still choking on potential and hope and need and desire.

Thankfully, Zuko wasn't.

"In case no one has told you yet, you look amazing tonight Katara. Well- you always do, but this gown..." His eyes dropped briefly to the high blue neck of her sleeveless dress. "You're gorgeous."

Katara felt her cheeks flush under his praise. "Thank you. And you as well- you always look stunning but..."

"But?" He grinned wider at his own echo.

Katara rolled her eyes at his teasing, but found she wanted to be earnest. "I think it's when your hair is pulled back - when I can see your eyes..." Realizing they were no longer twirling around the room, Katara brought a shaky hand up to trace his jaw, his cheek. "Beautiful."

Zuko mirrored her actions, lightly tracing her jaw, cheek, before settling his hand at the nape of her neck. "I know I said we should talk tonight, but..." He looked around, probably noting a line of people waiting to speak and politic with him. Zuko took her hand again, pulling her to the edge of the room, and out onto an empty balcony.

"But?" Katara said, letting herself smirk at the chance to tease back.

Zuko smiled, letting his hands settle on her waist. "But I was hoping that first, I could kiss you."

Katara's heart felt like was going to pound out of her chest, the potential and hope and need and desire crashing into a cacophony of noise in her ears, but somehow she managed to smile, to nod, to tease, "I thought you'd never ask," as she wound her hands around his neck.

Zuko leaned in, studying her, as if she might change her mind, but Katara had made up her mind the moment she stepped in the ballroom, so she closed the distance and finallyfinallyfinally pressed her lips to his.

They had danced around this for so long, years of lingering glances and longer touches and goodbyes that felt like losing a piece of yourself, that Katara had feared she'd built the possibility up in her mind. Too many daydreams, too much hoping, no one could possibly kiss her as well as she dreamed Zuko could.

She was never so happy to be wrong. With every soft sigh, every twitch of his fingers at her waist, every gentle nip of her lips, Katara realized she'd never want to kiss anyone else but Zuko.

Her heart was content to spend the entire evening kissing Zuko on the balcony, but she knew duty would call soon, so she gently pulled back, smiling when he tried to chase her. "Someone will probably be looking for you soon," she admonished.

"I don't care," he said, and stole another kiss.

Katara smiled again as she broke the kiss, resting her head on his chest, hearing his racing heart echoing hers. "You say that now, but we both know how mortified you'd be if any member of your council found us out here, or spirits forbid-"

"Mazo," they said together, Katara with a grin and Zuko with shudder at the thought of his scarily knowledgeable secretary.

"And... we still need to talk," Katara said, her smile slipping a little. Zuko brushed his thumb over her lips, eyes still warm.

"I know. But if this-" he kissed her, quick and chaste, "-is any indication, I think we'll be on the same page in our discussion."

Katara shook her head, ducking her chin to hide her grin. "I sure hope so," she whispered.

"I believe so," he said, kissing her once more. "C'mon, I hate that you're right, but I need to be somewhere Mazo can see me. We can talk as we dance."

"Okay," Katara said, squeezing his hand as they walked back inside together.

I think I'm already in love with you her heart beat as he told her he wanted to court her.

I'm already yours she thought, holding his hand all night.

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when Brennan said "The first rule of existence is: as above, so below. People are fractal images of the universe. You are as we are. In the same way your heart feels and your mind thinks, you, mortal beings are the instrument by which the universe cares. If you choose to care, then the universe cares. If you don't, then it doesn't."

when Brennan said "It is a horrifying responsibility to think because things cannot remain the same, each and every one of us must shoulder some responsibility for how they will become different."

when Brennan said "Sometimes decisions are not difficult. Sometimes they are just hard."

when Brennan said "There is no moral. The Wolf eats you one day and until it does, the forest is beautiful."

when Brennan said "I always felt the fundamental substance of the universe is creation. None of this makes any sense, when you really break it down. It's like, none of this had to happen, but it's beautiful and art is the definition of 'this didn't have to happen, but it's beautiful.' [...] It resonates with the universe because the universe is consciousness playing with itself."

when Brennan said

when Brennan said

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pssssst hey. hey. free and expansive database of folk and fairy tales. you can thank me later

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Read it. Read it!

My contribution to @hotronfest!

One Word From You and I Would

Ronsy | 1,649 words | M | Pining, FWB, Angst with a HEA

He takes a searing gulp of whisky to smother the ache in his chest, and it’s then he sees her. Reflected in the dappled mirror behind rows of liquor bottles. She’s dressed in all white, poised and polished and gleaming, incongruous against the dingy backdrop of chipped lacquer tables and garish, flashing signs.

Their eyes catch in the mirror and he thinks, momentarily - madly - that he dreamed her here.

Read on Ao3

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Dramione drabble prompt: Charms

Title: Catching Curselight

Prompt: Charms

Rating: T (for war AU)

Words: 250

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“Oh, Draco, it’s beautiful,” she breathes.

The grounds of Malfoy Manor are teeming, the night air made bright and treacherous with magic.

“Beautiful, and extremely important. Just like its new owner.” He takes the bracelet from her hand, holding it up between them. “Each charm carries a different enchantment…

Hermione is alone. Those who started the fight by her side have all fallen, fled, or disappeared into the fray.

“A griffin, for power—

She shoots a Flipendo into the swarm of Death Eaters ahead, and a path clears as they’re all flung fifty feet out of her way.

“—a wing, for agility—

The wind is with her. Instinct tells her to dive; a flash of green flies through the space she was just occupying. She finds her feet and carries on towards the manor.

“—a demiguise, for stealth—

She ducks behind a shattered fountain to escape a giant’s gaze. Even above the noise of the battle, she can hear it coming closer, closer… Then it passes, and she’s unseen.

