mallorywrites

[mallorywrites]

The Yule ball is approaching, and Harry has something crucial to ask you.

CW: written in the first person, no usage of y/n. Just fluff.

This is a daydream I had about my precious boy, Harry James Potter. It's probably the silliest thing I have ever written in my life. I hope you enjoy it!

The air was chilly and the muddle of stars was bright as I gazed up at them. Melusine and Aslan always seemed to be fighting somehow; with their stars intertwined in the same way a snake would use its teeth and a lion would use its paws in a battle. Dianthe was gracious and effortlessly delicate; a trail of incandescent light crafting a beautiful flower pattern. Lonan was ridiculously elegant, his posture ever so strict, his head held high and his wings dark and long. But it was always Nerissa and Derya - the sisters - that brought a special warm feeling to my heart: they were a sea of stars, shining in the sky with their hands locked together.

"Mind if I join you?"

I turned around. "Oh, hello, Harry," I politely greeted, crossing my arms in front of my chest as I leaned back against the railing of the Astronomy Tower. "No, not at all."

His face lit up in a friendly smile as he approached me. It made it a bit hard to breathe.

"Just got out of Quidditch practice," he said and leaned against the railing too, standing beside me.

I tilted my head to look at him, trying not to focus on just how attractive he looked like this: disheveled hair, flushed cheeks and quidditch uniform. "Nice. How was it? Please tell me one of you got hit by a bludger."

Harry shook his head slightly. "No, not really. You know, our team is quite skilled at evading bludgers now," he teased with a small grin. "Why do you insist on wishing injury upon us?"

"You know I like it when Gryffindors are miserable," I teased back, bumping his shoulder with mine.

Harry chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Your sense of humor remains charming as always," he replied sarcastically, bumping my shoulder back. "And here I thought you might actually care about me instead of finding joy in my team's suffering."

I chuckled. "How foolish of you."

After a moment, I frowned in confusion. "What did you come here to do, quidditch star?" I asked in the same playful tone, although I was genuinely curious. "Don't tell me you're too European to shower after doing physical exercise. I might have to reconsider our entire friendship."

Harry laughed at my jest, and the sound was so warm and rich I had to mentally force myself not to kiss him right there and then. "Of course not!" he protested with feigned indignity. "I may be European, but I do have some sense of hygiene."

He paused for a moment, and ran a hand through his hair again. The motion only made it messier. "I actually had something to ask you," he admitted, a hint of seriousness in his voice.

My teasing grin faded into a serious expression and a million things ran through my mind. Less than a week away, the Yule Ball was going to take place. All the boys and all the girls were busy talking about it; what dress or suit they would wear, what the event would be like, and the most frequently discussed topic: who they would go with. I had started to feel anxious as I hadn't found a date yet, while most of my friends already had.

A small part of me hoped he would ask me to go to the ball with him. The larger, more logical part of me assumed it was something else, because Harry Potter would not have any trouble finding a date. This part of me was sure he had already asked someone, and she had said 'yes'.

I couldn't, however, hide the subtle uneasiness in my body language, because there was a possibility. There was a possibility that Harry would ask me, of all people. Which, even in this unlikely scenario, could mean nothing, because perhaps he just wanted to go with a friend, or perhaps...

"Oh. I mean, yes, what is it?"

Harry, for my further desperation, picked up on my uneasiness. He observed me closely, a mix of concern and confusion in his expression.

"You seem a bit tense," he noted with a slight frown. "Is everything alright?"

My eyes widened a little and I scratched the back of my neck. "What? No, I don't. I'm alright," I promptly said. "What were you...what were you gonna ask?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at my hasty denial. Clearly, he didn't quite believe me. "You're sure you're okay?" he inquired once more, with a hint of skepticism.

I swatted at his shoulder. "Just ask what you were gonna ask, don't piss me off."

Harry yelped in surprise and laughed.

"Alright, alright! I'll get to the point," he said, his tone laced with humor.

He paused for a moment, his expression becoming more serious again. He took a small breath before asking the question that had brought him here.

"You know the Yule Ball is next week, right?"

I swallowed and nodded. "Yeah."

Harry's gaze was fixed on my face, studying my features for a moment. He seemed to be contemplating something.

"Have you...found a date for the ball yet?" he asked, his voice a touch more casual than usual.

My heart skipped a beat and I had trouble breathing for a split second. "I...uh...no, I have not."

