#Stop the ridiculous hatred of Draco Malfoy

[reve-writes]

—respite. | draco malfoy.

ʚ draco malfoy x reader | wizarding world. ʚ there's something wrong with draco malfoy, and you want to find out. ʚ slytherin! reader; set in sixth year. ʚ a/n me when i suddenly remember my crush on draco malfoy.

“Get off your high horse, Malfoy,” you grumble, pushing your way past the crowd of Slytherins that has gathered over the course of Draco Malfoy's pompous little monologue, doubtlessly echoing his father's hate-filled prejudice and passing them along. “Get out of my way.”

Malfoy's grey eyes fall onto you. His face twists into unmistakable hatred and annoyance. He sneers at you with his arms crossed. Your housemates look in between the two of you with unmasked interest.

He calls your last name with so much bitterness you can almost taste it. “How unsurprising that you'd be willing to come to those muggles' defense. Lately, I've been thinking you're becoming more and more alike to Weasley's muggle-worshipping dad.”

You shrug, making your way up the stairs to your dormitory without so much of a second glance. “I don't care, Malfoy.”

Unable to resist the urge, you throw a glance back at him. His pale face is unusually pink and he looks as if you've just spat on his mother. You bite back a laugh, but before you disappear into your room, you throw one final insult at him. “Git.”

It has become a routine of sorts. You cross paths with Malfoy, and there's always an insult or two being thrown from both parties and then you part ways, plotting for the next time. The next insult. The next little stand off. You don't always emerge triumphant. Sometimes, you end up tongue-tied as he smirks victoriously at you. Other times, you witness his dumbstruck face as if he can't believe someone would ever dare say something like that towards him—towards Draco Malfoy.

When you spot the precisely combed strands of platinum blond hair, you bite back a smile, giddy for the next round of kindergarten insult. During the semester break, you've not seen him at all. As he walks closer, you notice that he looks, for lack of a better word, like shite. His face is gaunt with heavy eyebags under his eyes. His complexion is usually pale, but it's somehow turned dull and paler.

As he walks towards you in the hallway of the Hogwarts castle, he looks distracted, as if he's under mind control and not really there. His gaze is blank as it briefly settles over you. He brushed past you without a word.

To his retreating back, you call out, “Malfoy?”

Without looking back, he raises a hand and waves. He turns a corner and disappears.

Malfoy's peculiar behaviour persists for the next couple of weeks. Even in classes, he seems to have lost his glee in harassing the Gryffindors. He has even stopped doing it completely. During meal times, he picks at his plates, never swallowing more than a bite or two.

When you mention this to Daphne—your longtime friend since year one, she laughs at your face. The cool air blows gently as you sit next to each other on a bench in the large expanse of the school grounds.

“What are you stalking Malfoy for?” Then, her laugh abruptly stops. She gasps loudly with a hand over her mouth. “Don't tell me you fancy him!”

Your jaw drops open. Abruptly, you stand up from your seat. “Have you gone mad?”

Daphne laughs again. “He's a good match. Pureblood family. Tons of money. You'll be set for life and then some.”

You shake your head. “What the hell, Daphne?”

Daphne teases you throughout the day. You're uncomfortable with the thought that suddenly creeps into your mind. Previously, you've never seen Malfoy as someone attractive. Undoubtedly he is, but before Daphne's incredulous statements, you've never really considered it.

You roll your eyes. “If you're done ridiculing me, I'm going to go to the library.”

Daphne ceases laughing, but her eyes glint mischievously. “To meet Malfoy?”

You put a hand over your face and groan in frustration. “Daphne, I will smother you in your sleep.”

She laughs, tells you to be careful and leaves you be. Finally. You trudge through the halls of Hogwarts, your eyes roam over the moving and talking paintings. Some smile at you, others even greet you. Occasionally, a couple of them will try to make small talk. Just before you make a turn, you spot a familiar shine of blond hair at the end of the hallway.

“Malfoy?”

The figure jumps. He looks at you for the first time in almost two months. If he looks miserable before, he looks as if he's been crucio'd three times a day. His hair is uncharacteristically disheveled, the collar of his shirt is askew as he sits on the floor, leaning against the wall.

He acknowledges you with your last name.

“You look horrible,” you state, approaching him.

He runs a hand through his hair, chuckling. “Merlin, you're as obnoxious as ever.”

You're gearing up to tell him that he's not any less obnoxious, but stops when you stand in front of him. There is a cut across his face that starts near his ear and runs all the way down his jaw. His fingers shake as he clenches and opens them repeatedly.

You kneel down in front of him, taking his chin in your hand, turning his face this way and that way to check him for more injuries.

“What in Salazar Slytherin's name happened, Malfoy?”

He jerks away from your touch. “None of your concern. Everything is under control.”

You frown. “You've been acting strange and now you show up with cuts.”

“Sorry if I don't have the time to indulge in your childish round of insults,” he spits the words out angrily. “There are other matters that I find more important. If you've never been told this, I will tell you now: the world doesn't revolve around you.”

You pull back from him as if you've been burnt. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He, outside of the occasional snide remarks, was always agreeable to you before. In projects where you were paired up together, he was cooperative and professional. Aside from that, you've gone around Hogsmeade together with your classmates. You consider him a friend, somewhat. That's why you've come to enjoy the frequent banter. He's never gone out of his way to truly offend you.

You falter—perhaps his lack of animosity doesn't extend to an entente cordiale. He's never had reasons to be hostile towards you. Both of your parents and their parents before them were a line of pureblood witches and wizards. You don't particularly care for the Gryffindors either. The way he treats you is purely because of your shared house and pure-blooded ancestry.

“Leave,” he scoffs.

You don't dignify him with another second of your time. If he's getting into fights with Salazar-knows-who and refuses to get it treated, it's none of your business. He made it perfectly clear himself.

Despite Malfoy's insistence that he wants nothing to do with you, he caves in one day.

You hate walking through the corridor, past the haunted bathroom. It's always empty and no one ever really comes up here. Your pace is brisk as you hurriedly reach the staircase, although you falter when you see Malfoy leaning heavily against the bathroom doorway, heaving.

You angle your chin upwards. Nonchalantly, you walk past him. You think you may actually leave him there, distressed, possibly injured.

However, Malfoy always has to open his mouth.

He chokes out your name—your given name—and coughs. That's all it takes for your previous disagreement with him to be shoved back into the deepest parts of your mind. You turn around and find him sliding down the wall onto the floor.

“Malfoy.”

There's a bitter part of you that wants to leave him there for the way he has hurt your ego, but your shoes stay firmly planted on the ground.

You think he's one second away from a breakdown, but he looks up at you and smirks. “I remember you demanding me to walk with you because you're too scared of this bathroom in third year.”

He doesn't sound as smug as he thinks he is. His eyes are glittery and red as if he's been crying. The way he is heaving for breath as if he's just been chased by the basilisk itself brings you great concern, but you indulge him.

“I recall you being as much of a wuss as I was,” you shoot back.

He snorts. “As if.”

You walk towards him, folding your legs to sit next to him. If he's uncomfortable, he doesn't show it. In this proximity, you are certain that he has been crying. The tip of his nose is reddish and his eyelashes are clumped together.

“What happened, Draco?”

He shakes his head. “I'm alright.”

“You were bleeding the last time I saw you!”

He winces. “There's no need to remind me. I remember everything just fine.”

Your eyes look over him for injuries, but he looks untouched. Your eyes scan his face and in the bright moonlight, he looks almost ethereal. Your gaze drops to his arm and that's when you spot it.

Your jaw falls open and you stop breathing. Your hands shoot forward before he can react, pushing at the sleeve of his shirt until you find the last thing you ever want to see on him.

A skull and a snake, branded onto his skin.

He makes a sound of protest and yells your name. Your hands are already numb as he wrenches his arm away, pulling down the left sleeve and covering the mark.

“Are you insane?” You hear yourself speak. “Have you actually lost your mind?”

The rising tension of Voldemort's resurrection looms over everyone like an eternal storm cloud. Your mother has sent multiple owls talking about some type of urgency, that she wishes you're able to return for Christmas so that your parents can discuss certain matters to you. Matters that they feel are too private to put on a scroll and owl to you.

You haven't sent a word back.

The threat has hung over you for so long, but seeing the mark, dark and opaque on Malfoy's pale forearm, it finally settles into a tight lump in your throat. Malfoy is silent, but he makes no move to leave. You stare at him, your heart beating fast with terror in your chest.

You swallow. “You're a—You're a—”

The word is lodged in your throat.

He averts his eyes from his lap to look at you. His voice stutters when he whispers, "Death Eater.”

His eyes start to water. As much as you want to panic and be hysterical — you can't. You steel yourself with a staggering sigh, awkwardly angling your body towards him. You pull his head to lean on your shoulder.

You pat his back as he sobs. Draco Malfoy may be whiny, but you've never seen him cry before.

“Have you told anyone else?” you ask, still running your hand soothingly on his back. He shakes his head infinitesimally, his hand moves to grasp at your waist.

An hour passes before he stops crying.

“How long, Draco?”

“Before the beginning of the semester. It should be around two months,” he replies, pulling away from you.

“What happened the last time I found you?”

“I fought with someone because they said something about my mother.”

That's not out of character for him.

“Is there—” You stop yourself, scared that you'd ask the wrong questions. “Are you being made to do anything?”

He doesn't reply. Instead, he tells you, “Don't meddle, ___. You weren't supposed to find out in the first place.”

“Why you, though? I don't understand.”

His answer doesn't come immediately, as if he's picking and choosing what he can tell you without dragging you further into his mess. “My father is in Azkaban, haven't you heard?”

Your eyes widen. “No! What? I'm so sorry, Draco. This isn't— You're not—”

He sighs loudly. “It's not your fault.”

“No. Merlin. I can't believe I've been talking about fancying you to Daphne while you're—while you've been going through all of this. I'm so sorry. How can I help?”

Draco looks at you for a moment, before chuckling. You narrow your eyes at him. Has he truly gone mad?

“Fancying me, huh?”

You're flabbergasted. “No! It isn't like that—She was teasing me. It's not like whatever you're thinking at all.”

You're speaking quickly, words keep pouring out in an almost incomprehensible jumble. He continues laughing. With an annoyed huff, you punch his shoulder. He yells an exaggerated 'Ow!' but it's an effective way to silence him. He frowns as he rubs his shoulder.

“You don't have to do anything. This is already helping,” he says, after a long silence.

“I'm glad my embarrassment is amusing to at least one of us.”

“I mean it,” he says, his hand coming up to pat your head casually. “Thank you.”

You spend the rest of your time there talking—about anything that doesn't include recent tragedies and his Dark Mark. It's easy pretending like the two of you are normal students sharing stories and secrets. His mood seems to have somewhat improved as the two of you walk towards the Slytherin common room. Before you part ways to each of your dormitories, you stop him.

“Be careful, Malfoy.”

[ ]

when i started this, it was intended to be somewhat of a light and fluffy comforting draco type of story because i've just read manacled for the first time and i needed to not feel depressed. as i was writing and reading up on canon lore since ive already forgotten a lot of it, i was reminded that his father is in jail, he gets a dark mark and is ordered to kill dumbledore (and apparently was expected to die in the process). there's not much light and fluffy to work off of.

[steampunkserpent27]

Discovered

For the prompt: Oath For @drarrymicrofic Rated: G CW: Hidden Relationship He was sat on the very end of the table in the Great Hall, halfway through his blueberry muffin, when he caught sight of Draco. He looked absolutely brilliant, his hair was shining in the pale morning light, his robes were perfectly tailored, and they accented him nicely. He kept sending knowing glances in Harry's direction, barely able to keep the smile off of his lips. They had both made an oath to tell no one about their relationship. He knew it would only bring on ridicule if everyone were to know; their past rivalry wasn't exactly a secret among the students, and he knew Ron would be outraged. He'd see it as a betrayal; he just knew it. Hatred between Slytherin and Gryffindor were at an all time high, and he didn't want to have to hear all of the scathing remarks from the Slytherins and Gryffindors alike. Draco walked past him, holding his head high and refusing to look at him. It was the same show every time. "Potter." There was a swooping sensation in his belly, and he could feel his cheeks burning. He meant to say, "Malfoy," back, but all that came out was a strained whimper. He thought he saw the smile return to Draco's lips, before he shook himself and kept walking. "Honestly, would you two just stop already?" Hermione said, rather forcefully. "What?" He stammered, halfway through tearing the remainder of his muffin into pieces. Hermione gestured broadly with her hands. "This act you two have going on." "Act?" His voice cracked. "Yeah, mate." Ron added, giving him a scathing look. "You're not very subtle, you know?" "I don't..." He started to say, before Hermione cut him off. "You can quit pretending, we figured it out ages ago." "Figured what out?" Although he was afraid he already knew the answer. Hermione sighed, as if he was being difficult, and she was growing increasingly more fed up with him. "Harry, you go beet red every time Malfoy so much as looks at you. The last time you saw him on the way to potions, you dropped all of your books and then nearly set your cauldron on fire. And that's not to mention you sneaking out every night to meet him." "How'd you know I've been- I mean, I've not been sneaking out at night." Hermione raised her eyebrows, staring at him as if scandalized. "You really think Ron hasn't noticed that you leave at ten every single night?" He wanted to curse himself; he'd been so sure Ron had been asleep. "Well, but I..." "Harry. We all know already, you can stop pretending." He glared at his crumpled muffin chunks, hoping to find the answer in there somewhere. "Why didn't you say anything if you knew?" "I was trying to give you space and let you tell us on your own time. But there's no one left for you to tell, and well, wouldn't you be more happy not having to hide it?" "But you-" He fell silent. "Aren't you... You know, angry?" "No." Hermione marked another note on her parchment. "I was worried for you, at first. But that was before I started watching you two more closely. Even Ron was eventually won over, weren't you, Ron?" Ron, who was busy shoveling bacon into his mouth froze and looked around. "What?" "Oh, forget it." Hermione said, waving Ron away. "But Harry, as I was saying, it's obvious you're happy with him, and well, his attitude has certainly improved as of late." He wasn't sure what to say, he was still swirling with every possible emotion. "You... You really don't mind?" "Harry, you'd been nothing but miserable, of course I don't mind. Now will you stop pretending to hate each other for our sakes?" "I... I guess so." He stammered, once again looking around for Draco, who was staring at him from across the hall. He could kind of see what Hermione meant about it being obvious. "And... I guess I'd better tell him." He got up, leaving all of his friends staring after him, as he hurried towards Draco.

[chelleblack]

✖Unhealthy Hypersexualization: Draco Malfoy vs Fanfiction✖

This is an official complaint to all the random Harry Potter writers who have been savagely and ruthlessly destroying the essence of Draco Malfoy. For years, and they've been hiding behind: "He's a fictional character, he's not bad."

After reading so many fanfictions of Dramione / or Draco being the protagonist as such. And, apparently it has become a general rule when writing and bringing Draco Malfoy to life, being that it is not his canon in the first place, (although they defend themselves saying that they want to make it as real as possible, and that is why they have created and reproduced this horrifying image). Second; this is twisted and much more because we are talking about a teenager, not an adult. Without exaggeration, 80% of the fanfics that you find of Draco; he's a sex symbol, despite being a minor in most of those stories. And it's not okay that they want to cover this up just because he's a fictional character. It's still noisy, and troublesome.

The first story I found (and I won't say the name of the fic, or author) had this "trope", it surprised me because I had recently finished reading the HP saga, and the image of Draco, the real personality, was still fresh. So even though it disturbed me, I continued reading for a bit and then gave it up because I was annoyed by the hackneyed badboy cliché they imposed on it. And I thought, "Well, not everyone writes about Draco Malfoy like that, I just had a weird experience, and that didn't mean that everything I would get to see about the Slytherin boy would be like this."

So ... I venture into Fanfiction, I go to Ao3, I give Wattpad a spin, I have a look on Tumblr, I even get into a lot of potterfic forums, a lot of potterfic forums and blogs. And guess what?

It turns out that in an extremely terrifying way, the fandom has turned Draco Malfoy into fanfiction; into a sex symbol, and no one is complaining or even stopping this. What the hell?

Why are all the most famous fanfictions written have this trope? When the hell was Draco Lucius Malfoy Black in the JKR books a playboy? AT THE AGE OF 16!?

Because when it comes to developing a character as deep and complex as Draco: the most interesting and complex thing they do with him is to be a mediocre womanizer, and with a very bad sexual education, very worrying and alarming. I know that in the world of HP, there is machismo, I know that in the Slytherin house they didn't even let women play Quidditch. But still, where did this come from? And why has Draco been the worst hit victim in the fanfic genre? The boy literally never had a girlfriend in Hogwarts days, or talked dirty about women. The only girl in Hogwats who was next to him was Pansy, and although they refuse to accept it; Draco was really fond of her, and he never disrespected her, he seemed rather very reciprocal.

The only character who is constantly sexualizing and speaking macho about women is Ron. But hey, that's another topic.

The real Draco, is the complete opposite of the macho that they have established in the fanfics. Draco is a boy who comes from a strict family, with retrograde ideals, what is the most daring that we have seen of him in the Harry Potter saga? That is, with Hermione in the fourth book when the Death Eaters sabotaged Quidditch and injured several children of Muggle parents; Draco told Hermione that if they saw him they would cast a spell on her and her panties would be exposed as well, hinting at an event they were witnessing with a poor woman flying through the air.

But hey ... Because of that aforementioned scene with Hermione and the "Half-Blood Prince" wagon scene where Draco has his head resting on Pansy's lap and she's stroking his hair and he looks relaxed. They have been the reasonable enough reasons of some writers to create according to the "true personality of Draco Malfoy". I'm not exaggerating, when I discussed this on Reddit, these were the "strong justifications" they gave me.