“—and a drop of gold, for luck.”

Through all the chaos, some miracle holds her intact — curses fly wide, tackles come a moment too late, her feet find purchase on ground sodden with blood.

“No heart?”

The charms on her wrist glint in the curselight as she runs, the manor door in her sights.

“You don’t need that. You already have mine.”

Draco’s inside, in the middle of it all.

And she won’t stop until she reaches him.

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the first law of tragedies: the end is already written and inevitable. the second law of tragedies: your actions are all your own and you can choose to get off this ride whenever you want. the third law of tragedies: we both know that you are never going to do that.

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“Village in Snow Country” by | IG Bee

Toyama Prefecture, Japan

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I love this! Beautiful art choice 🥰 Thank you so much for making it, and for the wonderful comments in the tags ❤️

Chiaroscuro, or the Defining Contrast Between Darkness and Light by ifyouwereamelody on AO3

“I think being around you is bad for me, Granger.” “Really? But I thought… You’ve seemed happier lately.” “I have been. I am. That’s just the problem.” Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts for sixth year a changed man. Marked, dangerous, and tasked with something terrible, he finds himself haunted by memories of the year before — a bright spark of connection that now he's got no choice but to douse.

"First contact. A soft intake of breath from her that he knew he’d remember forever. Gentle, shaking exploration, conducted by the barest of fingertips as he brushed his prints across Rorschach palms.

Merlin, what could a Healer have learnt about him from all the things he saw in her hands?" // "What madness, that he could ever have imagined her vulnerable enough for him to tarnish. That he could ever have thought a little tarnishing might be enough to dim her."

Art: Vengeance is Sworn (detail) from the Revenge Triptych, Francesco Hayez, 1851

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The winter forest

daniel_weissenhorn

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Frost and fire

patricksvisuals

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Three chapters, 16.5 words, and whole bunch of time loops later, my Christmas fic for this year is finally complete!

'Til the Sleep Simply Melts Them All Away

In which Draco finds himself caught in a time loop and recruits a certain curse-breaker to help him fix it. If that means skipping his parole hearing to research loop anomalies on her office floor, or going to the dreaded Ministry Christmas party in search of answers, so be it.

Excerpt:

“Malfoy?” The door opens, and Granger appears in her usual whirlwind of hair and industriousness, sporting a rather hideous Christmas jumper. “What are you doing here?”

“Thank Merlin. Granger—” He pushes past her into the office and starts pacing his anxieties into her carpet. “—I need your help.”

“By all means, come in,” she mutters, swinging the door shut behind him. “What do you mean, you need my help? Aren’t you supposed to be in a hearing right now? You know you won’t be able make any repeat requests if you miss it, don’t you?”

He waves her off. “No, this doesn’t have anything to do with that.”

“Okay, so maybe it could wait until afterwar—”

“No. Now. I need— I don’t— Look, something is happening to me, Granger, and I need it to stop.”

“And you’re coming to me because…you think it’s curse-related? Malfoy, do you think perhaps you could sit down rather than pacing around my office like a lunatic?”

When he whirls to face her, he finds an empty spot where she was standing. Somewhere in the midst of his invasion of her office, she’s moved, and now she’s watching him from her desk chair with an expression he’s quite sure one would usually reserve for discombobulated senior citizens.

Draco corrects course, veering away from the door to land palms-down, all but flung across her desk.

“I can’t stop, Granger. That’s just the problem!

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I turn 30 next month so here’s what I learned in my 20s:

—don’t work for startups, they’re always one ‘innovative idea’ away adding ‘sell your kidneys on the black market’ to your job description.

—keeping a collection of basic OTC medicine on you will save your life one day. I recommend Advil, Imodium, and TUMS.

—those little single-use glasses cleaning wipes are 1000% worth the money

—overly self-depreciating jokes just make people uncomfortable, wean yourself off of them

—you can buy dehydrated mini marshmallows in bulk online and they’re a godsend for hot cocoa

—people don’t care if you have fidget toys on your desk they just want to play with them

—try to go to bed BEFORE the existential ennui kicks in

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Beyond honoured to have been mentioned alongside such amazing writers. What a list!

tis the season

hello friends! while i didn't have the time this year to participate in any seasonal fic writing (boo!), i did still want to celebrate my favorite season for fanfic somehow (yay!), so i've pulled together a short list of some of the seasonal fics i've enjoyed over the last few years. hopefully some will be new to you and/or fun jaunts down memory lane. either way, i wish you wonderful reading and would love it if you shared some of your favorite seasonal fics too!

(and don't forget, like every year, d/hr advent is ongoing, and an excellent place to start if you're in search of seasonal dramione vibes)

i'm never lonely when i'm with you & keep it like a secret by @pacific-rimbaud

new years resolution by @sodamnradd

and the bells were ringing out by @ifyouwereamelodymeg

once upon a december by peanutbrittles123

now is a gift by @senlinyu

the nutcracker pas de deux by @heyjude19-writing

not what it looks like & lattes and larceny by @eveningstruggle

in want of a wife by @ambpersand

the warmth at our backs by @malpal132

not safe for work by @eggbagelsjr

against sure winter by @skiitter

some collections to check out too: d/hr advent full collection (since 2011!!), cdc secret santa 2022, hp festival of stars (2022, 2023), winter wonderfics

happy reading everyone!

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I've said before that other bookshops reminded me of what I pictured whilst writing The Bookshop of Inuksuit, but I was wrong -- this is the one, for sure. I'm quite certain that fourth picture is the corridor that leads people to find their book, corner at the end and all.

I wonder if the books in that shop whisper, too?

livres d'arcadie à new orleans