Harry's face remained impassive, but his eyes betrayed a hint of relief at my answer. Or maybe I imagined it. "Well, that's good," he said, a small smile forming on his lips. "Because...I was wondering if you'd like to...to go with me."

I couldn't help the silly smile that graced my lips at his words, but I did manage a snarky comeback. "How do you not have a date yet, Harry Potter?"

Harry feigned offense and clutched his chest dramatically.

"You wound me, woman," he teased, the hint of a smirk appearing on his face. "I assure you, girls were fighting over who gets to go with me. I just turned them all down."

I chuckled at his dramatic display. "And decided to ask one of your friends instead? I don't believe you."

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "What can I say? I have a thing for feisty friends with sarcasm for days and a passion for stargazing."

I couldn't manage a sassy comment this time. I could only grin and rest my arms on the railing, looking back at the star-lit sky to avert his gaze. Dianthe winked at me.

"Well," I finally spoke up again. "Let's just say that I have a thing for dramatic friends with a little too much cockiness and a charming smile."

If I had looked at Harry, I would've seen the way his smile faded and his cheeks burned and his eyes widened in a rather shocked expression. But I didn't.

All I heard was him clearing his throat. "I...Is that so?" He said and mirrored my pose, resting his arms on the railing beside me and following my gaze to the starlit sky. If I squinted hard enough, I would've noticed he was trying to be nonchalant about it.

I smiled and rolled my eyes good-naturedly. "Don't make me regret my decision, Potter."

Harry pretended to be offended, again. "I would never," he said, feigning innocence. "I'll be the perfect date, I promise. No regrets."

The word 'date' had my heart missing at least three beats. "You better be," I quipped, bumping his shoulder with mine once more. "It's not every day that you get the privilege of attending a ball with a girl like me."

"Oh, trust me, I am completely aware of how lucky I am," he teased. "Every guy in Hogwarts would kill to be in my place right now."

I laughed. Out loud.

Harry seemed to be pleased with himself by making me laugh. "What? You don't believe there are swarms of boys secretly pining after you?"

I offered a puzzled expression. "No...?" I denied, amused. "Unless you know something that I don't."

Harry smirked, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "I know a lot of things that you don't," he continued, enjoying the banter. "But in this case, let's say I've overheard a thing or two about you being...quite the popular target for crushes."

I rolled my eyes once more. "You can go now, you know. You already made your question."

Harry laughed. "Alright, I'll take the hint," he said, feigning defeat, and began to leave. "I have secured my spot as your Yule Ball date, and you're already sick of me."

He turned around rather abruptly. "But, before I go," Harry continued, a hint of seriousness in his voice. "Do me a favor, and tell me one thing."

I brushed a strand away from my face, a smile tugging at my lips as I crossed my arms. "Yes, Harry?"

"Why did you say yes? You could have any guy you wanted. Why choose me?"

I shrugged. "Christmas is getting me in the mood for some charity."

Harry's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Charity, huh? I feel so special."

I looked at him for a moment, a bit lost in the sight of him smiling. "You better dress well," I quipped as I turned to walk away myself. "And I hope you break a few bones on your game on Thursday."

Harry watched me walk away, a mixture of amusement and affection in his gaze. "I'll be dressed impeccably!" he promised as I left. "And for your information, I'll be dodging bludgers like a pro. No broken bones here, sorry."

[mallorywrites]

you dont trust me

slightly older drarry as joel and clementine from eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

apparently obliviating each other from their memories is fairly common as a drarry genre

details under cut

[mallorywrites]

I'm also on Twitter and AO3. Check out my other works :)

If The Gruesome Is Beautiful Enough is a murder mystery in which Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy must overcome their grudges in order to put an ending to the gruesome killing spree afflicting Wizarding Britain. How dreadful can an artistic piece get? When do the lines between art and horror begin to blur?

In The Scent of Mint and Autumn Rain, Harry's peace is the most important thing in the world for him: no incessant noises downstairs, no responsabilities towards anyone's feelings, just him and his flowers. But when does tranquility ends and loneliness begins? When did love become so desirable? When did Draco Malfoy quit acting unconquerable and superior and began to knock at his door in the middle of rainy nights?

[mallorywrites]

And there he is. Draco Malfoy - shirtless, barefoot, pale skin kissed by the sunbeams coming from the window, blond hair ruffled both by the sheets and Harry's longing hands, back scratched by Harry's nails - making breakfast. Everything smells of tangerine juice and pancakes.