It is completely ridiculous to claim that Draco is a misogynist because he practically warned Hermione to be careful because he could see her, and they would also blow her up in the air and show her panties, why is this alarming everyone? This is literally how the woman they bewitched looked like, Harry Potter describes her like that, Draco just made a comment on that. And about Pansy, it is already very degrading that they sexualize that scene in the wagon, very personal comments were taken very out of place from Harry. (Which should be noted that Harry always had very out of place comments about other people, but that didn't mean they were good or real)

So, back to the point of the issue of sexism and objectification.

Why didn't they act equally alarmed when Harry began to view Ginny too sexually? Or when Ron used Lavender just to calm his hormones? Where were you to point out the clear objectification of the woman's body? Where were you? They clearly existed hideously in regards to Lavender and Ginny.

However, hypocrites, is Draco alone the only moral and ethical target to escrack on?

In his life Draco Malfoy verbatim according to the books, he only dated more than two girls. His Malfoy-Black family is super traditional; They come from marriages arranged from an early age. Possibly Draco was raised in the most prim way possible. And as he got older, he had more important things to do than act like a hormonal jerk. He had manners and used all his neurons.

Is it very difficult to write about Draco like this? Is that the real boy, is he not a Don Juan, or did he have a long list of exes (and why does this seem strange to you? Draco just turned 18 at the end of the saga, they need to calm down wanting to see that the teens have more partners than the average adult in the first place, that's not normal). The real Draco hardly had any friends, he was an insecure and damaged boy who hid behind that rude and immature behavior that in the end paid dearly. I don't think it is very difficult to overexploit an insecure and complicated boy with too many things and responsibilities. It didn't cost JKR that much.

Or is it that writers find it difficult to write about a man who is not macho and super heteronormative? It's sad to see how they continue to reproduce this crap, and it's very hard to see that they don't hyper-sexualize with a teenager, because they've practically turned him into a bad boy sexual fetish on Fanfics.

They've done it, they've ruined Draco Malfoy. And they are demonizing it even more.

Draco, who is a completely intelligent boy, had one of the most powerful young minds of his generation, apart from Hermione Granger; since apparently they forget that he was for the second in class with her. It has a lot of potential to write a complete saga. And no, it is not necessary to hypersexualize it to develop it. It is not necessary to write about a man who has a fragile masculinity, or who is heteronormative. Although they do not believe it.

I know Draco's character has a very, very vague development in HP, he was missing his historical arc, we all know that. And everyone is free to turn it into a story, and whatever (even if it's annoying and boring to see its canonical image spoil). The problem here is that this type of "trope" is the one that abounds, and Draco is the one that is used the most, nor does he want to use other characters, they only do what they do with Draco, they just continue to idealize him in this way. And it's already reached a point where Fanfiction is making it canon in Fandom, something JKR never wrote, but you keep reaffirming. You random writers took things out of context, made guesses without concrete material. And it seems more like a wave of people hating this guy and looking for the need to make him more dirty, and they can only cope with it by sexualizing and dehumanizing him. They know he has a story with potential, but they hate him so much that they don't want to be nice or treat him like a human.

It is time to accept it.

Because you do that? Could you stop writing like this? It is practically decent. And writing about decent men, what Draco Malfoy really is like, is what it takes; because that's what it really is. Stop apologizing that he's just a character, show how much you need to stomp on him, and keep dehumanizing him.

If you hate him, you better not write about him, you are only causing that poor boy to be killed. And rather it would be very good for you a writer, because firstly, why do you write about someone you hate?

[missdawnandherdusk]

Hufflepuff!Muggleborn Extensive Dating A Malfoy Headcanons:

Okay so this got very long very fast but I apologize for nothing.

So you’re pretty much terrified of getting your Hogwarts letter because you have no idea what magic is but now you’re a wizard???

You go anyway and see a blond little boy at Diagon Alley with his parents and his mother has the same list as your dad does

So maybe you follow the little boy around and pick out the things he does because he seems to know what he’s doing

Then you heard his father hiss “disgusting mud blood” your way and your face kinda falls because you thought maybe you found someone who could help and we’ll never mind

Your dad takes your hand and snaps at Lucius “what kind of example is that for your son? No, I’m not one of your lot but you shouldn’t take it out on my daughter!”

Draco peeks out from behind his fathers robes and looks at the tears in your eyes and maybe he does feel a little bad

You absolutely adore your wand

At the station a few older years can tell you’re new and very Muggle in your tshirt jeans and converse that they sort of adopt you one of them being Cedric

You’re not so scared anymore because it seems like maybe these people aren’t so bad

Some kid named Fred buys you a Chocolate Frog and his twin warns you about their sentience

You meet a few other first years and Hermione Granger whos also a muggle and you sort of lament about all of it. She’s super excited because there’s so much to learn and you start to adopt her perspective

You see the boy from Diagon Alley sneering and bullying other kids and you go up to him with the same fire in your eyes that you dad had and tell the boy off a-al-Muggle

He just laughs and scoffs but you don’t back down which scares him because everyone always backs down

Big brother Cedric comes over and tells Malfoy off for calling you a mudblood again and ushered you back to a compartment of other Hufflepuffs and someone explains to you the house system

“Well that’s kinda stupid,” you decide “why should we be separated based on what a magical hat thinks we might be?”

Cedric grins at you because you remind him of himself and stands clapping when you’re sorted into Hufflepuff

Momma Sprout helps you so much because she knows that her muggle born kiddos need the extra comfort and encouragement

You have Herbology with the Slytherins and that meant Draco Malfoy his name was rattling around your head since the Sorting Ceremony

You end up partners with him. You’re shy and quiet and he’s dismissive and snappy.

“Draco you shouldn’t—“ “Don’t tell me what to do! Filthy little mudblood.” You sit back and watch the Doxy bite him “well get help!” He demands “I thought you didn’t want a mudbloodas help,” you snap. He gives you a hopeless look and you administer the antidote and produce a Bandaid “stupid muggle bandage”

While he’s sulking you handle the Doxy properly and show him how it’s done without being snotty about it. Maybe you smirk at him when you catch him leaning in and watching closely

It’s not friendship but he doesn’t call you mudblood anymore so... there’s that

Cedric nearly has a heart attack when he asks about your first day and you tell him about Draco

You find your footing at Hogwarts and though you’re not the best in class you can still do magic and it’s SO FRICKIN COOL MOM I MADE A FEATHER FLOAT TODAY

You chat with Draco thoughout the year in class well you talk to him he doesn’t say much. “And my mom was so proud when I told her about the Goblin wars and my dad wants to see me leviosa a feather but I told him I can’t do magic outside of school...”

Then there’s a quiet “your parents are proud of you? And interested in all this stuff?”

You look at him, mystified and “...yes? They’re proud of whatever I do,” Draco looks down and continues to sketch the bowtruckle which is almost life like on how accurate it is

You write to your parents immediately asking them to send a letter to Draco and tell them all about his really good drawings in Herbology

It takes a few days but one morning Draco comes up to you in the Great Hall with a parcel

“I think this is yours, your stupid owl gave it to me” he sulks. “It has your name on it,” you point out. “But why would your parents...?” You shrug and go back to talking to your friends and reading your own letter from your mother. Draco huffs and mutters something under his breath and walks away

In Herbology he has a new set of very Muggle graphite pencils and a proper sketchbook and he’s just sketching the Mandrakes on the desk when you come in. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you. He’s less irritable now

It’s second year and you hug your parents and go say hi to your friends before finding a compartment for the long journey. You swap muggle candy for magic candy with your friends

Draco passes your compartment and you wave. He gives a half smile and keeps walking.

“You like him!” Your friends exclaim. “What? No! I don’t!” You turn very red. “He’s just a friend!!” No one is convinced

This year you have potions with Draco and you’re freaking out inside because you don’t know what you’re doing and Snape seems to have it out for you and you’re just a mess.

Draco volunteers to be your partner “to show this mudblood a little decorum and how things are properly done.” He scoffs

You look down, embarrassed but as soon as Draco is next to you, you hear a quiet apology.

You understand the charade he has to put on but you wished he didn’t and you really wish he’d stop calling you mudblood it was rather annoying

He helps you through potions like you helped him through Herbology. This year you have Herbology with the Ravenclaws and he has it with the Gryffindors. He totally whines to you all the time about Harry

Once he’s complaining and accidentally puts in the wrong ingredient and the entire thing threatens to explode. Before you know it, you’re on the ground under Draco who pulled you and the remnants of the potion is shielded from you because Dracos robes are draped over you

Snape scolds you for being stupid and you start to protest but Draco confesses that it was him mistake, not yours. Snape just eyes the pair of you and walks off.

“Thank you,” you stammer out. He rolls his eyes but there’s a soft smile on his face.

Boy does Draco flip out when he hears about the Chamber of Secrets because you’re in potential danger and he would willingly sacrifice Granger to keep you safe

He mentions that to you in Potions one day and you gap at him. “Draco killing anyone for any reason isn’t right.” You scold. There’s a cold look in his eyes and a fire in yours. “But... thank you... for worrying about me,”

Your friends still pester you because they can obviously see you like Draco and maybe you do... but you know he doesn’t like you so you’ll just ignore your feelings

Third year comes and your heart skips a beat when you see Draco because he grew a lot over the summer and his hair is no longer ridiculously slicked back and oh Merlin you’re in trouble

Unbeknownst to you Dracos heart flutters when he sees you and has to fight the urge to wave or say hi to you in front of his father.

This year you have History of Magic together

He sits down next to you without a second thought. You smile and say hi and ask about his summer and then he returns the question. Your muggle summer and his magic summer are both a bit lost on the other

“Didn’t you wear glasses?” He asks one day. “Oh, my mom let me get contacts,” “contacts?” “Um... like plasticy little doodads that go in my eyes and help me see?” He just stares and you laugh. “Too Muggle?” You ask. “Too Muggle,” he replies.

Now it’s a sort of game. Youll come in with something Muggle—Pens, notebooks, lined paper, Muggle books, a watch—and Draco decides whether it’s “too Muggle” or not for him. He quite likes pens and lined paper but you can keep your Muggle books

You tell your parents again and Draco gets a package filled with green notebooks and black pens and a pencil pouch with a snake on it.

You hear about the Buckbeak incident and you rush off to find Draco. He’s in the infirmary snapping at Pomfrey but softens when he sees you

“She’s just trying to help,” you scold softly. “Are you alright?” “Doesn’t hurts much anymore but it’s numb so...”

Pomfrey wants to keep him a few hours to make sure that his body is reacting to the medicine correctly and you stay with him.

“You know I’ve been thinking,” you start. “That’s scary,” he mutters. You hit him playfully and notice that he flinches so hard you note it and continue “I’ve been thinking that it really doesn’t make sense for you to call me a mudblood,” “and why not?” He snaps. “Well, I mean... I’m technically all muggle. If anyone was really a mudblood wouldn’t it be halfbloods? With a muggle and wizard parent?”

He doesn’t have an answer to that. So he sulks quietly. “Why doesn’t it bother you that I call you that?” He asks quietly. You shrug. “Sometimes I wonder if I really belong here. Your adamant hatred for me is comforting. Like I’m doing something right enough to make you upset about it.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that either. He didn’t know that you were insecure about being a wizard. Of course, you belonged here you were wonderful with magic and your hexes were remarkable.

“I don’t hate you,” he mumbled. “Sure you’re annoying with your cheery disposition and your... Converse trainers... but I don’t hate you.” You laugh and he thinks it’s a wonderful sound

“Well, I don’t hate you either,” you smile back. You don’t think it’s something but it’s definitely not nothing

You hear about what happens between he and Hermione and you’re furious because he’s better than that and you can’t believe he would still call her a mudblood

You refuse to talk to him for a few days. Which is hard because he tries to make small talk with you.

One day in class he slips you a folded piece of parchment and you open it. Begrudgingly. “Im sorry, I was an arse. I shouldn’t have called her that.” You take your pen and scribble quickly “you’re apologizing to the wrong person.” And slide it back to him

Draco did apologize to Hermione before he apologized to you and he’s frustrated because he thinks you’ll think he’s lying if he said he already did

Then Hermione finds you in the hall that day and asks if you put Draco up to apologizing to her and you admit yes you did. And she tells you that he apologized a few days ago. Your heart soars and you hug a confused Hermione before running off to find Draco

He’s in the corner of the library, not reading, but drawing. You accidentally sneak up behind him and see that you’re the sketch on his paper.

“I don’t think my hair is quite that long,” you whisper softly and the boy about jumps out of his skin. You apologize quickly and he quickly covers his sketch book, red faced.

“I um. That wasn’t you.” He stammers turning a darker shade of red. You laugh. “Yes it was!” You reach for his sketchbook but he hugs it to his chest. “Oh come on Draco? What am I gonna do? Laugh?” “You’re laughing right now.” He points out. “And it’s not that good anyway...”

You roll your eyes and sit next to him. You offer to pose for him so that he could take his time to draw you. “Well I’m not busy now,” you grin and he sulks a moment before nodding.

You watch his hands work and sift through the pencils as he props the paper up on his knees and instructs you to look somewhere and not to move.

It’s odd, being drawn. You close your eyes and hum softly knowing he was studying you the way he might a bowtruckle or mandrake and it feels weird. A good weird.

He refuses to let you see the drawing even though you persist. You pout and drop the matter, just glad to have a friend in him.

You begin meeting in the library on a weekly basis, partly so he can draw you partly because you’re both struggling in History of Magic and need more study time

Cedric is not happy about any of this and goes very “protective big brother” on you. You tell him off and huff.

You start going to his quidditch matches and maybe he almost runs into a goal post because you smiled and waved at him and he forgot to pay attention

The summer comes and you wave goodbye knowing as soon as he’s around your father you’re going to lose your fried.

But he surprises you and hands you his sketchbook on the train home then quickly runs away to his father and you just stare at it and him and he’s gone, all you see is two heads of silver blond hair receding in the distance

Your parents usher you into the car and it’s maybe two hours before you get to look at the sketchbook

When you do open it you see a sketch of a bowtruckle and “Steve” written one his careful script underneath. You had forgotten that you named the bowtruckle Steve that day in class

The next few sketches are from Herbology. And little notes about class that day, a lot of them are about you. Then there’s a break in Herbology drawings and there’s a drawing of his mother almost perfectly. Then of a family portrait of the three of them. A few vases of flowers. Then you see your face. And again. And again. It’s you. Smiling, laughing, concentrating on a book, raising an eyebrow at him, gnawing in your lip, asleep in class, then the library drawings that are much more detailed.

Then you’re crying and you want to call him and thank him but you CANT BECAUSE HE DOESNT HAVE A PHONE STUPID WIZARD FAMILY

But you do have an owl. You have no idea what to write. So you go with “thank you” and then send it.

You get a letter a few months later and it’s from Draco. He’s asking if you want to go to the Quidditch World Cup with him. “I know you’re Muggle and don’t like Quidditch much but...”

So you’re going with Draco and it’s weird because he’s on your doorstep with his mother and it is just a clash of worlds. You stammer goodbyes to your parents and you’re quickly ushered into the limo of a car next to Draco. You notice he’s changed his hair again and he looks quite dashing in his blazer. You get a little self conscious about your jeans and sweater.

Narcissa is a doll. She asks you about your summer and time as Hogwarts and keeps polite conversation and you thaw a little.

Though you have no idea what’s going on Draco is very excited about the game and is cheering and you can’t help but smile and maybe you take pictures with a Polaroid camera and he just rolls his eyes and you get a picture of him rolling his eyes

Fourth year comes and he is ushered away from you by his friends before he can say hi.

The kids from the other schools show up and you’re convinced that he like Fleur and he thinks you like Cedric and it’s just a mess

He’s back to being irritable and you’re slipping into depression not just because of him but everything is really weighing on you

You’re alone in the Astronomy Tower, your feet dangling off the edge. You had no intention to jump, but it was sort of thrilling. 

Draco flips the fluff out and nearly drags you from the edge. 

“What the hell are you thinking!?” He exclaims. You gape at him because it’s probably the first thing he said to you in a week. He’s just so scared that he was actually going to lose you that he pulls you close and doesn’t let you go. You start crying and everything just comes out in a word dump. Your brother is getting worse and stronger and it’s not good for you and he keeps putting you down and calling you a freak and that “no one is going to love me because I’m a freak and mom and dad think I’m fine because my grades are still fine but Draco I can’t... I’m slipping and... and I feel like I lost you and you were the only one who really believed in me and...” You’re just sobbing.

And he listens. He holds you and listens. 

“You haven’t lost me,” He whispers softly. “But you like Fleur... and I can’t ever be her... she’s just so perfect and powerful and...” You sniffle, hugging your knees looking at your beat up Converse. 

“She’s my cousin,” He almost laughs but doesn’t because of the look on your face. “And what about you and Cedric?” He raises an eyebrow and you blanch. “He’s like a big brother to me, gross,” You shove his arm and you’re both laughing. 

“There’s only one Hufflepuff out there for me,” He takes your hand and hello butterflies and blushing. “And there’s only one Slytherin for me,” You lay your head on his shoulder and watch the stars. 

You two start dating and Merlin his friends are livid because how dare he date a muggle hufflepuff? But then they watch him with you and it’s hard to deny that Draco is truly happy for once and they don’t want to take that from him

Your friends exchange bet money. 

Weekends filled with more games of “Too Muggle” and trips to Hogsmeade and Draco explaining wizard culture and you try to explain muggle culture but he just does not understand washing machines. You introduce him to muggle music and is thrilled that he loves ABBA. 

He makes everything hurt less. And it’s nice to feel wanted. 

Then Voldemort returns and everything changes and you weren’t ready for it. Draco gets cold and distant again and you try and try to get through to him but he doesn’t let you in. 

You end up screaming at him one night and walk out. He finds you curled up outside the Slytherin portrait, weeping not minutes later and carries you back inside to his dorm and apologizes and hold you and admits that he’s scared and he doesn’t want to lose you or see you get hurt

You both make an effort to find the sunshine in the proverbial dark times that linger through the next year. It means you become a but more calloused and jaded and he becomes a bit more optimistic and grateful. 

