#Draarry fanfiction

[dewitty1]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Garrick Ollivander, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley Additional Tags: Fuck Or Die, Explicit Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, Hags, Curses, Wand lore, Wandmaker Harry Potter, Muggle Life, Clubbing, Tattoos, Recreational Drug Use, Angst, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Kiss Consent, safe sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Switching, Non-Penetrative Sex, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, HP: EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Equinox Summary:

A fuck-or-die fairytale in which Draco Malfoy lives a despicable and unapologetic life — that is, until he's cursed to die unless he can fall in love with and fuck Harry Potter.

Excerpt:

"This is a lot of wood," Draco said, looking around the room and breathing in the forest smell of it.

"That's what she said," Harry whispered.

Draco fixed him with a glare, but when Harry winked, Draco burst out laughing. It should've been sexy—if you had asked Draco what his reaction would be to Harry winking, he would've said his knees would buckle or he'd keel over or be rendered speechless—but instead, Harry looked utterly ridiculous. It could barely even be classified as a wink.

Through his laughter, Draco asked, "Do you call that a wink? It looked like some sort of facial spasm."

Harry knocked Draco with his elbow. "We have forty-one types of wood in stock right now. Do not say 'that's what she said.'"

Draco mimed spelling his lips shut.

"Usually if you handle the wood, you'll feel a faint tingling—don't say it!"

Draco pointedly pressed his lips shut.

"It doesn't feel like much—" Harry began.

"THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!" Draco interrupted, and then dissolved into peals of laughter.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Are you quite finished? I thought you wanted to do this." When Draco took a deep breath and comported himself, Harry continued, "It doesn't feel like much, not like the cores do. But you should be able to feel a bit—I think you're fairly attuned to magic."

"So what?" Draco clarified, "I just walk around and hold each of the types of wood?"

Harry's face displayed a one-second-long internal conflict, then he whispered, "That's what she said."

"Are you kidding me right now?” Draco asked, raising one eyebrow. “After telling me not to?"

Harry cackled. "You can either go through them one-by-one or you can walk around and see if you're drawn to any of them or you can try the woods that you know you've responded well to before—that's what she said—like you could check the hawthorn first, if you want. I can keep track no matter what order you test them."

Draco couldn't tell the difference between the types of wood. "Which is the hawthorn?"

Harry pointed, and Draco walked to it, wrapped his hand around the unfinished bark. He felt the tiniest bit of magic, but if he was right, it felt like a baseline. He shook his head.

"What's your current wand?" Harry asked.

"Sycamore," Draco answered.

Harry looked thoughtful, but said nothing. He pointed to the sycamore stock.

Draco leaned down and grasped a piece of sycamore, but he felt nothing much and shook his head again.

"Well," Harry said, "try the others."

Draco looked at the piles of wood, held in place by magic in vertical stacks. The sycamore was near the floor, but above it, hovering at chest-height, was a stack of dark wood. He wrapped his fingers around it.

"Ebony," Harry said.

Nothing.

He tested holly, walnut, and spruce, but none of them seemed to do anything. He was starting to worry that none of the wand woods would have any effect.

He wrapped his fingers around a piece of one of the next types, and stopped. It didn't feel extreme, or flashy, but he could feel quite clearly a tingling in his palm, like tiny, almost imperceptible sparks up his wrist.

"This one," Draco said. "What is it?"

"No way," Harry replied, green eyes shining with awe. "Really? It's beech."

"It feels like," Draco closed his eyes. "Like a warm burst of light. It feels like—"

But then Draco stopped short, opened his eyes, dropped the wood, because he suddenly had an armful of Harry Potter. Harry Potter right in his space, Harry Potter's hands in Draco's hair, Harry Potter's chest pressing into Draco's and pushing him back gently into the wood.

Harry looked right into Draco's eyes and said, "Can I kiss you?"

Draco didn't need to be asked, really—Harry could've done anything and Draco would've been game—but there was something really incredibly hot about the fact that Harry was making the move, that Harry wanted him, that Harry wanted to know that Draco wanted him, too.

Draco hadn't thought that it would go this way, if it ever got this far.

Draco reached nearly shaking hands up to Harry's face and answered by pressing his lips to Harry's.

Harry leaned into it, and Draco wanted to soak up his heat and light and goodness, but all he could do was kiss back. Harry's hand on Draco's hair caused a cascade of tingles to erupt down Draco's spine, and Draco opened his mouth wider.

Draco couldn't believe it: Harry was kissing him. They were kissing each other.

After a minute, Harry pulled away, pressed a quick peck to the corner of Draco's mouth, then stepped back. "Beech."

"What's the deal with beech?" Draco asked, breathless. "I should've said I liked beech earlier, if this is your reaction."

Harry grinned. "Beech. Beech wood requires a wizard with wisdom, experience, and understanding. Beech wood performs poorly for the narrow-minded and intolerant."

Draco smiled. "Wisdom, experience, and understanding. Sounds like me."

"You've changed," Harry said, and he sounded exuberant. He sounded vindicated. "I knew it."

Suddenly Draco's euphoria came crashing down. No, fuck. All his feelings of inflation, of expansiveness, came crushing in. Because Draco was lying. Here he was, holding this beautiful human with his hands, his lips still tingling from being kissed, and he was lying. It was a lie.

Harry deserved better than Draco. Harry believed Draco had changed! And all the while, Draco was doing what he'd always done—look out for himself and his own self-interest at the expense of others.

Fuck."Beech," Draco said with no warmth in his voice. 

"Excellent. I have to go." He tried to smile.

Harry's face fell when he realised Draco was leaving; he looked like he’d been deflated, which made Draco feel even worse. "Oh,” Harry said. “Er, okay. Can I see you tomorrow?"

"Sure," Draco said, because he was exactly that arsehole who acted out of selfishness with no thought of others' feelings. "Would you like to go out to dinner?"

"Yes," Harry said, and smiled. "It's a date."

Fuck.