Oh.

It occurs to Harry that no one ever did that before. No one ever cooked for him. He was always the one responsible for the chores at the Dursleys.

His eyes widen, and then soften again. A sweet, silly, uncontrollable smile plays at the corners of his mouth, his chest seems to be close to exploding and he has the wish - the need to hold Draco so tight he's never able to leave. He has the need to touch him to make sure this is not a dream.

He gives Draco's shoulder one, two, three kisses, then buries his face on his nape, holding him close by his waist. "Oh, hello, sleepyhead," he chuckles, flipping the pancake with the grace only a Malfoy could have.

"Good morning, Draco. Why on earth are you up so early?"

"Some of us enjoy waking up with the sun, mind you. The real question is why are you up so early?" Draco amusedly asks, his voice a little hoarse from sleep.

Harry thinks for a second, and then breathes, "I woke up and you weren't next to me. It was cold and I missed you."

Draco fights back a smile. Harry hears it anyway. "I left a warming charm, love."

"It doesn't replace your warmth."

[mallorywrites]

"And we're the problem?"

[mallorywrites]

the only person i'd run through an airport for is you.

antigone, sophocles / summer wars (2009) dir. mamoru hosoda / i’ll give you the sun, jandy nelson / elektra, sophocles / ruth madievsky / right now, gracie abrams / the archive of alternative endings, lindsey drager / the fall of the house of usher, steven berkoff / the replacement, brenna yovanoff / ? / fleabag (2016-2019) / practical magic, alice hoffman

[mallorywrites]

countdown to ugly happy 4/7 - from brother by the interstate by k.c cramm

[mallorywrites]

Cain and Abel, Keith Vaughan / Andrew Kozma, Song of the Insensible

[mallorywrites]

gustave doré, “cain slays abel” (1886) // rabbi joseph telushkin, “jewish literacy” (1991) // laszlo mathe, “cain and abel” (2019) // lawrence block, “the sins of the fathers” (1976) // alexandre falguière, “etching of cain and abel” (1876) // josé saramago, “cain” (2010) // marc chagall, “cain et abel” (1960)

[mallorywrites]

הבל | hevel

This is how it goes: God whispers in Cain’s jealous ear, drawing his attention to the Sin crouched at his doorway. Sin has haunted eyes and a mouth that has been kissed. Let there be no doubt that Sin has been kissed, with a wet-red mouth that may taste of blood or pomegranate or the electric crackle of a stoplight. Cain looks at Sin. He runs his tongue over his teeth.

This is how it goes: Cain leaves the house at one am in bare feet and a hoodie, careful to avoid the last stair that creaks, and treks out into the Field. There are many fields in the world but there is only one Field. Cain feels the difference in the grass when he crosses the border from field to Field, the way the grey-green blades stand up at attention in his wake, the way the dirt turns ice-cold and furious beneath his heels. The earth is good with foreshadowing. The tree of Knowledge has deep roots.

This is how it goes: God says, I will take you or your brother.

God says, You get to choose.

And Cain says, “When you split me and my brother in the womb, you did not divide us evenly. He got kindness, and I got longing. He got complacence, and I got ambition. I want to kill him sometimes. I think sometimes he wants to die.”

I have never made brothers before, God explains. That is how I thought they were made. What more do you want?

“I want to steal some of his kindness,” Cain says, and shakes his pocket knife out of his sleeve.

Back at home, Abel sits up in his bed with a start, heart racing. That was close, he thinks, that was a damn close one, and does not know why.

In the Field, the ground warms as blood seeps into the dirt. 

[mallorywrites]

“english isn’t my first langua—“ say no more.

[mallorywrites]

Do you ever have that moment of horror when you realise you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of a ship and you’re like “oh fuck I know exactly what I will be doing at 3am for the next three months (or years)” or are you normal?

[mallorywrites]

If not gay ... THEN WHY EACHOTHER'S NARRATIVE FOIL?🤨 hmmm?? 🤔🤔🤔 WHY THE LIGHT SIDE TO HIS DARK ONE?? WHY CAN'T GO WITHOUT THE CAMERA POINTING AT FACE FOR MILLISECOND WHEN OTHER'S NAME MENTIONED??? why SO MUCH VISIBLE SUBTEXT IN CONTEXT?? 🧐

[mallorywrites]

bitches be like “this is the best piece of literature i have ever read” and it’s either a book that took them six weeks to finish or a fanfic they read at 3 AM