Pansy Parkinson doesn’t exist. It’s just you with Polyjuice potion to keep you safe from Draco’s aunt and Voldemort. It’s an easy charade to keep up. There are still quite nights when you’re yourself with Draco and he reminds you how much he adores the real you with his words and touch

If there’s one thing you don’t do, is break a Hufflepuff and that’s what Harry did after his sectumsempra and holy hell do you lose your cool.

Draco’s mother has to step in before you’re expelled for what you did to Harry

You nurse Draco back to health afterwards and never let Harry forget what he did, nor do you let anyone else forget it when they call him the chosen one

And Merlin does Draco love you for it

Draco can’t kill Dumbledore because your words are still in his head from second year “It’s not right to kill someone for any reason” and he just can’t disappoint you like that

You’re still kind. You’re kind to Luna when she’s locked up at the Malfoy Manor. You’re kind to the house-elves that attend to you. You’re kind, and value fairness and hardwork, but you will not put up with bullshit any longer. 

You and Draco stand with Hogwarts when the battle boils down to it. You give Draco your wand when he loses his to Harry.

When you go back eighth year, you advocate for the removal of the House System and write a very convincing argument against it. It takes about ten years, but the system is disbanded after one too many close calls and ruined lives

You also start a Support Group at Hogwarts for those suffering from mental illnesses and for those who have suffered abuse at home. 

You and Draco get married at the Manor. You wear your Converse. 

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Want to read a more in depth Hufflepuff!Reader x Draco? Find it Here!!!

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[dracowars]

the right thing | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x slytherin!reader

word count: 3,0k

summary: where y/n does the only right thing, much to the dismay of everyone else

a/n: i had this idea in mind for so long and finally managed to bring it to life, enjoy <3

warnings: angst, mentions of death, mentions of childbirth, torture, mentions of blood

universe: harry potter

"Darling, are you listening to me?", your father's voice tears you out of your dreamy, peaceful thoughts and you silently direct your gaze from the nature outside, which is quickly passing by, to him. As an answer you nod, even though you were definitely not listening a bit.

"Very good! I am so incredibly proud of my grown up daughter", he smiles at you and takes off the glasses he used to read out what is written on the parchment in his hand to you when you were not listening.

You do not answer or show a reaction, causing your father to clear his throat nervously before looking down while you switch your own gaze back out of the moving carriage.

As much as you would like to believe what he is saying, you can't. This man has ruined your entire life and is now only trying to make up for it with his stupid niceness and courtesy. Just like he always has, knowing that you will never forgive him for what he did.

The sudden waggling of the carriage makes you assume that you have arrived and at that very moment you recognize the large creaking gate that leads into a wide avenue to a huge mansion. The Malfoy Manor.

Your pureblood family has been very influential for generations, just like the Malfoys, so it not really surprising that you and Draco immediately befriended each other in your first year at Hogwarts. A friendship that soon became more than that.

What you did not expect, however, is that you would get engaged to each other just as quickly.

Your parents wasted no time after learning about your relationship. After all, it would mean the continuation of the purity of your families as well as the union of two of the most influential families in the whole wizarding world. And it was clear for both of you that you were lucky to have met, because otherwise you would probably have married someone you would not have loved with your whole heart.

And yet, you are not happy.

The creaking of the carriage door opening by magic, makes you flinch before you follow your father out and are now standing in front of the huge building you have already visited several times. One of the house elves leads you to the large front door and another leads you through the halls of Malfoy Manor, past the numerous locked doors and through sparsely furnished corridors.

As soon as you arrive in the long, dark dining room, your breath gets stuck in your throat when you look over your father's shoulder, only to see many faces that you would not have expected to see here. Especially not the face of a specific someone since you originally assumed that you would only gather here to discuss more wedding preparations.

"Oh, how nice! The Y/L/N family has finally made it", the Dark Lord grins devilishly, locking his cold eyes with you, and your father bows respectfully before you two sit down at the wooden table, directly across from Draco and his parents. He throws you an unsettling glance and your pulse rises immediately.

"Very well. Now that we are complete, let us begin", Voldemort speaks up treacherously while strutting around the end of the table, his wand openly displayed in his pale, bony hands.

If there is one wizard in this entire universe that you can't stand, it is definitely him, even though you are a Death Eater and thus belong to his close entourage.

But you never had a choice.

Your mother died during childbirth, but your father had already foreseen it and did not want it to come true. In order to prevent this, he ran to Voldemort and his people to beg for help. He so gladly granted him his wish, but only on the condition that his only daughter and heir to the wealthy Y/L/N family will become a Death Eater at the age of sixteen. And so it happened.

Of course he was not able to rescue your mother from death, but you are not sure whether you would be sitting here at this table right now without his help or if you would not have survived the birth either. Whatever it is, you do not know what you would have preferred.

All in all, you harbor an abysmally hatred for this man as well as for your own father, who simply sold his daughter to the evil in person. For nothing but an empty promise.

In your eyes this man is not and never will be your father. To you, he is nothing more than a ridiculous, old and bitter coward.

You hear Voldemort keep talking in the background, but his words do not go inside of your head and you just emotionlessly stare at Draco on the other side, who switches his intimidated gaze between you and the other end of the table. Only when you follow his gaze do you understand why he has this kind of an expression plastered all over his face.

At the other end, across from the position where Voldemort is currently making his hate speech against Harry Potter, a terrible looking woman hangs upside down from the ceiling, softly whimpering. Floating in the air by a spell, she moves around a bit and if it were not for her making quiet noises, you would have thought she was dead.

But when her empty gaze meets yours, an ice-cold shiver runs down your spine. It is Mrs. Burbage, your Muggle Studies teacher. You almost did not recognize her because of her distorted appearance. Her pale, lifeless face, however, seems to be staring at you, almost piercing through you, making you feel like it is your fault that she is hanging there.

You quickly turn away from her and look down at the empty table, which suddenly seems much more interesting than anything else in the room while you try not to let the deep, ingrained shock show. Taking in a deep breath, you only lift your head up again when a silver snake's head is thrown on the table, frightening you for a second.

Apparently Voldemort has just damaged Lucius Malfoy's wand in order to use it himself. The look on Lucius' face makes you shudder again. You have never seen him like this before and you have had to spend a lot of time with him and the other Death Eaters already.

Just as shocked as you are, Draco is as well while looking to his father. Draco, like you, never wanted to become a Death Eater, but his father's failures eventually forced him into this position and now you are both bound to the same horrible fate, caused by your own fathers.

While Voldemort continues to drag their family name into the dirt with his words, you and Draco just look at each other intensely. As if you could understand what is going on in the others' mind.

At least until a green spark flies across the table in the middle of you two and Nagini snakes over it shortly afterwards. Unnoticed, you move your chair back a litte. Already suspecting what is going to happen, you turn your head away and try to block out the disgusting and disturbing noises that are triggered by killing one of your favorite teachers.

In the end, however, you are unable to take it any longer, getting up and running out of the room with your head and shoulders lowered, but you can still hear how the Dark Lord declares the meeting finished as you run down the stairs. Holding your hand in front of your mouth, your insides make a flip and you feel incredibly sick all of a sudden when you come to a stop in one of the hallways.

Startled you turn around when you hear your name behind you, but as soon as you recognize that it is Draco who followed you, you crash into his arms and he catches you, protectively holding you against him.

"D-Draco", you bitterly sob into his chest and he just hugs you tighter, trying to calm you down.

"Shh, love. I know, I know", he silences you softly and puts his hand on the back of your head while you remain in this position for a few minutes. Until you hear your father's annoying voice.

Moving away from Draco and straightening your posture, you look in the direction from where your father is now running towards you, Narcissa closely behind him.

"Darling, there you are! I will go back home now and you will have a nice time here", he happily announces, not even noticing how miserable you are. But what else did you expect from him?

"We will take good care of her, don't worry", Narcissa smiles, but it does not quite reach her eyes and therefore stays cold. Your father seems satisfied by her answer and, together with all the other Death Eaters, leaves.

"I will make us some tea", Narcissa clears her throat and you follow her into the salon, your hands intertwined.

A few days later Draco and you comfortably lay on the couch in front of the big fireplace in the afternoon, an open book about potions in your lap, your head leaned against his broad shoulder. As you continue to rummage through your book, Draco gently takes your hand in his and smiles down at you before placing a kiss on the top of your head.

Your little moment of peace and contentment, however, is quickly destroyed again when Bellatrix's crazy laugh echoes through the room.

"Draco, Y/N, my darlings! I searched for you everywhere", she giggles as she strolls towards you, pressing her wand against her temple as she stops in front of the sofa. You expectantly look up at her, waiting for her to explain why she so rudely interrupted your moment.

"Bellatrix! What is going on here?", Lucius suddenly rushes in after her, Narcissa following him, so that you are all gathered now.

"Oh! I assume you have already met our lovely guests", Bellatrix laughs and, as if on cue, two more men enter the living room. Death Eaters. Deeply breathing in shock, you abruptly get onto your feet when you discover that they did not come alone.

Hermione, Ron and someone who somehow looks like Harry Potter but isn't, are pushed ahead of them until they are ungently thrown to the ground, right in front of Bellatrix's feet.

"Welcome, welcome", she licks her lips bloodthirstily, a playful laugh escaping her throat as your gaze meets Hermione's. There is nothing but disappointment in her eyes. Disappointed that you do not step in, that you just watch.

You avert your gaze and look at the other person and the longer you look at him, the more it becomes clear to you that this is Harry Potter after all. Terrible things have been done to his face that made you barely recognize him.

"Why are they here?", you choke out and Bellatrix turns to you in amusement, giggling while mockingly sulking as she presses her knife against Harry's throat.

"Why not? Well, Draco! Why don't you come over here and and take a closer look", she urges Draco and he slowly loosens his grip on your hand, not even realizing how hard you have squeezed his. He cautiously walks towards his aunt, even though you would like to stop him immediately.

"Come closer. What does he look like to you, huh?", she asks him and Draco stops right in front of them.

He hesitates.

Lucius suddenly stirs next to you and puts his hand on Draco's back, whispering something into his ear which you can't hear before he raises his voice out of nowhere when one of the Death Eaters intervenes. Narcissa manages to calm Lucius down though and pull him away from their son.

"Don't be shy, sweetie. Come over", Bellatrix persuades him and takes his hand to pull him closer to the disfigured Harry, giving him a better view. You can clearly see the fear in Harry's eye that is not swollen, and something deep inside of you keeps telling you that it would not be right to betray him. You are about to step in when Draco mutters under his breath for the first time since they entered the room, kneeling down in front of Harry.

"What is wrong with his face?"

"Yes, what is wrong with his face?", Bellatrix counters and adresses the two men, but you automatically block out their conversation, only being able to concentrate on Harry and Draco. Draco examines his face closely, but you are sure that he too immediately recognized that it is actually Harry. However, he gets up with a shake of his head and remains silent.

You just do not understand why he does not say anything.

Maybe he never wanted to become a Death Eater either, but still, you always had different views on Harry Potter and his Gryffindor friends. He loathed them since first year, and yet he does not betray him now.

The sudden screeching by Bellatrix and the following fighting noises release you from your numbness and you only see how she orders the now injured men to disappear, a silver sword in her hand that was not there before.

"Put the boys in the cell! I will have a conversation with this one", she angrily growls and pushes Harry and Ron to Narcissa and Wormtail, who take them to the basement. "Get out!"

Not being able to move from the spot, you stop and do not obey her instructions, making her give you an aggressive look until Draco quickly grabs your wrist and roughly pulls you away from the scene, Hermione now alone with Bellatrix.

You have just left the room when you hear a terrible scream from behind you and there is no doubt that it came from Hermione.

"What is she doing to her, Draco?", you furiously ask him and pull your hand out of his strong grip, a little too strong for your liking.

"I don't know. Let us go upstairs and-"

"No!", you interrupt him angrily and his eyes widen at your sudden outburst, not expecting it.

"No?"

"I am not just going to look away when someone is tortured!", you yell at him and immediately turn around to go back, but Draco stops you.

"You can't do anything for her, Y/N! It is the best idea if we just stay quiet and let it happen. I can't risk them harming you as well", he explains and his voice softens towards the end, almost gets vulnerable, which is why the tension in your body slowly fades.

"But Draco.. This is Harry Potter and if your aunt finds out about it, he is doomed!", you sadly whisper and place your hands on his chest, fists clenched.

"Do you think I do not know? I do not want them to get him either, but we have no choice if we want to stay safe, my love", Draco sighs and lowers his head in defeat, his left hand clasping and loosening your fist, the cold rings on his finger slightly touching your skin. "Promise me that you will stay safe here with me."

"I-I.. I promise", you nod and avert your gaze, unable to look in his eyes while uttering such a lie. However, Draco has no chance to say anything about it when in the next moment a loud clink shakes the walls of the mansion.

Throwing a shocked look at each other, you quickly return to the room and abruptly stop in the middle when you see Narcissa defending attacks by Harry and Ron. Lucius growls behind you and you see him laying on the glass table that probably was destroyed by the impact of his body hitting against it. You are about to pull out your wand when Bellatrix loudly yells.

"STOP!"

Everyone's gaze falls on the knife she is holding against Hermione's throat and you discover a bleeding wound on her forearm, the word 'mudblood' cut deeply into her skin. Bellatrix's work.

"Drop your wands!", she orders and shortly afterwards they fall to the ground. "Pick them up, Draco!"

With you by the hand, Draco quickly picks up their wands and leads you back to his parents, his body blocking you protectively as he stands in front of you.

"Well, well, well. Look who we have here. It's Harry Potter", Bellatrix whisper-yells into Hermione's ear, who is trying to suppress her sobs while Harry's face is suddenly turning back to normal. "Just in time for the Dark Lord.. Call him!"

The last command coming from her mouth makes you swallow hard, but the lump in your throat won't go away. Especially not when all eyes are on you and Draco alone now. Their faces soaked in expectation and disappointment, it only intensifies the conflict within you.

"Call him!"

Releasing you from your suffering, Lucius steps forward when neither Draco nor you stir a single bit, pulls up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark on his forearm, the same one that painfully adorns your skin as well and always reminds you of who you have to obey. You see how the snake slowly winds around the skull and you look back and forth between him and Hermione, trembling.

"I am sorry, Draco", you breathe out barely audible, closing your eyes while doing so before letting go of his hand.

In a matter of seconds, you raise your wand, aim at the magnificent chandelier on the ceiling that is directly above Bellatrix and Hermione, and the following words fall off your lips with sudden ease.

"Confringo!"

All at once everything that happens next is like in slow motion. The huge chandelier crashes down onto the parquet, freeing Hermione from Bellatrix's grip and you are thrown to the ground as well. Raising your blurry gaze again, you see feet right in front of you and are suddenly pulled up onto your legs again.

By no other than Harry.

He brings you to the others and the last thing you see is the hurt, disappointment and heartbreak on Draco's pale face as you feel a stabbing, sharp pain from both your own broken heart and the dagger piercing through your skin that was thrown by Bellatrix before you vanish into thin air.

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Idiots II Draco Malfoy x Reader

This drabble is part of my 800 Follower Celebration!

Summary: Enemies to Lovers. During the 6th year, you slowly realize with the help of Amortentia how you truly feel for the Slytherin. When you go to tell him, it’s too late.

Requested by a lovely anon: “hi! could i request a draco malfoy x reader enemies to lovers with dialogue prompt #20 - “i love you idiot”. thank you!“

A/N: This was supposed to be 500 words lol. I hope you like it! It’s a little angsty. I’m sorry if it feels a little rushed, it’s supposed to be a short drabble. I had a lot of fun writing it though and I hope you enjoy it! <3

Words: 1.3k Pairings: Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader Warnings: angst

It started in your first year, even before you were sorted into your house. Walking into the Great Hall, you could barely keep your mouth closed as you absorbed the wonders and beauty that suddenly surrounded you. The flying candles, the stars on the ceiling, the laughing students at the four long tables – you knew instantly that this place would become a second home for you.

As you kept marveling at your surroundings, you didn’t notice the group had come to a stop. You made another long step forward and – bumped right into the person in front of you. A small, blonde boy spun around.

“Watch your steps, idiot!”, he spat out and glared at you.

This was the first interaction you ever had with Draco Malfoy – and also the moment, you both began to hate each other. Malfoy liked you almost as much as Potter and when he wasn’t annoying him, he was bothering you. He loved pranking you; insults written on small notes kept flying onto your desk during classes, right after he made fun of your hair or face or whatever else he could think of on that day. You weren’t any better though and kept doing the same things to him. On top of that, the two of you constantly competed in school against each other and when you joined the Quidditch Team, things got even worse.

Your friends always used one word to describe the two of you: annoying.

Things changed in your sixth year. Suddenly, Malfoy seemed distracted and stopped caring about your stupid fights. Even though, you didn’t want to admit it – his behavior bothered you. No, it was the lack of attention that bothered you.

“Why aren’t you happy that he stopped?”, your friend asked you one day. “You hate him, right? So what’s up with the sudden obsession? Are you in love with that idiot or something?”

You laughed at her. What a ridiculous idea! Just the thought made you feel uncomfortable. However, it didn’t leave you and so you started watching him during meals and classes. You noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the way he hardly ate anything at all, how his eyes always seemed to wander around as if his thoughts were elsewhere. Malfoy was always on your mind. Merlin, at some point you even started to dream about him.

Were you worrying about him? No, absolutely not. Never would you worry about that idiot. Because if you did that, it meant you could feel more than just hate for him.

 ***

One day in January, your thoughts trailed off once again during a particularly boring Potions lesson as you watched Malfoy from across the classroom.

“Y/N,” you friend whispered and nudged with your elbow.

“What?”, you asked when you snapped back into reality. She pointed to your teacher.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Slughorn called your name. “Is there a reason why you seem rather distracted today?”

You straightened your back immediately. Oops. “I’m sorry, Professor,” you apologized.

“Hmm,” he made. “Why don’t you come to the front and smell this potion for us. Did you hear Miss Grangers explanations?”

“Uhm, yes, sure,” you stammered and walked over to the cauldron.

Slughorn didn’t believe you. “What do you smell then, Miss Y/L/N?”

Slowly, you leaned forward and sniffed cautiously at the liquid. You frowned. “I can’t smell anything, Professor.”

Slughorn raised an eyebrow. “Please, try again. Be honest with us.”

Again, the same thing happened. As you leaned forward the overwhelming scent of an all too familiar cologne hit you and you wrinkled your nose. “I’m sorry,” you said when you got up, a little more annoyed now. “But I can’t smell anything when Malfoy stands so close. Seriously,” you looked in his direction. “Try using less cologne, it’s disgusting.”

The class was quiet for a few seconds. Malfoys eyes widened and his friends started to grin, while nudging him with their elbows. Then a few girls started to giggle. What was going on?!

“It’s Amortentia, Y/N,” Hermione whispered to you. “It shows your deepest desire.”

Oh.

 ***

To say the rest of the lesson was anything less than a complete humiliation, would have been a lie. Everyone kept grinning at you, making sly remarks, no matter how hard Slughorn tried to get the students to concentrate.

Despite your embarrassment, the words didn’t leave your mind.

It shows your deepest desire.

Malfoy was supposed to be your deepest desire?! No, something must have gone wrong. It simply couldn’t be. Right?

When hours turned into days and days into months, the answer began to seem more and more blurry. Malfoy completely started to ignore you. A part of you was glad, at least he didn’t make fun of the incident. Another part however, slowly began to feel hurt by the way he was so distant all of the sudden. The utter hatred you had felt for years faded more and more and one night when you almost started to cry after he outright refused to work together with you on a Transfiguration project, you finally admitted to yourself: maybe you did feel something for him.

“Tell him,” your friend advised you when you told her in frustration. “It doesn’t matter how he reacts, it’ll end this whole charade and give you reason to move on. Tell him.”

You knew she was right – and so you did.

You left the common room, searching the whole castle for the Slytherin. It was weirdly quiet tonight. After about forty minutes you was on your way to the Astronomy Tower when suddenly you heard some commotion. Did someone scream? No, it was probably just Peeves again. Then you finally found Malfoy. He practically ran around the corner, bumping into you.

“I have to talk to you!”, you exclaimed, reaching for his arm when he wanted to pass you. When you finally got a glimpse of his expression, it made your blood freeze. Pure fear was written all over his face, there were tears on his cheeks.

“You have to leave!”, he hissed and pushed you into a dark corner.

“What no, what happened?”, you asked him anxiously.

“Leave and hide!”, he whispered, turning his head as if he was looking for something – or someone. “You can’t be here.”

“No, Malfoy, I have to –”

“No!”, he interrupted you. For the first time, he looked into your eyes and suddenly his voice softened. “I know. Amortentia.”

You swallowed hard.

“Now, leave, please,” he squeezed your arm. You hadn’t even realized he was still holding onto you. “They will kill you!”

Just the way he said this made you believe him. The temperatures seemed to have dropped a few degrees and a shiver ran down your spine. “Who will?”, you whispered.

He didn’t reply but turned his head when he heard footsteps coming from the Astronomy Tower. Someone was coming. Fast.

“It’s too late, stay hidden,” his voice trembled. “I will lead them into another direction.” With that, he took a step back. “We probably won’t see each other again but that’s not too bad, right? We could never stand each other anyways, right?”

Right?

You felt as if you were choking, yet no tears were starting to run down your cheeks. You were too confused, too scared. What was happening? All you wanted was … “I love you, idiot,” you croaked.

Malfoy began to walk backwards, more tears streaming down his face. His eyes kept glancing to the stairs. Whoever was coming down, had almost reached them. Then, right before he turned around he sent you a small smile filled with fear and desperation. “This can’t happen, Y/L/N.”

A loud laugh caused you to flinch and then a black-haired woman appeared, followed by a few men. With terror, you noticed the Dark Mark on her arm. She screamed something but you were too distraught to understand it.

“This way,” you heard Malfoy say. “It’s a shortcut.”

***

A/N: I hope you like it! I’d love to hear your thoughts on this story! <33 HP Masterlist General Masterlist

Tag List: @writerdee1701​, @zpandaqueen​, @ladylizzieofdarbyshire​, @aspiring-ginger​, @dracomalfoyswifey​, @donttellany1iusetumbler​

If you want to be added to my tag list, let me know <3

[comfortwriting]

Ashtray Part 3 - D.M

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Please read parts 1 and 2 if you haven’t already

Draco Malfoy x Fem Reader 

Warnings: Mention of food and eating, swearing, smoking.

“You’re not one of us”

“I trusted you, my feelings for you were… pure”

“How could you do this to us? to Ron, to Harry, to me!”

“if you aren’t sure that you’ll stay with me, there’s no point in us being together”

Everything your once best friends and now ex-boyfriend said kept you awake, night after night, ringing in your ear like the worlds loudest bell. You felt as if everyone in the entire school hated you - you were no longer wanted in Gryffindor and you weren’t good enough to be in Slytherin, and everyone in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw decided amongst themselves where you belonged; in whichever house they loathed the most.

You couldn’t sit in the great hall to eat without the glares, whispers and insults, so you spent more time in the kitchens with the house elves, getting to know Winky and sympathising with her missing her master whilst Dobby encouraged you to apologise to Harry, trying his hardest not to speak badly about Draco so he wouldn’t have to iron his hands.

You could no longer spend time in the common room to read beside the fire unless it was empty, but even then there were reminders of your betrayal plastered on the notice board, covering Fred and George’s sample testing for their Skiving Snack boxes. Instead, you sat alone outside against the tree beside the lake, doing your homework and reading, anything to take your mind off things.

“Not surprised you’re all alone” Draco snapped at you whilst passing by with his cronies, he wretched at the sight of you smoking again “you’re as bad as I thought, back to your horrible habits, filthy ashtray.”

You exhaled the smoke, ignoring Draco whilst his friends laughed, you hated how he was back to hating your guts whilst you were still in love with him, but deep down, something inside of you knew he didn’t mean a single thing he said to you, hating was easier for him than being able to love.

Even though it hurt to hear him insult you, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling sadly, knowing that once he did everything in his power to stop you smoking and called you ‘Ashtray’ in a none insulting but more cheeky teasing way.

When bedtime rolled around, you would focus long and hard, finally being able to have the room of requirement to yourself, occasionally being woken up Dobby, begging you once again to “patch things up with Mr Potter”.

You were truly isolated, even in class, no one wanted to sit or partner up with you, often resulting in you either working by yourself or alongside your professors.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Dumbledore asked, staring at you through his half-moon spectacles.

“Oh please do make the right choice Miss Y/L/N, your O.W.Ls are coming up!” Professor McGonagall sighed, reaching into her tartan biscuit tin, handing you a Ginger Newt, her hand now shaking.

Tracing the outline of the Ginger Newt in your hand and staring at it, you pondered your thoughts and looked up at Professor McGonagall, then Dumbledore.

Like many other students - Hogwarts was your home, over the summer holidays you longed to be back at school, refusing to go home at the end of other terms and during Christmas break; but after everything that happened, between you, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Draco, Hogwarts no longer felt like home to you - you started to get sick of the place.

“I’ve decided that...” you took a deep breath and sighed “at the end of term I will be leaving Hogwarts and return to a Muggle school.”

Professor McGonagall shook her head in frustration, letting go the lid on her biscuit tin causing it to slam down, making a clang “that’s in three weeks time!” she panicked “how can you go to a Muggle school before your-”

“Minerva” Dumbledore called out softly, putting his hands out in front of him in defence “Miss Y/L/N has made her decision, if she changes her mind I don’t doubt she will tell us.”

3 weeks and you’ll never have to come back to Hogwarts again, it will be just a distant memory, a dream, a different reality that does not exist - you’ll have a second chance at the beginning of your adult life, living amongst Muggles and giving up magic altogether.

You instantly felt better about no longer having to be shunned by everyone, being accused of being a death eater, and you no longer had to worry about your complicated O.W.Ls or the ridiculous stacks of parchment for homework waiting on your desk that would determine your future.

Ron stared at you during your potions class, scowling at you whilst Snape gave you orders around the classroom to help him observe students, clean cauldrons, and get more ingredients from his secret stores instead of doing the same work like everyone else.

“Bloody git” Ron muttered “look at her, doesn’t have to do any work in any class she’s in”

Hermione felt a twinge of guilt in her stomach, as your dorm mate she couldn’t deny that seeing your empty bed made her feel down and worry about you, even if she hated you at the moment for what happened.

“Well” Hermione replied, focusing on her work, trying to not look over at you “unlike us, she won’t be passing any O.W.Ls”

“Serves her right” Ron muttered again, adding his ingredients into the cauldron.

Harry stared at you, hatred running through his veins along with jealousy and sadness. Seeing you kiss Draco broke his heart, deep down inside, every morning when he woke up and every night before bed Harry swore to himself that he couldn’t ever forgive you.

At first, Harry didn’t want to believe that you had fallen for his enemy, the son of Voldemort's supporters who hated his guts and went out of their way to bully and torment Harry, Hermione, The Weasleys and anyone else beneath them. He tried to convince himself that you were bewitched or fell victim to a strong love potion, but when you refused to be open and tell the truth, hiding away from him - to Harry, your face no longer represented that of an angel, instead, it represented the mask of a death eater.

Part of him felt delighted you were being publicly shunned, but something small inside of his bellowed, telling him that this was all wrong and that what he wants isn’t going to happen because it isn’t meant to be.

Once class came to a close, everyone left but you, because you had no need to study until your Muggle Study books and mock papers arrived, you were forced to stay behind, cleaning and running more errands for your professors.

Draco and Pansy Parkinson were the last to leave, he strutted past your desk, his glare had enough force to strike you down “become a teacher's pet have you now, Ashtray? You’re becoming more insufferable than Hermione.” he spat, smirking as Pansy roared with laughter.

You rolled your eyes, trying your hardest to play it cool, but deep down inside you wanted to pull Draco in the most meaningful embrace and kiss to prove to him of your love and trust.

You wanted to prove your trust and friendship to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but like Draco - they didn’t give you a chance, let alone the time of day if you were to pass by.

Snape finished marking his reports for his student's parents, handing the rolls of parchment to you to put into envelopes one by one, the last one he handed to you, you slowly placed into an emerald green envelope as Snape ordered “address this one to Mr and Mrs Malfoy, of Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, England.

Your heart pained again, even more, this time, the memories of you and Draco flicking through his family pictures at his Manor house filled your head, playing like a movie in your mind. You could feel your heart sink slowly into your tummy, hearing Draco’s laugh and replaying the best memories you two both shared, torturing yourself.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Draco said softly, handing you a slice of his green apple.

You blushed and shook your head, staring at the picnic blanket before finally meeting Draco’s gaze “I love you, Draco.”

Draco smiled and pursed his lips, licking them he replied “I love you too, Y/N.”

You paused for a moment, your quill hovering over the envelope, the past memories stabbing you like a hot poker, you swallowed hard and took a deep breath, finally repeating Snape’s instructions.

You knew much to the discomfort of the Malfoy’s, their manor was used as the base of operations for Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Draco rarely mentioned it, but you knew that he wasn’t given a choice, that his father as always, forced his hands into fires he wanted nothing to do with.

Placing the emerald envelope in the stack for the Owls to collect, Snape dismissed you, you got out of your chair and walked over to the door.

“Do take care, Miss Y/L/N, as you study for your Muggle exams” Snape called out.

You turned around to look at him, slightly confused by his sudden words of kindness as he never treated you any different to any other student.

“Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.” He spoke again, you knew at that moment Snape was aware of you and Draco, and everything else that happened

You recognised the quote and smiled slightly “Shakespeare?” You replied, opening the dungeon door.

Snape flashed a rare smile and went back to focusing on the work on his desk, walking out of his class he waved his hand, closing the door behind you.

Ron, Hermione and Harry were waiting outside for you, they didn’t want to patch things up, yet they still felt entitled enough to ask you questions, as if you owed them explanations and answers.

“Helping him are you?” Ron snapped, making you jump out of your skin.

“It’s none of your business” you replied quietly, walking out of the dungeons, and down the halls.

Harry scoffed, feeling the anger boil inside of him “everything became our business when you betrayed us!" he raised his voice at you.

You began to walk faster, trying to throw them off your track as you made your way to Dumbledore's office, hoping they would clear off.

“You would know that I wasn’t betraying you if you gave me a chance to explain!” You hissed, your throat burning.

Stopping outside Dumbledore’s office, your owl swooped down and dropped your study materials in your arms, you clutched onto your books and study papers as your owl took flight, Hermione squinted at your books, reading the titles down the spines to herself quietly.

Before Harry or Ron could reply, or ask another question, Dumbledore came out by surprise, interrupting your argument “I see you have got everything you need” he spoke out, pointing to your books.

You nodded, ignoring your old friends who stood behind you “did my acceptance letter arrive yet?” you asked, staring at him.

Dumbledore smiled and nodded “it did indeed, your parents are most delighted and are waiting eagerly for your return - Harry, Ron, Hermione, please do excuse us” Dumbledore turned his back on them, telling you to follow him into his office.

Harry stared at Dumbledore, giving him a pleading look to tell him what's going on, but Dumbledore ignored him, taking you under his wing.

“For her return?” Ron asked, pacing around the common room, “where is she going?”

“and Dumbledore protecting her like that, Y/N has never been close to him nor has she ever needed a meeting with him” Harry replied, the two of them coming up with their own theories.

Hermione didn’t respond, she focused on stroking Crookshanks, sleeping on her knee, deep in thought about the Muggle books you were cradling, her face dropping when she realised “she’s leaving Hogwarts” Hermione blurted out “Y/N is leaving Hogwarts!”

Tag list: @amourtentiaa @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @alwaysnforeverfangirl @sycathorn-slush @blackqueens01 @astramalfoy

[katcoquette]

The Best of Friends

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Requested: Yes!

Word Count: 1.8k

TW: brief violence

Your last class of the day had finally ended, and you decided to head to dinner early. The corridors were mostly empty, a majority of the students were with their friends in their common rooms or enjoying the weather before it got dark.

You entered the Great Hall and scanned the tables for the platinum headed boy you called your best friend. Draco Malfoy had quickly become the person you were closest to. After his friendship was rejected by the famous Harry Potter in your first year, he had been skulking around the halls mumbling about it.

You were doing the same, but because Ronald Weasley had knocked something onto your robe, staining it and leaving you drenched and cold. That night, you started out complaining to each other, and ended in a fit of laughter. Since then, your classmates could find the both of you glued at the hip. You had gotten Draco through his Pansy phase, and he was there for you when you were dumped by Dean Thomas.

While his hatred for the Golden Trio only grew, your mere annoyance that first night had turned into them into friendly acquaintances.

You weren’t close with them like you were with Draco, but you would greet them if you had classes together or saw them walking through the corridors. It hadn’t ever been more than that, but you knew it bothered Draco every time you waved or smiled in their direction.

You would tease him about it when you noticed, and that would cause him to break his scowl and smile at you. It was hard for him to stay mad when you were around, he found himself happier when he was in your presence and didn’t like wasting his time on them when he had you next to him. Besides, you had stayed by his side all these years, so eventually he stopped worrying about losing you to the group.

His rivalry with Harry increased as the two of you grew up, until it reached a point where you would try to steer him in the other direction if you saw Potter. The less interactions those two had with each other the better, you had decided with Hermione one day.

Now, you were in your sixth year together and closer than ever. You didn’t see Draco at your usual spot, which you expected, since he usually came to eat later in the evening.

“Y/N!” Hermione called out to you. She was sitting with Harry and Ron and beckoning toward you to sit with them. You smile at them as you make your way there, glad to have someone to eat with since Draco wasn’t here.

You exchanged greetings with them as you settled into the spot next to Hermione, chatting about your various classes and assignments until a comfortable silence came over the group.

“So, Y/N, we’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Hermione started, breaking the silence, and looking pointedly at Harry.

“Yes! Yes- I was just wondering-“ Harry cleared his throat, almost awkwardly. “We were wondering, if you knew anything about Draco’s recent activities.”

You give him a questioning look, though you suspected you already knew what he was talking about. “Well… if he has the mark, like his father.” Ah. That’s what you thought it would be about. It wasn’t a surprise to you; Draco had told you the minute he next saw you that he had been given the mark over the summer. Generally, it was something you two didn’t talk about, unless he was having a particularly hard time with it. But you didn’t feel like you were close enough with the trio to betray Draco and disclose any information to them.

Harry sees the look on your face and tries to recover, “It’s just that, Katie Bell had that incident and-“ You put your hand up slightly to stop him from continuing, and let out a sigh, rubbing your temple with the other. You try to gain your composure, thinking about what the best response would be.

Draco was your best friend, but somewhere along the timeline of your friendship you had started to develop stronger feelings for him. How could you not? Behind the snide remarks and haughty behavior there was a sweet boy, who was hurting more than anyone knew.

That was the boy who had let you into his life, he was the one who held you when you cried. He was the one who had been inconsolable after this summer, after finding out what he would be forced to do this year. You knew how serious the situation was, you knew how dangerous Voldemort was, and how big of a threat he had become this year. You wanted to help them, but Draco was your priority. You would do everything in your power to protect him, because you loved him. You knew he cared about you too, but even if his feelings weren’t romantic, you were going to do anything you could to ease his troubles.

“I don’t know anything about that.” You lie through your teeth. It’s obvious to the trio that you know more, and Harry starts to try to convince you to share when Ron nudges him and motions over his shoulder. You look at her the same time Harry does, Katie Bell. He gets up to talk to her, and you give Hermione a sad smile. She gives you a slow nod, understanding why you wouldn’t give away Draco’s secrets.

Almost immediately after he walks in, your eyes meet Draco’s. He seems flustered, and you give him a worried look. He breaks your stare and assesses the situation in front of him. His best friend sitting with his enemy and the two other people who annoyed him most. Harry was talking to Katie Bell, who had stopped the conversation and was now staring directly at Draco.

You see him start to panic, looking to the students watching the interaction beside him before he backs away and turns to leave the Great Hall. You get up quickly and chase after him, signaling that your conversation with the trio was over.

“Draco!” You call after him, almost running to catch up. “Don’t, Y/N.” He spits out after you grab his shoulder. He continues walking down the corridor to the restroom. “What’s wrong?” You keep your voice calm as you continue after him.

“Just stop, okay?” Draco scowls at you as he pushes open the door. He groans when you follow him into the bathroom.

“No! I’m not going to leave when you’re obviously upset.” You cross your arms and wait expectantly. “Enough, Y/N. You’ve done enough already. I saw you talking to Potter. It’s obvious that he knows what I’ve done!” He shouts.

“That’s what you’re mad about?” You almost scoff at how ridiculous that accusation was. “I didn’t say anything to them.”

“I’m not an idiot, I saw it with my own eyes.” You can hear the pain in his voice at your assumed betrayal.

“Harry did ask about it, okay? But I said I didn’t know a single thing because I would never do anything to hurt you!” You try to explain. You can see the confusion still on his face. “Draco… I was protecting you.”

He furrows his brows, his nostrils flaring slightly when he breathed while he comprehended your words. “Why would you do that? I know you don’t agree with my family’s position.”

He was right, but that didn’t matter. He was the only thing that mattered, and you knew he didn’t agree with them either.

You let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re my best friend-“ you start, running your hands over your face in frustration. The two of you had been so involved in your argument that you hadn’t heard someone else enter the room. “Merlin, Draco! Because I love you!”

You see his face soften completely, “You…what?” He looks like he’s about to say something until he notices the person who was now behind you. His face hardens again, and you can tell he’s furious.

You turn to see that Harry had followed you both into the bathroom. This won’t end well. “Harry…” You start, giving him a look, almost begging him to leave this situation alone. Instead, you see a hex fly past his head, barely missing him as he jumps out of the way. He throws one back at Draco, and you drop to your knees, trying to stay out of the way. They were fully fighting now, and you were backed up against the wall cursing the pride of these two.

Then there was a pause. You could see Harry crouching behind the stalls in front of you but couldn’t tell where Draco was. Harry glanced at you before sending another spell in Draco’s general direction.

Not a moment later you feel the air knocked out of you, the room around you fading.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy! You hit Y/N!” Harry screams across the bathroom. Draco turns the corner of the stalls to see you slumped against the wall, completely knocked out.

“Get out.” He whispers, rushing to your side. “Get OUT!” Harry scrambles to his feet and runs out of the restroom.

Draco scoops you up in his arms, burying his face in your hair as he lets out a loud sob. “I’m sorry, Y/N… I’m so sorry. This is all my fault, I should’ve never gotten mad at you.” He moves so he’s kneeling, bringing your limp body up to his chest and holding you close to him.

A few hours later, you start to regain consciousness. You can feel yourself in a soft bed, but your head is pounding and your body aches. You haven’t gotten to a point where you could move or open your eyes, but you could feel someone next to you holding your hand and mumbling. If you just concentrated on their voice…

Draco.

“-and I know you would never hurt me. I’m just terrified about everything that’s going on.” You can hear Draco sniffle before lowering his to just above a whisper. “You mean so much to me, Y/N. You’re the most amazing girl, so beautiful, and so smart. Even smarter than me.” He chokes out a laugh at that. “I can’t believe I did this to you. I could feel myself losing control and I’m so sorry.” He pauses, thinking through his next words.

“It’s always been you, Y/N. I- I love you.” He finally says, squeezing your hand.

You squeeze his hand back, finally finding the strength to open your eyes. Draco notices and lunges forward, wrapping his arms around your back and squeezing you tight. You return the gesture, letting out a mixture of laughter and sobs at the situation.

Draco pulls away after a few moments, brushing stray hairs from your face. “I love you, Y/N.” He smiles at you, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand. “I love you too.” You say sincerely.

“By the way, I did hear your whole speech.” You let out a breathy laugh, still feeling sore. Draco laughs, embarrassed for a moment, “I’m ready to say it all again now that you’re awake.”

He leans in closer, “And every day after that.” He breaths, softly kissing your lips. And in that moment, you couldn’t be more grateful for the events that had finally brought you together.

A/N: AHH you all come up with the BEST ideas I loved this one. Send me any thoughts or requests, and thank you for all the support! xx

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Long Lost Love // Part One (D.M.)

Summary: Two piles of twelve letters, hidden away in the bottom of a trunk, browning with age. Twenty-four letters in total, all addressed to him. 

A/N: This is my entry into @teheharrypotter‘s two weeks of angst! I just really want to take a moment and say that I am so proud of this fic and how it has come out, like ridiculously proud of it. I would really appreciate some feedback on this - reblogs and comments are so important. There is going to be a second part where all the love letters will be compiled into one long post. However, I think not giving too much away only adds to the suspense and angst. Also, the ending... I love it and I think you’ll all hate me for it.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: this is a lot of angst combined with hurt/comfort but there’s a lot of growth in Draco (I think?)

Word count: 5.4k

It had been fifteen years since the end of the second wizarding war; it had been fifteen years of healing and working on himself, of repenting for his family’s crimes during the war. Draco Malfoy had aged in that time; his hair had grown past his shoulders, tied back with a black leather hair tie, and there were lines on his face that had not been there when he was an eighteen year old running away from the castle he classed as his home.

He had lived a lifetime in those fifteen years. He had seen the world before training as a Healer; working his way up the ranks to become head of the emergency department of the only wizarding hospital within Britain. He had trained Healer after Healer; many of them going off to establish clinics in their own community, all of them sending cards at Christmas, regaling him of their successes.

Draco had lived a lifetime. He lost his father first. Lucius had never truly recovered from his time in Azkaban, and though Draco had tried his hardest to form some semblance of a relationship with his father, Lucius had remained cruel until the end. Truthfully, Draco doesn’t want to think about what it was that killed him in the end. Whether it was the spite that had poisoned him for years, or whether it was something else. Draco doesn’t dwell on it; instead, he leaves white roses on his father’s grave every Sunday like any loving son would.

Narcissa hadn’t lasted long after Lucius passed. She had been distraught. Whilst Lucius was not a doting father, he was a doting husband and he adored Narcissa until his very last breath on this earth. To Draco, her tears started that day and didn’t stop until she passed away in her asleep. Her heart, the coroner said. She had died of a broken heart.

A feeling Draco knew only too well.

Despite achieving so much and traveling so far, he had only ever been in love once. There had only ever been one moment in his whole life that had been filled with the kind of love read about in books, sang about in songs, and played out in films. Draco had fallen in love with you when he was sixteen years old and entering what would be the darkest period of his life. To him, you had been the light in the dark. The answer to his constantly asked question: will there ever be a happy ending?

Nothing had ever happened; nothing could happen. You were the epitome of goodness; the very incarnate of its definition, and he… he was the opposite. In those days, his self-hatred ran so deep that he would argue he was the Hades of the story. Doomed forever to the underworld only to fall in love with the Goddess of Spring and hope for retribution that would never come.

However, in this version of their well-told myth, Hades and Persephone never fall into a relationship. In this version of events, feelings were known and reciprocated, but letters that pleaded for a chance either never arrived or were never answered.

So for fifteen years, Draco Malfoy has been working hard on repairing his family’s tattered reputation whilst coping with the depth-defying grief that comes with losing both parents within the span of a year as well as never truly dealing with the heart wrenching grief that accompanies a relationship that was never given the chance to bloom.

--------

It was a bright, clear day in the middle of March when Draco decided to clean out the attic. He had woken with the urge to clean; with the urge to organise his life and start to work through the piles of his parent’s belongings. He hadn’t been able to touch them in the beginning; the most he had been able to do was relocate everything to the attic and then shove the very thought to the back of his mind where it began to fester like an open wound.

Bright and clear was the day when Draco chose to enter the long forgotten attic in the Manor. Bright and clear was the day when he had to hold a handkerchief to his face to stave off the inevitable sneezes from the dust floating in the air.

Looking around the old and dusty attic, Draco takes in the first of the mess. Trunks line the wall; some ancient – locks worn down with time, almost rusted from their exile to the attic; others are much newer such as his parent’s belongings. Their trunks remain almost new; their initials still painted onto the lids in bright gold paint.

The majority of the morning is spent creating two piles; one to be thrown away, one to be donated. Expensive gowns and suits were to be donated. Anything that reminded Draco of his allegiance in the Second Wizarding War was to be thrown.

As he goes through the belongings of not just his parent’s, but also his grandparents, Draco begins to feel conflicted. With each addition to the bin pile, he feels lighter, he feels one less burden. However, he cannot help the guilt that unfurls in his stomach as he thinks of his mother’s kind face and her forever painted red lip.

By the time Draco makes it to his mother’s final trunk, he feels as if he has been in battle once more. Weariness hangs heavy over in shoulders, settling in his bones. His body slumped, not just from the tiredness from lifting heavy trunks and boxes, but from the emotional weight of memories freshly unleashed upon him.

Draco’s movements are slower as he opens the lid to this final trunk. He thinks back to the day he filled it; piling his mother’s correspondence and personal effects in here – separate from the clothes he knew he would one day get rid of. He slides his hands over the emerald green lid – a Slytherin till the day she died, Draco thinks as he smiles to himself.

At some point, he lets a few tears fall. It’s the sight of Narcissa’s handwriting, he realises. He hadn’t seen it in so long – not having received a birthday card or a Christmas present this year due to her death. Seeing her strong cursive brought tears to his eyes; he remembers being a child, sitting by her desk, watching her write away and wondering who on earth she could be talking to. If Draco focuses hard enough, he swears he can still smell the fresh ink drying on the parchment and the melted wax being pressed with Narcissa’s signet ring.

At the bottom of the trunk, Draco notices a latch. Frowning, he flips it open to reveal a false bottom hidden away. Uneasiness spreads through him, turning his stomach to lead as he reaches inside to feel two distinct piles.

The uneasiness turns to heavy anguish when Draco realises just what he is holding in his hands.

------

Two piles of twelve letters, hidden away in the bottom of a trunk, browning with age.

Twenty-four letters in total, all addressed to him.

They now sit on his kitchen counter; the ageing paper a stark contrast to the obsidian black of his counter top. Draco leans back in his chair, huffing out a long sigh, running a hand down his face as he does so. It had been fifteen years, but he would recognise your handwriting anywhere.

It had been fifteen years and he hadn’t had any contact with you. He wondered for so long why his letters had gone unanswered to the point where he stopped writing altogether, feeling the keen sting of rejection.

Fifteen years and he now had his answer.

Hidden away in a trunk; squirreled away in the hopes that he would never find them. The hope that he would forget about you and move on. He never had; he just kept his feelings silent, caging them up in his heart along with everything else he kept from his parents.

Anger surges through him. The first emotion he has felt since he opened that damned trunk.

He lets out a choked scream; the intensity of his anger surprising him as he slams a fist onto the counter top, wincing slightly from the pain now radiating up his right arm.

How dare they, he roars. How dare they keep this from him? How dare they keep you from him? Did you not fit their ideal – a pureblood from a well off family? Did you not meet their needs visually? Your hair perfect, your face just the same.

There was no good reason he could think of. Draco pads over to the bar, tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. There, he pours himself a knuckle’s length of the amber liquid, knocking it back with a hiss. The whiskey burns as it goes down; burns just like his emotions, like his anger.

Draco’s lip curls in distaste as he hears his father’s voice: a distraction, Draco, that’s all.

Lucius Malfoy had never uttered such words in Draco’s presence, but Draco was well aware of his father’s distaste of you.

Reading over his home address once again, Draco is hit with a sense of helplessness. He doesn’t know where to go from or what to do. He reads over your home address, neatly written in the top left hand corner of the envelope.

Sighing, he runs a hand down his face, still uncertain what his next move is going to be. He runs through the options in his head once, and out loud after.

To no-one in particular, he argues:

“I could reply. I could write a letter back, apologising for the absence of replies with a brief sentence or two about meeting up after so much time has passed.”

Draco waves that option away; his tongue too tied up to even think about coherently writing a letter out now. He moves onto option two:

“I could show up. I could apparate to the address right now, knock on the door and ask to speak to them.”

He shakes his head; immediately ridding himself of the idea. For starters, what if you had moved, and he finds himself knocking on the door of an unknown family? However, what if you still live there, and you answer the door? What is Draco to say to you then after such a long time apart?

He imagines the situation; forces himself into shoes that he could possibly be wearing in the near future. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Not a word, not a whisper, not an apology.

So he ignores option two.

Draco knows its cowardice that drives him to the third option, but to go fifteen years without a reply to a letter declaring love… it is too long of a time to expect any form of forgiveness, and he supposes that is what he is most afraid of. Draco’s terrified of not being worthy enough for your forgiveness.

So he goes with option three:

Do nothing.

------

Draco does the only thing that makes sense.

He takes the letters to work.

Draco slides the letters into his satchel, latching the buckle afterwards and taking a deep breath. Already, Draco feels the twenty four envelopes burning a hole through the soft, worn leather of his bag.

Their presence continues to haunt him: placing his bag in his locker and grabbing his lab coat, walking towards the admit desk where Martha – the head nurse – smiles at him before handing him a cup of coffee.

The emergency room is swamped. It is full to capacity with even more waiting in triage. They work as hard and as fast as they can, but it takes time to cure burns from potions and injuries from spells gone wrong.

It gets to the point where Draco needs to take a step back. He has to take a step back and re-evaluate. His personal life is shot; the love he had found at sixteen a dead end until this last weekend. His professional life is all that he has going for him, but on days like this, when he isn’t feeling entirely himself for the shock from the weekend, Draco does find himself being short with patients.

He escapes to the break room; the familiar bitter scent of coffee already relaxing the tense muscles in his shoulders. He settles into a chair at the rickety table, head in his hands as he takes a deep breath.

Draco represses the urge to cry. He pushes it down; deep, deep down inside him where he can deal with it another day. At this moment, all he wants is a hug from his mother and the age old promise that everything is going to be okay. It’s her fault’ it is Narcissa’s fault that he is like this.

That he is a husk of a man.

He feels like a therapist’s wet dream. Blaming his mother, his parents as the source of his problems, but he cannot help imagining how different his life would be if those letters had been delivered to his hands.

He would be with you. He would have given it all up for you.

His lineage; his inheritance; his name; the pureblood mania that infected his parents.

He would give it all up for you.

Fifteen years later and he would still give up every aspect of his life, every part of him that makes him him.

Draco would drop it all in a heartbeat for you.

“What’s gotten into you?” A feminine voice questions. Draco turns in his seat to see his closest friend and confidant, Alexandria Delphi, leaning against the door with a smile on her face.

He cannot help the smile that grows on his face at her presence. He shrugs, hoping he appears nonchalant, “What do you mean?”

Alexandria pushes herself off the door, coming to sit next to Draco at the old rickety table that has been at home in the break room since before time itself. She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at his obvious aversion. She gestures to his entire being, “I mean this. You’ve been off all day – not as attentive to patients, not your usual flirtatious self with the nurses which I know they are missing very much. What’s gotten into you, Draco?”

Draco sighs, knowing very well he could never hide anything from her. Alexandria and Draco had known each other since their first year of training; an unlikely friendship forming between them, but a friendship nonetheless. Thirteen years later, they had been working in the emergency department of St Mungo’s the longest – second only to Martha, the Head Nurse.

“I was cleaning out the attic over the weekend. Getting rid of some of my parent’s things.”

Alexandria frowns, reaching for Draco’s hand over the table. “You should have called me. I would have come and helped you; you shouldn’t have had to that alone.”

“I know,” Draco starts, running a hand down his face, “I know you would have but I think I needed to do it alone.”

Alexandria nods, releasing his hand at last and bringing it to the coffee mug sitting in front of her. Draco smiles at her before standing, opening his locker and grabbing the letters that call to him from his bag.

Sitting back down, he slides the two piles of letters in Alexandria’s direction, all the while saying, “I found these in my mother’s trunk. It had a false bottom, and they were sitting there.”

Her deep brown eyes widen, “How scandalous! They’re addressed to you?”

Draco nods, “When I was at Hogwarts, there was a girl.”

“Isn’t there always?” Alexandria quips, rolling her eyes at the dramatics of her colleague.

“Anyway,” Draco comments pointedly, “I was in love, or at least, I was as much in love as you can be when you’re sixteen years old. I still am, I think.

“Anyway, my parents didn’t approve of her; they never would so when war started brewing and I went home, I never imagined I would get letters. I never got letters. Turns out, she had been sending me letters all along and my parents had kept them hidden until now.”

“Bastards,” Alexandria spits; furious at people long dead.

“What do you think I should do?” Draco asks earnestly, his eyes never leaving the pile of letters.

“Have you read them?” Alexandria asks; her eyes fixed on the two sets of letters placed between them on the rickety table.

He shakes his head, refusing to meet Alexandria’s eyes, “I think I’m too scared.”

Alexandria smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She sighs, “You aren’t going to know what to do until you read them. Reading the letters should give you the answer you are looking for.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“When you made me Attending,” She quips, yet there is still no heart behind it – none of her usual heat that tends to come out when Draco baits her slightly. She shakes her head, standing from her seat with her coffee in her hand, “I want to see you back out there soon. I don’t care whether you’re the head of the department.”

He raise an eyebrow at her in challenge; she simply smirks. He shakes his head at her antics, already rising from his seat, “I’m on my way.”

“Good, I have plenty of patients for you to see.”

Draco doesn’t reply, he watches her leave with a fond smile on his face.

Alexandria leaves the break room. She leaves as it is the only way that Draco will not see the sorrow and the longing reflected in her eyes. Alexandria doesn’t let him see the jealousy over the letters; the very emotion gnawing away at the ever growing pit in her stomach, only making it deeper as she replays the story of Draco’s first and only love.

She remembers when she used to look forward to coming into work; to help those in need and be a source of comfort for those she couldn’t help. Now, she struggles to make it through the door with the knowledge that she has been in love with the same man for years and nothing had happened.

That’s the thing about loving someone who doesn’t love you back – it turns you into a ghost of your former self.

------

Draco finds himself reaching for the first letter in the pile on a Friday night in the middle of April. If he had to be honest with himself, it had taken him a whole month to work up the nerve to read them. Draco had come home after the conversation with Alexandria and dropped the letters on the side table where they have taunted him ever since.

He knows he isn’t in the right frame of mind to be reading them; a bad shift with too many deaths combined with the two half full tumblers of whiskey consumed creates the equation of self-destruction. However, Draco reminds himself, he’s had fifteen years of internal self-destruction – what’s one more night when you tear yourself down so regularly despite the accolades attached to your name?

Draco hesitates, holding the first of the twenty four letters in his hand. He hesitates; unsure as to whether he is ready to read the handwriting of someone whose notes through class not only made him happy, but hopeful.

Releasing a shuddering breath, he tears open the seal and begins to read.

------

The letters are not long. They aren’t pages and pages of eloquent syntax over your feelings for the blonde haired, cocky teenager he once was. The closer he gets to the end of the pile, the less is written as if you had grown tired of such an act and not getting a reply.

Draco keeps his favourite close to him. It’s tucked away in his inner coat pocket, on the left hand side close to his heart.

The letter has been with him a month now. A month of one letter being read and reread too many times a day; to the point where Draco is reciting it in his sleep. It’s creased beyond recognition, but he still takes the risk every day to take it out and read it.

He misses you. He misses you. He misses you.

Now, Draco unfolds the paper. He unfolds the paper and reads the opening line: do you remember that night in the greenhouse? Writes your neat handwriting; the letters perfectly formed on the now browning parchment.

How could he forget? Draco closes his eyes, letting himself fall into the memory perfumed with compost and night blooming evening primrose.

*****

“Name two purposes of Valerian Root.”

“To help someone sleep as well as to ease anxiety.”

“Very good,” You laugh, moving quietly between the rows and rows of plants. You turn to him suddenly, “What is one danger of Black Henbane?”

Draco pauses, eyes already searching for papery flower with spidery black veins. He finds it nestled towards the back of the greenhouse, hidden away from sight and away from the wandering hands of children. Draco follows you closely; remaining near you as he says, “As a member of the nightshade family, the plant can be toxic if used in large quantities.”

The sight of your smile takes his breath away. You rush to him; toothy grin and loud laughter as you nod your head. “Madame Pomfrey was right,” You splutter, “You’re going to make an incredible Healer, Draco Malfoy.”

He doesn’t need to see the blush to know it’s there; he can feel the heat creeping its way up his neck to his cheeks. “I don’t think I’ll get there if I don’t have you.”

A satisfied smile replaces the happy grin that was on your face only moments ago. It was as if you were waiting for those words to fall from his lips; the reassurance within those words spreading over your worry like a balm over a wound.

How many more nights would they get like this? How many more nights would they have together?

Somewhat foolishly, Draco hopes he has forever. He hopes he has an eternity and a day with you, but he can feel the changes in the air, and he knows it isn’t good. Draco can see the tension at home; more and more people arriving, each just as secretive as the last, and Draco suddenly knows he only has a short amount of time before he’s inducted into the same fanatic group as his parents.

He’s on limited days with you so he’ll take the nights.

He’ll take all the nights.

-------

The shoebox had remained untouched under his bed for years now. Draco had shoved it there in a fit of anger and despair and he hadn’t looked since.

Reaching for it now, Draco represses the growing anger directed at his parents. He ignores the growing resentment surrounding the fact that they hid your letters for years and never thought to whisper a word of it – not even on their death beds.

The shoebox has aged; not unlike himself, he thinks as he wipes the dust from the top. The thick layer drawing a sneeze from him before he can open the box.

It doesn’t matter how many years it has laid unwanted under his bed; it doesn’t matter how long it has remained there, untouched and not thought of – Draco, to this day, can still recount for every little thing in there.

Notes that have now turned brown with age; old photos where youthful faces glance up at him; a chocolate bar wrapper from Honeyduke’s.

They each line the bottom of the shoebox. Draco’s memories of you out there for him to finally confront, to see. He sinks down onto his childhood bed; almost blinded by the force of the wave of nostalgia washing over him, threatening to drown him with the strength of his memories.

The memories hadn’t plagued him for some time though you played on his mind constantly – even more so since the letters.

They’re silly memories, but memories, nonetheless. Ones that he adores; ones that he cherishes.

It was the letters that triggered this. The letters that have brought the ghosts back from where they had been hidden, haunting him quietly until now.

Draco runs a hand through the trinkets in the box. He smiles at them, thinking of Hogsmeade and how he had surprised you with a bar of your favourite chocolate. The grin on your face worth all the jibes from Crabbe and Goyle when he got back to the Slytherin common room that evening.

Draco falls back onto his childhood bed with a huff.

He has a decision to make, and he doesn’t know where to begin. He has a decision to make, and he doesn’t have the guidance he so desperately needs.

Draco wants to see you; he needs to see you, but what if you don’t want to see him?

----

“I heard you handed in your notice,” Draco states as a way of breaking the ice.

Her notice of leave had landed in his hands not even three hours ago. He had spent the time since in a panic; rushing about the hospital to find Alexandria and to question her, to find out why she would leave after so long.

Why she would leave him.

Alexandria nods, “I have. I leave in two weeks.”

“Why?” Draco all but demands, “You love this place.”

“You’re right,” Alexandria sighs, “I do.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

“Because I can’t do this anymore, Draco. I can’t sit here and listen to you talk about those letters and sigh dreamily, or date someone else. I can’t do it,” Her voice breaks, “So I won’t. I want a fresh start, so I’m going to get one.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“If I had known…”

“What? You’d have loved me?” Alexandria laughs mirthlessly, “Love me, Draco! Love me.”

“I can’t,” He whispers; the words the death knell to any scrap of friendship remaining.

Tears fall down her face, “And that’s why I have to go.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek; lingering for longer than what was probably good for her. When she pulls away, she can see the wetness of her tears on Draco’s cheek. “I hope you find her, Draco. You deserve a love story.”

-----

The cottage is small, but it is perfect. Ivy covered walls with a neat front garden; every inch showing the love and attention being paid to it. From the red roses that makes Draco think of his beloved mother to the intense scent of lavender that reminds Draco of the perfume you wore through Hogwarts. Looking up at the cottage, Draco realises that he had never seen a house look so much like a home.

He pauses at the gate; eyes focused on the bricks of the cottage and nowhere else. He doesn’t let the hope grow; he doesn’t let himself dream of what could happen. He’s thankful he has made it this far.

That he’s made it back to you.

The black gate creaks when Draco pushes it open. He winces at the noise, praying it doesn’t give him away and that you answer the door unexpectedly.

He needs this.

He needs the time.

It’s been fifteen years and since he found your letters months ago, he thought he would be ready by the time he found you.

Now Draco is thinking, perhaps he isn’t ready.

Will he ever be ready? He asks himself. Will he ever be ready to confront the very person he has been in love with since he was sixteen years old?

Draco doesn’t know; he doesn’t think he’ll ever know until he steps through the gate.

Draco’s hands shake as he rushes down the well-worn footpath to your dark brown front door. His hands continue to shake as he raises a single fist to knock on the door, three times.

He’s about to turn away; he’s about to walk away and never enter your life again. He will go away and never think of you again; of what could have been.

But then the lock clicks, and the handle moves.

“Hello?” A sweet voice calls out; your voice calls out.

“(Y/N)…” He breathes, and suddenly his nerves are gone and so is his worry. Suddenly, Draco is back at Hogwarts, the feel of your hand in his as he presses you into walls and steals kisses behind statues. He’s back to being sixteen years old and feeling the unrelenting agony of teenage love for the first time along with the merciless fear to do with the rising tensions.

“Draco,” You whisper, bringing a hand up to your mouth. Shock reflects in your eyes; your eyes that show no signs of aging other than the lines that are now forming in the corners.

Draco can’t help himself; he runs his eyes over your body, taking in the changes that becoming an adult has brought. It means nothing; he would love you regardless, but he cannot seem to help himself from drinking it all in.

From the realisation that he in fact stood in front of you.

You are there, and he is here with you.

“How have you been?” He asks; more out of politeness than anything else.

You shift awkwardly, “I’ve been good, Draco. How have you been?”

Draco nods, “I’ve been good too. I know you’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

You laugh, tucking yourself slightly behind the door, “That did cross my mind.”

He smiles; a large grin that he hasn’t felt on his face in a long, long time. Less than five minutes with you, and you’re already bringing out a side of him that Draco had long thought was extinct. He reaches into his coat, grabbing some of the letters that he keeps there. He holds them out to you, “I’ve only just found them.”

Audibly gasping, you instinctively reach for the letters. Your fingers brush Draco’s and he swears his heart skips a beat at the small touch. “I sent these years ago.”

Draco closes his eyes, “I know, and I cannot apologise enough to you for how long it has taken. I thought a reply in person would be better.”

Tears line your eyes as your fingers brush the worn paper; the crease marks more than evident from where Draco has folded and refolded the letter to read. “I always wondered what had happened…” You trail off, lifting your gaze from the letters to meet his eyes.

“My parents,” He whispers; voice pained. He takes a moment to collect himself, but you put a hand up to stop from saying anything else.

“I understand. You don’t need to explain more, Draco.”

“Thank you,” He replies, smiling softly. Then he launches into his tale, “I was cleaning out their belongings; cleaning in general really when I found a false bottom in my mother’s trunk. When I took it out, I found your letters… and I read them and reread them. I practically memorised them. I don’t think there are enough words in the English language to convey just how sorry I am.”

“Draco…”

“No, let me say this… please,” He whispers, adding on the last word for politeness. You fall silent, your eyes begging him not to say out loud what you know he is going to confess.

“Until the last star fades and we succumb to darkness, I shall love you. I have always loved you; from being a scared teenager to being a just as scared adult. My feelings haven’t changed. I’ve thought of nothing but you for fifteen years,” He pauses, drawing in a shuddering breath, “I love you.”

Silence falls over you both. Draco’s heart pounds in his chest as he watches the emotions flicker over your face in a pace he didn’t think was humanly possible. Acceptance, happiness, relief and then finally, sadness.

He furrows his brows; surely this would be a happy event no? Draco has tracked you down after a fifteen year absence. He has found his one true love at last, and now he stands before you wondering the cause of such sadness on your face and in your eyes.

“Draco…” You trail off, holding up your left hand, “I’m married.”

******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen​ @theweasleysredhair​ @harrypotter289​ @kalimagik​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @figlia--della--luna​ @idont-knowrn​ @lunalovegxxd​ @big-galaxy-chaos​ @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe​ @imboredandneedalife​ @levylovegood​ @mytreec​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @teheharrypotter​ @chaoticgirl04​ @accio-rogers​ @starlightweasley​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @lestersglitterglue​ @msmimimerton​ @obx-beach​ @izzytheninja​ @slytherinprincess03​ @bbeauttyybbx​ @acciotwinz​ @kashishwrites​ @slytherinsunrise​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @remmyswritings​ @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon​ @ria-rests-here​ @superbturtlemakerathlete​ @inglourious-imagines​ @ithilwen-lionheart​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @ilovejjmaybank​ @phuvioqhile​ @moatsnow​ @storyisnotover​

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell​ @obxmxybxnk​ @obx-beach​ @sycathorn-slush​ @dracomalfoyswifey​ @kashishwrites​ @justmesadgirl​ @detroitobsessed​ @reaganwonders​ @aspiringsloth20​ @just-a-belgian-girl​ @lahoete​ @minty-malfoy​ @fallinallinmendes​ @ravenclawbitch426​ @ochrythum​ @beiahadid​ @gryffindors-weasley​ @dracosathenaeum​

[solarsleepless]

Ridiculous Pro-Drarry Arguments

1. They have undeniable chemistry. oh you mean the 7+ years of bullying, harrasment and then attempted murder? hmm yes chemistry. also the argument they used for proof of this when they met. they were eleven. don't say they fancied each other then.

2. They are evenly matched and like minded. whAT THE FUCK?? like-minded?? evenly matched?? harry couldve (and shouldve) wiped the floor with malfoy if he wanted to! draco, as far as i remember, has never ONCE gotten the snitch. harry, on the other hand? it took 3 years for him to not catch the snitch. also they say that "hARRy deFeAteD VoLdeMOrT uSInG DrAcoS wANd!!1!" first, that does not prove drarry at all, and second, ANYONE can use a wand that theyve gotten from another person. draco literally uses his mother's wand =/

3. Harry is Draco's way to Light. I agree that Draco might've (by the SMALLEST margin) seen Harry as a source of hope, but that's not healthy especially in an active relationship. We saw how hero-worshipping doesn't get you anywhere until you grow the fuck up.

4. What Harry desires is for people to treat him like everyone else; he is done with adventure. Lol yep. but you're saying that draco would treat him equally?? after bullying harry for being an orphan?? after calling him names and harassing him for NO reason?? jfc

5. In the world post war, Harry and Draco can become really good friends, companions and thus find what they were always looking for. so many things wrong with this: first, you're implying what he wasn't looking for wasn't in ginny? who never stopped supporting him? who expected to be left behind but still loved him anyways? second, the probably closest they good get is very VERY tentative allies. we're talking 7 years of nonstop bullying. you're not getting over that.

6. Hatred is always coupled with intense love. NO. NO. NO. THAT IS SUCH A BAD WAY TO THINK WHAT THE FUCK?? THAT'S SO TOXIC. WHY WHY WHY??? i have a bully at school who treats me similarly draco does to harry (minus the physical part since pandemic), and i would never fucking DREAM of dating him.

7. Mindblowing, enthralling, bewitching sexual chemistry. Okay who let this eight year old on the internet. first of all: for most of the books, they are MINORS. FUCKING. MINORS. second of all: WHAT SEXUAL CHEMISTRY?? WHAT

8. Would Harry have been jealous if Malfoy suddenly got obsessed with some other person? no. no he wouldn't. he would not give a single flying fuck. in fact, he'd be happier!! no constant bullying!! yay!!

9. By not recognising him at MM, Draco incidentally helped Harry defeat the Dark Lord. because he was scared of voldemort being in his house not bc of intense love lmao.

10. Draco never came out because he knew his father would never approve him which is why drarry never "happened." bold of you to assume draco is gay. he's literally every cishet sexist racist white man ever.

Number 11 shows a picture of draco staring at him at the Yule Ball when Harry has a partner. hes literally salty he didn't get a partner lol

12. They're cute af of course they are! if you're reading fanfic where they completely disregard the trauma and act like canon exist, then of course they are! also what about bullying is cute??

"Concluding, I would like to say that Harry should take his sweet time settling down with someone after the war. He should explore who he really is, without the threat of death constantly looming over his head. Explore himself as a person. And so should Draco. There are wayyyy too many possibilities for this pairing and it only makes sense for them to truly discover each other and be together."

you could literally say this for hinny too. ginny is understanding and sympathetic, especially considering they have one thing in common: being inside voldy's head - kinda.

TL;DR: Drarry is so stupid and also I can tell this was written by a nine year old.

DRARRIES DO NOT INTERACT

[wreckofawriter]

The Need For You

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Sirius' Daughter!reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: none, swears?

Request (from my wattpad): Can you do something with Sirius Blacks daughter and Draco? Shes a Gryffindor also thank you sm I love ur work!!

A/n: Before you destroy me in the comments, ik that Sirius got killed by Bellatrix not Lucius but idc. It's for plot. Anyway hope you enjoy! Request are open!

    You had tried being nice, you really had. The first years when you were plunged into the wizarding world you had smiled and nodded taking abuse and ridicule from most of those at your school. It wasnt always direct, sometimes it was just the hatred and the whispers that you could feel from across the hall, you were disrespected, treated like you were less of a human than the rest. So you stopped being nice, in the third year instead of smiling you snarled, you stopped nodding when people told you you weren’t worth anything. You were done being spit on because of your last name. 

    Third-year was not a good one for you. Your last name was in all the papers, headlining the daily prophet. It was whispered in halls and spoken quietly between teachers. Sirius Black had escaped and now everyone was scared he was going to find you. People stopped talking to you. One of the girls locked you out of your dormitory, fearful your father would come looking for you. That was how you officially met Draco Malfoy. 

    You wandered the halls, not sure where you were even going. As you rounded a corner you locked eyes with the blonde boy who had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his robes. You figured he wouldn’t say anything as you passed but you were wrong. 

    “Why are you out of bed?” Draco sneered narrowing his eyes.

    “None of your business Malfoy.” You spat back shouldering past him and to your surprise he chuckled. 

    “It’s nice that you dropped the act you know.” You could feel his eyes on you as you paused. 

    You spun around, “What act?” 

    “The one you put on last year. It was a bit annoying, the whole nice girl thing.” He shrugged, “It’s good to see your true colors finally shining through.” 

    “Go fuck yourself.” you scoffed walking back down the hall.

    He only smirked and watched you leave.

    Draco was interesting. He was a dick, you knew that his dad was a rich asshole and he wasn’t any different. But much to your surprise he or anyone else from his possie for that matter ever messed with you. At first, you thought they feared your father, or even you but you began to suspect something else. Draco, Goyle, Crabbe, Parkinson, they had nothing to pick on you for. Their parents were killers too, it would be like a pot calling a kettle black. If you weren’t wearing red robes you may have even been friends with them, maybe. But something told you you could never look at Pansy without wanting to knock her teeth in. 

    Draco nodded to you in halls, occasionally smiled at you in classes and when moved next to you for being too loud in Transfiguration he was relatively pleasant, despite a few unpleasant comment here and there. He still irked you, he was whiny and weak, he hadn’t had to work a day in his life and you figured he never would, but the truth was he was your first actual friend. 

    Everything changed when suddenly Harry Potter, someone you had been desperately trying to avoid, pulled you aside and tell you what you thought was an elaborate prank. He then brought you to your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had told you it was all true.

    You were stunned, your father wasn’t a killer, he hadn’t betrayed his friends he hadn’t murdered anyone. He would be free, you would be free too. Free from glares and ridicule. All of that came crashing down when they explained that Peter Pettigrew, your only proof had gotten away. 

    You had been angry for a while. Everything you had been told your entire life, by your peers, your teachers, your mother, it was all a lie. And now only you and four others knew that. It was almost like some sort of cruel trick.  You got over it by the next year. You realized that while everyone still thought you were a killer’s daughter, you knew you weren’t and that was enough. 

    The Golden Trio befriended you. At first, it seemed forced, like they were acting, mocking friendship. But the awkwardness melted away and you found yourself with friends, ones you could laugh and talk with. It was nice, really nice. You were finally happy. 

On your fourteenth birthday you got a card from an owl you didn’t recognize. When you read the small note you almost cried. It was from your father. He told you he was sorry. He was sorry he wasn’t there for you, that he couldn’t properly meet you. He said he loved you and always would. 

Draco hated it. He hated when out of nowhere you were suddenly best friends with Harry Potter. It was sickening. Why did Harry Potter get everything he wanted? None of it was fair, you were supposed to be his. He was livid, he had made progress with you, you looked at him in the halls you had snorted at some of his jokes and now you were practically attached to his arch-enemy. So Draco did the natural thing. He hated you. He pushed you down and called you names. He belittled you and your father, he called you weak, stupid, pathetic. You snapped back. You always did, you weren’t like the others. 

You spat nasty nicknames back at him, you pulled him down with you. And that was the most interaction with you Draco ever got. He spent his fourth year in a swarm of jealousy and anger only making things a thousand times worse for himself. 

You didn’t think of Draco much, you missed his snarky comments and the banter you had with him but not a lot. His sudden torment of you made it easy to forget that he had once been nice. You got used to hating him, he made it so easy.

When you finally met your father it was strange, like someone had pointed at a stranger and told you that that person loves you more than anything else in the world and you were supposed to love them the same. You knew he was still your dad it was just all so weird. It seemed like he knew Harry far better than he knew you. It didn’t take you long to actually begin to care for the man. He was easy to talk to, despite the awkwardness of the entire situation there was never an uncomfortable silence. You were calling him Sirius for a while, maybe it was because you just didn’t want to call him dad or maybe it was because you were afraid too. Either way just as you were leaving to go back to school you called him it by mistake, he had engulfed you in a hug, and that was the first time in a long time you had cried. 

    Draco seemed off the entire year. He didn’t put nearly as much time into bullying as he usually did. He bounced around a lot, looking almost paranoid as if he knew something was coming that you didn’t. He joined Umbridges group of assholes and broke Harry’s nose but he didn’t even look at you, you were invisible to him. 

    But you weren’t invisible. Draco wasn’t sure what it was but when he lay his eyes on you in fifth year he had been completely enamored. He had liked you before, as much as he tried to deny that he had. But now it was like someone had turned a knob and he couldn’t even look at you without feeling an intolerable need. A need for you. So he did what he could, he ignored you completely, he would force his eyes away from you at meals, he threw himself into classes forgetting about the outside world. He didn’t speak to you until a few days before he was supposed to go home. 

   

    You couldn’t breathe. You felt like you were getting punched in the gut over and over again. You had just gotten him back. After 14 years you had finally hugged him and loved him. And now he was dead. 

    You were going to kill him, part of you really wanted to, it was what he deserved, what he would get. You found him late at night, your eyes were hot with tears as you approached him, your wand clutched so tightly in your had your knuckles were beginning to go white. 

    “Malfoy!” You shouted, there was no one around to hear. 

    He turned and to your surprise his own grey eyes were glassy, his face was streaked with tears, their trials shining silver in the delicate moonlight. He looked so incredibly broken at that moment your wand dropped back to your side. 

“I heard about your dad.” He croaked, “My dad did it right?” 

You stood silent tears dripping off your chin, your eyes narrowed, mouth curled in hurt. 

“I’m sorry y/n. I’m so sorry.” He spoke taking a few steps towards you. 

You raised your wand back up, it sat inches from his neck. You shook with sobs, your throat was closing up around nothing, your blood rushed in your ears. 

Draco didn’t flinch, he just stared down at you, you looked so pretty with tears in your eyes, they glinted like stars. Your cheeks were flushed a fragile shade of pink, they almost matched your lips. 

“I hate you.” You whispered and for a second you thought you were going to do it. But then the second passed and you dropped your arm back to your side spinning on your heel and walking back to your common room. 

Draco watched you leave, his own tears thick and sticky on his cheeks, those three words hurt more than any spell you could have cast. 

    You went back to scowling the following year. You were short with people, you glared more often than you laughed. Draco knew you were watching him, he knew you didn’t trust him, you knew he was up to something. 

    But the way you looked at him was off. It wasn’t the way Harry, Ron and Hermione did, it wasn’t full of the hatred you claimed to have. It was observant, keen, and almost soft. It was strange that Draco couldn’t quite place it. 

    “I don’t hate you.” You said suddenly to him one day on your way down to the greenhouse. It was hot out, the sound of birds and laughter around you. “I hate your father, but I don’t hate you.” 

    Draco just stared at you, your hair was glowing in the sunlight, your lips glistened with lip balm, you peered up at him expecting him to say something. 

    “I just thought you should know.” You finished before continuing down the slope. Draco stood frozen for a moment.

    “Wait!” 

    You stopped turning back to the boy as he took quickened steps towards you. “What?” you asked when he reached you.

    “I’m sorry y/n, about everything.” He said, “I really am.” 

    You paused biting your bottom lip, “I know.” you smiled softly.

   

    You nodded to Draco in the hallways again. You sat next to each other in Herbology and you talked quietly in the dead of night. Draco felt his affection towards you grow with each smile and look his way. You knew what was pierced into his skin but you never mentioned it, instead, you talked about meaningless things like quidditch games ad muggle music. Draco became your escape from the real world. He reminded you of when things were easy if they ever were. 

   

    It was late May. The crickets and frogs at the edge of the black lake were loud in your ears. You and Draco lay side by side in the dewy grass, your robes dampening as you stared up at the stars. It had been your idea, star gazing, you did it for the astronomy tower often but it was different out on the grass, it was better. 

    You felt Dracos hand twitch beside yours, his thumb brushing the top of your palm. Without thinking much you reached out and grabbed it, eyes still glued on the sky. 

    Draco felt his face heat at the feeling of your hand in his own, your skin was soft, it felt good to have your fingers intertwined with his own. He turned his head to look at you. The stars reflected in your eyes, your hair splayed around you as moonlight carved your face with delicate slopes and ridges. You were so incredibly gorgeous. 

    You felt his stare turning to meet his eyes. You stayed still for a second a soft wind rippling the grass around you. Your heartbeat droned in your ears, its beat slowly increasing as you stared into deep pools of icy grey. 

    Draco broke the silence his grip on your hand tightening, “I’m in love with you y/n.” 

    You didn’t move, you didn’t even look surprised, your eyes continued to flick around his face as if you were looking for something. You moved closer to him, your heartbeat so loud the sound of crickets drowned out behind it. You were inches form him when you finally spoke, your eyes trained on his, staring deep into his thoughts. “I know.” your voice was a whisper, breath fanning over his face. 

    Draco leaned forward, waiting for you to stop him but you didn’t. Your eyes slipped closed and you met slowly. Your lips were smooth and soft against Draco’s slightly chapped ones, your hands found their way to his hair as his wrapped around your neck pulling you close to him. The kiss was sweet and slow, he tasted minty and warm. Your tongue swiped his bottom lip and they parted allowing you to deepen the kiss as he tugged lightly on your hair. 

    You broke apart slowly, breath mingling as you stared into his eyes, “I need you Draco.” you mumbled pulling yourself into his embrace. 

Taglist:

@accio-rogers

@roslea

@k3nz-doodl3

@theseuscmander

@sleepingalaska

Masterlist

[vivithefolle]

About criticizing Hermione.

Personally I think Hermione should be criticized for everything that happened in the books, the facts speak of their own but there is a limit in how responsible a fictional character is for the actions the author made her do . It's not like she actually had her faith in her hands and she chose to be JKRs shelf-insert and make all her Shitty ideas her own.

Let's look at the bigger picture here, is Hermione realy being treated better than Ron from the phantom?

JKR trusted her characters to Kloves and he basically pimped Hermione. She is the most sexualized fictional character of the 21st century so far, he portraited her like an OP/sexi cosplay of the real Hermione. She became a top10 sex fantasy for every healthy and sick mind out there and JKR did nothing to stop It for like a decade.

Ron is being hated for being an 'unworthy' pair for her(actually they hate him just because he has Hermione) and she is being hated for choosing him and she must be punish for it. You said that if she was a boy everybody will call for his head on a plate and I apsolotly agree but she is a girl so they call for her vagina on a plate instead. This is how you punish an intelligent woman, you subdue her and then you sexualy demean her.

You know better than me what is happening in fanfiction. She's been paired with evreone from Harry to Hagrids dog and the giand squid. Hermione is a sex slave, a dominated toy, a sperm dumpster, a total slut, a cheating/cheated wife, she is been mercilessly raped and abused and portrayed like a young Bellatrix or umbridge.

She has earn as many nasty titles as Ron so I don't think her being a girl worked in her favor.

Unfortunately it seems there are a lot of people who think that Intelligence is a mark of higher character and superior maturity as you said but Hermione is not one of them. She is hanging around with Harry and Ron and his family not her 'intelectual equals' from Ravenqlaw book club and she is dating athletes not distinguished students. Intelligence isn't the most important thing for her and she never acted like different people are not worthy of her company or her attention. So let's not hold her accountable for those ridiculous ideas.

Anyway I don't know if I am ranting but I just believe Hermiones character has been damaged and shamed just as much as Rons has, just in bit of different way and she don't deserve extra hate because she is JKRs shelf-insert in the story.

That comment of yours 'Hermione is literally JKR' ruin my appetite for the day. I just imagine Ron doing things with her.... Buhh😫🤢

The major difference in fanfiction is that... many people legit think this is “better” for Hermione.

They write stories of her being abused by Big Bad OOC Ron and being rescued by heroic prince charmings like Harry, Draco, Snape, or whoever. And all the while, the shippers genuinely think this could be plausible.

They take this huge dump on Ron and everything he stands for as a character - your insecurities don’t define you; the people you love only ask for you to be there, not for you to always be a 5* badass; you don’t have to prove anything to anyone but yourself - then proceed to “reward” Hermione with the affections of someone they’ve deemed “worthy” of her.

Usually, a person with which Hermione finds herself in a more subservient position.

Harry Potter: Mr Save The World, super fucking rich, will forever outshine whoever marries him Draco Malfoy: aristocratic/nobility, super hella rich Lucius Malfoy (yes, Luciumione is very popular on AO3): same as above + MUCH older than Hermione Severus Snape: Potions prodigy who actually invented stuff while Hermione only ever stuck by the book, MUCH older than she is Viktor Krum: famous athlete, probably rich

And so on and so forth.

Many of the Hermione ships of the fandom have an inherent imbalance. When it comes to age gap ships like Snamione or Luciumione, people will justify themselves by saying “oh but Hermione is so mature for her age, she needs someone on her level!”

.......... I very much hope to never meet one of these people in real life.

Not only is Hermione nowhere as mature as what they believe she is but MATURITY DOESN’T MAKE UP FOR A GAP OF NEARLY TWO DECADES OF EXPERIENCE. (And can you imagine saying  “Hermione needs a mature man!” then pairing her with Snape, the teenager stuck in a grown man’s body? Talk about cognitive dissonance.)

Anyway, those ships usually take Hermione to pair her with, let’s say it in the worst possible way, a man of “more value” than her.

The Hero. An aristocrat. An older man and a teacher. A celebrity...

They’re not trying to look to match Hermione with an equal.

They’re trying to pair her with someone she can be subservient to.

Because as @lytefoot​ brilliantly put it:

A woman has to be all-around pretty good at everything, whereas a man has to be the absolute best in his area of greatest competence (surely better than any puny female!) with a help-meet there to compensate for his weaknesses. People are very, very uncomfortable when Ron and Hermione reverse this dynamic. Hermione is extremely intelligent and dedicated to intellectual pursuits, but is complete pants at things like self-care and people skills. Ron is bright enough to keep up with her and strong in her areas of weakness.

Even if Ron was as dumb as a sack of rocks (he’s not), his other virtues are more than enough to “justify” Hermione loving him. (Because she needs an excuse?) But no. A woman has to be with a man who outdoes her in her area of greatest strength.

But they’re completely convinced that they’re making a “better” match for Hermione because in their heads, they’ve convinced themselves that Ron’s “inferiority” (= his underrated qualities like his good heart, his humour, his patience (many of which are also coded as primarily feminine qualities); his poverty; his language; his tendency to stand up for himself even against his friends; his insecurity) is a sure sign he would be bad to Hermione. Because there are two types of people: those who are inferior and those who aren’t! /s

They sincerely believe they’re elevating Hermione when they’re using her as Harry/Draco/Snape/Aragog’s token to redemption/happiness. Because they genuinely think Hermione should be “rewarded” with a man that outclasses her in the aspects of her life she prides herself on (her studies, her academics, her social justice ambitions). At the same time, they build up this whole narrative about how Ron would “want her to be another Molly, barefoot and pregnant all the time” to convince themselves that they really are Good Little Feminists.

All in all: when people write Hermione as Snape’s sex kitten, they do it because they believe that’s the best thing that can happen to her. But when they write Ron to bash him, it’s because they genuinely hate him. They want the worst to happen to him. They delight in his misery. They love it. Because they’re so blinded by their own lies and so convinced that “hurmion 2 gud 4 ron durrhurrhurr” that they think he deserves the most painful, humiliating things to happen to him.

That’s the difference. People pair Hermione with the most horrible people out of blind adoration for her. Those same people bash Ron as retribution for “defiling” their goddess.

The kind of “Hermione bashing” you refer to is done out of good sentiments. But Ron? He doesn’t get that sort of bashing; he’s reviled and hated for things he didn’t even do, because people can’t fucking comprehend that just because he acted badly at times doesn’t mean those actions define him. The bashing comes out of hatred and an unfounded, unfair desire for “justice” that is unwarranted in the first place.

That’s why I turn the tables and judge Hermione with the fandom’s absolutely impossible standards they only seem to apply to Ron and a select few others (Dumbledore, some of the Weasleys). To prove that no fucking human being could even hope to dream to meet those standards.

[the-yellowsubmarine]

Harry was sat alone in the eighth year common room, staring deeply into the fire and leaning forward towards it's warmth. It couldn't have been earlier than two or three in the morning. But he knew he would never get back to sleep following that kind of nightmare.. Moony.. Padfoot.. Prongs...

Fred.

He stared into the fire, letting the flickering of the flames drown him and pull him deeper down into his depression. The numbness that would not leave him no matter how many smiles he willed himself to plaster on to his face. No matter how much he tried to just move on. Get on with his life. Enjoy the peace his victory had brought.

That was what Ron and Hermione had said to him over and over again since the end of the war. But it was different for them. They had each other. They had distraction from their scars. Their battle wounds. Harry only had the flickering flames and his nightmares.

Harry rubbed his eyes, willing the desire to sleep away. As he massaged his eyelids he felt a dip in the sofa next to him.

"I'm not tired," he sighed, expecting it to be Ron or Hermione. He opened his eyes and froze when he saw Draco Malfoy instead.

Malfoy was staring at him with a blank expression, despite having one eyebrow slightly raised. He was sat closer than Harry had probably ever been to him in his life, which was the main reason he had expected it to be one of his friends.

They stared at one another, both saying nothing. Harry was afraid to break the silence. They hadn't spoken to one another all year. But they still watched each other. Studied each other. As they always had. Old habits die hard.

Harry knew Malfoy had been struggling just as much as he had been since the end of the war. Harry had testified for him and his mother, but that hadn't stopped the media or the other students from ostracizing him. Someone who had once been so loud and proud and just plain irritating had been reduced to a shell of a human being.

He sat with the other Slytherins at meal times, but in complete silence, often just staring down at his plate and appearing to try to make himself as small and insignificant as possible. During classes he would quietly perform the tasks assigned, but if the lecture were particularly boring or painfully simple he would gaze out the window until the class was over. He would then be the first to leave. Harry only ever saw him in three places when he looked for him on his map: the library, behind a tapestry on the sixth floor, or in his dormitory. He spent the majority of his time in his dormitory.

Harry would stare at him in the Great Hall and during classes. And Malfoy would often stare back. But they never spoke. They hadn't spoken since the trial.

In the firelight Malfoy's hair glowed bring yellow. The bags under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept at all that night. They stared blankly at one another almost challenging the other to break the silence.

Finally, Harry shook his head and sat up against the back of the sofa. He could feel the warmth radiating off Malfoy's shoulder as their arms pressed together. They both looked forward towards the fire and sat in awkward silence.

For the first time in a long time, Harry's mind was buzzing. What was Draco doing? Why was he sat so close? He could have chosen another chair... Or even taken one look at Harry and turned around.

It was strange to be so close to his former rival. Harry had no memory of ever doing anything but fighting with him. But at the same time, it was almost comforting. He smelled nice. Almost like a Christmas spice, though Christmas had passed almost two months earlier. And it had been a long time since Harry had been this close to anyone besides Ron and Hermione. But still... it was Malfoy.

He didn't know how long they had sat there like that. At some point Malfoy had folded his arms and adjusted his position so he was slouching a bit. Harry, for some reason, found himself leaning into him slightly. If he moved his head just a little he would be resting it on Malfoy's shoulder. Harry could feel Malfoy breathing deeply and a few times he believed he had fallen asleep. But whenever he slid his eyes sideways he could see Malfoy was still staring determinedly at the fire.

Eventually, Harry, himself, started to doze a bit. He had grown more and more comfortable and was now actually resting his head on Malfoy's shoulder. Just as he was ready to give in and let his eyes close he was jolted awake by a sudden movement.

Malfoy was no longer looking at the fire. He had turned his head towards Harry and buried his face in his hair. Harry sat there for a moment feeling Malfoy breathing him in. Finally he sat up and looked Draco in the eyes.

Again they stared at one another. Malfoy's brow was furrowed and his eyes were searching Harry's. He looked like he was trying to solve an annoying arithmancy equation. Whether he found an answer Harry didn't know, but the next second Malfoy had looked down towards Harry's mouth and moved forward, pressing their lips together in the lightest kiss Harry had ever experienced.

Immediately, Malfoy pulled back and again they stared in silence. Harry's mind now was a whirlwind. What the hell was that? This was not how he had expected this night--this year!--to go. His stomach was fluttering; he could feel himself going red. Malfoy's cheeks had also turned slightly rosy, but his eyes and his mouth had gone back to their normal vacant expression.

Finally, Malfoy gave him a curt nod and stood up, walking straight back to the dormitories without looking back.

Harry stared after him for a moment and then leaned forward once more towards the fire. He was still in shock from what had just happened and then, all of a sudden, started to laugh.

It started out as a chuckle and quickly turned into a full belly laugh like he had not laughed in years. It made his stomach ache in the best way possible. It made him spill shameless, warm tears of joy. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation kept coming to him in waves and prolonging his laughing fit. He had cuddled with and kissed Draco Malfoy! "Potter stinks," "just wait till my father hears about this," ferret-face Draco Malfoy!

As his laughter finally died down, Harry realized that he felt good. He had forgotten what it felt like to laugh like that. To think about something other than the pain and emptiness and the memories that came along with the end of the war. Somehow he had forgotten that there was still warmth and light in the world. And it could come from the most unexpected places.

With that, Harry stood up and decided that maybe he could go back to sleep after all.

------------

The next morning, Harry sat down to breakfast and looked over towards the Slytherin table. He found Malfoy sat next to Zabini, quietly sipping his pumpkin juice and reading the morning paper. What had he been thinking? Why had Malfoy even sat with him in the first place? Harry had been asking himself these questions all morning and had been trying to decide if he should confront Malfoy about it or not.

The next moment, Malfoy spilled some juice on his tie. Harry watched as he swore and grabbed his wand to clean it up. For the first time in less than eight hours, Harry chuckled again.

This was Malfoy. His former rival. An ex-death eater.

But really? He was just a boy who wanted to pass his NEWTs and who smelled like Christmas in February.

Harry quickly grabbed a nearby Daily Prophet and ripped the corner off one page. He then took out his quill and wrote one word.

Why?

He was feeling too lazy, but also too jumpy to call one of the owls in the hall that were delivering mail so he wadded up the bit of paper and launched it as hard as he could across the room. Thankfully, it hit Malfoy right on the head and he immediately looked around until he caught Harry's eye. He glared and then looked down at the crunched up bit of paper that had landed on his plate.

Harry hadn't felt this anxious in a long time. He tried to eat a piece of bacon as he waited for Malfoy to do something. Anything!

Finally, Malfoy did what Harry had not and grabbed Zabini's owl. He jotted down a quick note and attached it to the bird and sent it back to Harry.

With great anticipation Harry opened the note. All it said was

You make me feel

Harry stared at the note and then looked up. Malfoy had already left the Great Hall.

He looked down again and thought of the words written in a shaky, yet elegant handwriting. He thought of the way Malfoy had made him feel in the common room on that sofa. He felt calm. He felt anxious. He felt comfortable. He felt surprised. He felt confused.

And then he remembered the way he had laughed after Malfoy had kissed him and walked away. Like it was the first time he had ever laughed before.

He thought about the anger. The frustration. The hatred he had felt towards Malfoy over the years. And also the curiosity.

No matter what, Draco Malfoy had always made Harry Potter feel. And especially lately, that was exactly what Harry needed.

Suddenly, he jumped out of his seat and ran up to the dormitory to get his map. He quickly scanned it and, to his surprise, he found that Malfoy was in his room right next door.

Without knowing what he was doing, he walked out into the hallway and knocked. He heard the scraping of a chair before the door opened.

"Hello," Harry said before Draco could slam the door in his face.

Draco stared at him in clear surprise. He cleared his throat slightly and then said, "Hello."

With all the Gryffindor courage he could muster, Harry took a step forward until they were almost touching. He could feel Malfoy's breath on his face. Could smell the cinnamon and nutmeg.

Slowly, he leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Then whispered, "you make me feel everything."

[mimichan2018]

Allegiance - Chapter 1 - The Forbidden Forest

It was dark and cold and oppressing and oh-so-familiar … Harry knew exactly where he was despite not being able to see. The Forbidden Forest. Again. Fuck.

He instantly recognised the tingling of the green burst of light all over his body, from his toes and his fingertips to the scar on his forehead, which was hurting like hell. It felt like being struck by lightning. How very ironic, he thought, that the great Harry Potter was to meet his end as he had started – with a bolt of lightning.

There was some poetic mirroring there somewhere, he was sure, and his subconscious may have enjoyed torturing him further on the issue, but his ears were now buzzing loudly, refusing to let his mind drift. It didn’t help either that he could still hear the echo of the Killing Curse that had just hit him square in the chest, resonating within him like the soundwaves of a bass.

Harry knew this was a dream. One of the many similar dreams he had been having since the War had ended a month ago.

There was something quite comforting about knowing that what he was experiencing wasn’t real, at least not anymore, but reliving his death on repeat was far from a pleasant experience and not something he would wish on anyone, not even Draco Malfoy, he decided.

He was falling backwards from the force of the curse, his eyes tightly shut and his hands clenched into fists, waiting for the impact he knew would come. Thankfully, any minute now he would hit the hard ground and wake up, as he always did. He just needed to wait.

But, for the moment, he was falling, his mind focused on trying to keep calm.

Just another few seconds, he told himself, clenching his jaw tightly to stop his teeth from chattering.

He wasn’t complaining though; he liked to feel his scar again. Not that he would ever admit it, but it had always been something he could rely on to give him a sense of direction. Since Voldemort’s death, his scar had not hurt once, and although it had been a relief during the first few days, it had quickly turned into a void, a feeling of unease, as if a part of him was missing.

He hated to think about what it all meant, but the truth was that he missed the sense of purpose it had afforded him in the last seven years, even if it had been a doorway to the most dangerous dark wizard of their time. He knew it sounded ridiculous, but it didn’t change that fact, and this was his nightmare after all.

When he thought that he had waited long enough, he instinctively flung his arms behind, waiting for the familiar ground to crush against them and miraculously wake him up, but there was nothing there to meet his flailing hands. He was still … falling.

What the hell is going on? His strained inner voice screamed as he threw his arms sideways to try to reach out for something, anything. His mind was racing at an alarming pace when he failed to hit the ground after what now felt like … well, way too long …

Time in dreams really makes no sense at all, he thought. For all he knew, time could have stopped altogether. The idea of being stuck in time, dying forever on end, was terrifying, unbearable. A Groundhog Day joke made especially for him. He grimaced: irony again.

Panic engulfed him as his throat tightened and his hungry lungs began to desperately gasp for air, small spots of light flickering into his vision. When his hands frantically moved to his throat, however, fear morphed into detachment and a chilling thought whispered to him: Why fight it? It should have been the end then … You know that … In fact …

As the idea formed in his mind, Harry felt a pressure in his chest which had nothing to do with lack of air. He let the familiar feeling roll over him, seep through his soul until he was enveloped in nothingness.

I want this. This time, don’t let me wake up.

As the thought lingered, he felt a small, bitter smile pull at the sides of his lips and tears of relief run into his ears and hair.

Let it be the end. Please.

Just as he was about to let go completely, however, another voice burst into his head, full of dread and something akin to … hope.

“POTTER?!”

He would have recognised it anywhere, but it didn’t make any sense.

“Malfoy?” he mouthed, as his awareness kicked in again. A choked cry escaped him when he heard the boy scream in what could only be the same intense pain he had felt so many times himself.

Instinctively, Harry then did something he had never done before – although clearly this nightmare wasn’t like any of the others as Malfoy had certainly never appeared – he opened his eyes. All he saw was a faint flicker of blond hair, an outstretched hand and terrified grey eyes, before everything disappeared and he found himself staring at his wardrobe, his hands on either side of him, sitting up in sweat-soaked blankets, trembling.

It took him several minutes to catch his breath and register that he was in his room at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. He moved his fingers cautiously, then his toes and, when he felt confident that he could feel his body again, he stretched towards the nightstand to feel for his glasses. As he reached out, a wave of nausea swept through him and it was all he could do to pick them up and rush for the bathroom, banging his big toe against the doorframe on the way, before being violently sick.

When he felt that the worst was behind him, he rinsed the sink – he hadn’t made it to the toilet – and looked up at his foggy reflection in the mirror. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and awkwardly placed his glasses on his nose, hands still trembling from the vivid dream and the more recent strain on his body.

It was not unusual for him to be sick after one of these nightmares: in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he had walked around without a cloud of nausea in the pit of his stomach. He had got used to it, though. It was, he thought, his new normal. He looked at his reflection and frowned.

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Boy Who Lived Again …

“The Boy Who Won’t Fucking Die!” he spat at the innocent mirror.

His frustration boiling over, he punched the glass with as much force as he could muster. It must have been enough because cracks appeared from the point of impact and the pain in his hand was certainly real. After taking a few ragged breaths, he reluctantly dragged his fist away, warm, red blood dripping into the sink. He half-smiled as he looked at the wound: physical pain was always a relief compared to his inner turmoil. He had become accustomed to these outbursts when he was on his own, even relied on them to keep his mind connected to reality. Why not, when all you need to do is …

“Tergeo,” he murmured, observing with morbid fascination as fragments of broken glass magically removed themselves from his knuckles and his blood started to coagulate.

He had become frighteningly good at wandless healing spells as he never seemed to have his wand ready when his outbursts occurred. Perhaps that’s a good thing, he mused.

He looked up at his reflection, now fractured and uneven, trying to calm his breathing.

Neither can live while the other survives. Trelawney’s voice rattled, unwanted, in his head.

Voldemort’s dead, he told himself for what felt like the hundredth time. Doesn’t that mean I should, I don’t know, be able to live? So why does it feel like I’m just surviving, even more than when I was tied to him? He swallowed with difficulty as the question that kept painfully pressing on his chest formed in his mind: Who am I without him?

The thought of having no answer to that question – or worse, that the answer was that he was nothing at all – was terrifying. A fresh wave of nausea threatened to take over again when a familiar snarl cut through it.

“Who do you think you are, Potter?” His last name was all but spat out with utter disgust. “Wait until they realise you’re not the perfect hero they think you are.”

Harry smiled at the memory of his teenage nemesis confidently taunting him in the safe corridors of Hogwarts, leaving him with an unexplained sense of … Longing, he realised, surprising himself.

“Well, there’s a first …” he said, shaking his head.

A sense of longing was not something he would ever have associated with, well, Malfoy. But so much had happened, and those taunts now had a comforting, almost homely, quality to them. And anyway, he knew deep down that Malfoy had always annoyingly hit the nail on the head when it came to understanding Harry’s insecurities, although he would never have acknowledged it as a teenager, of course. But now was different. He was no longer a child and he would be damned if he couldn’t admit it to himself, alone in his bathroom.

“You’re right, Malfoy,” he said slowly, staring to his broken reflection. “Who the hell am I?”

The nightmare came into focus again, and although it seemed to be slipping away as quickly as it had reappeared, he clung desperately onto the panicked voice, the painful scream, the flicker of blond hair, the outstretched hand and those haunted grey eyes.

Malfoy had always managed to ignite a fire in him, even when his energy seemed wholly depleted – and even if that fire was anger and hate, it was better than the emptiness he now felt, so he held on to the memory with more purpose this time and let his emotions swirl up. To his surprise, however, he didn’t manage to feel the same heart-wrenching hatred he was so used to associating with the boy, and his dream gave way to a real memory this time. Of Harry on his knees, his face distorted by Hermione’s stinging hex, staring into those all-too-familiar grey eyes that looked just as terrified as he felt. He remembered the silent understanding that had travelled between them as Malfoy lied to his father and Bellatrix. The glimmer of certainty he had felt at the time hardened and settled in his middle.

Malfoy had known it was him. He must have.

The unexpected look of disgust the boy had given his father that day flashed before his eyes, and he felt a sudden and overwhelming spark of curiosity.

“Why did you do it?” he whispered.

And that was that: he had to know. He was going to see the bastard even if it was the last thing he did. A thrill of excitement flooded his body. There was finally something he wanted to do. He tried not to linger on the fact that that something had everything to do with his second worst enemy and instead focused on what to do about it.

First, he had to find out when Malfoy’s trial was. Something in the back of his mind told him he already knew, but however much he racked his tired brain, it kept eluding him. It seemed that his short-term memory had been an unfortunate casualty of the War, in addition to his sanity and already limited sense of self-worth.

He looked up at the old clock on the bathroom cupboard, feeling his shoulders tense. Shit, it was only three thirty, not a decent enough time to wake anyone up, let alone a friend. He would have to wait.

Filled with a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in weeks, he descended the narrow staircase to the basement kitchen – there was no way he was going to sleep again tonight – and made a strong cup of tea whilst cursing himself for forgetting something as important as the War Trials and Malfoy’s testimony.

******

The wall he was leaning against was humid and the cold air penetrating, but it was much better than last time, at least. He smiled to himself, his breath forming a cloud in front of him. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but he knew that time in this place made no sense anyway. The only indication of its passage was how long his toenails had grown since the last time he’d looked down at his bare feet. There was no apparent source of light in the room, but there was an ever-present ghostly glow, barely enough for him to see the long strands of his black hair, but sufficient to feel his way around and make out that there were no openings anywhere. No doors, no windows.

The only objects in the room were a bucket, which would be magically emptied when its repulsive contents started to overflow, and a bowl of soup and crust of bread, which would materialise on the floor in one of the corners of the room. Which corner, however, seemed to be decided entirely at random and he could not discern a pattern to the sporadic arrival of the disgusting yet life-sustaining pittance.

Sometimes, it was hard to know which way was up or down in this place, so he always sat in one of the corners to give himself as much grounding as possible. He had learned the hard way to avoid the centre of the room at all costs: if he spent too long there, he knew he would lose himself forever. The swirling and hissing of the sea wind through every small crack in the walls, floor and ceiling only added to the very intentional sense of disorientation. Everything was made to make its inhabitant feel utterly powerless. Yet, his smile broadened.

*

Home, but not home. Lost. Alone. Where to go? The One must hide. Must hide. In the walls. Yes, the One knows how to hide. Others will come to find the One. Wait. Patience. But the One is hungry, so very hungry …

******

Harry had been pacing his living room for the best part of four hours when he felt confident enough to fire-call The Burrow. He knew Molly would be up already, busying herself in the kitchen, and he couldn’t wait any longer. As expected, she was putting breakfast on the table when his head popped into the fireplace, and she jumped.

“Sorry, Molly,” he mumbled as she waved her wand to repair the broken plate. “I should have owled …”

He regretted his words immediately when her face turned from surprise to disappointment. “Oh, Harry, what do you mean, you should have owled? This is your home too, you know?” She crouched in front of the fireplace and gave him the most motherly look only Molly Weasley could muster. “I don’t understand why you don’t just stay with us, dear. Why would you want to live on your own in that horri—”

“Is Hermione around?” he asked before she could launch into her now-customary tirade about his living arrangements, which always managed to put him in an even fouler mood than usual.

If she was offended by the interruption, she didn’t show it. “Yes dear, I believe she’s in the bathroom. Would you like me to tell her you called?”

He breathed out in relief, grateful she hadn’t invited him for breakfast this time.

“Yes, please. Thanks. It’s … er … quite urgent. Nothing bad, though,” he added quickly when her eyes widened to the size of two small saucepans.

He should have realised that, to other wizards and witches, “urgent” meant something very different coming from Harry Potter, namely that the end of the world was looming. He bit his tongue, trying to contain his irritation and managed an uncomfortable smile. “Speak soon, then,” he said, before disappearing without waiting for a reply.

Cold guilt seeped through him as soon as he pulled out of his fireplace.

“Why the hell is it so difficult?” he burst out to the empty room, kicking the foot of the coffee table in frustration.

He stared at a patch of burnt wallpaper, waiting for an answer. When it stubbornly stared back at him, refusing to help, he let himself fall onto the old, smelly sofa, his eyes drifting around the room. It was just as dusty, dark and uninviting as it had been when the place had been the Headquarters of the Order, when Lupin and Sirius … His thoughts stopped abruptly there as he felt his throat tighten with the strain of containing a sob. So, for lack of anything better to do, he closed his eyes.

He must have drifted off into a dreamless sleep, because he was suddenly awoken by the sound of someone cursing and kicking their way out of his fireplace, rubbing the top of a bright red mop of hair.

“Why is it so bloody low?” groaned a familiar voice.

“Ron? What are you doing here? I asked for …” He felt suddenly awkward.

“Er, yeah … right. Hermione thought this would be a good opportunity for us to, you know … speak. You don’t have to, though.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily. “It’s a girl thing, they think you have to talk about everything to know you’re still friends and stuff.” He chuckled but it didn’t quite make his eyes. “I know you’ll talk when you’re ready, mate. I just didn’t want Hermione to think I wasn’t trying hard enough … You know what I mean, right?” he added with a look begging for understanding.

Harry knew exactly what he meant. Since the start of his new relationship with Hermione, Ron had become both more and less confident in equal measure, which should have meant that nothing had changed, but that wasn’t how it had worked out. He seemed to have gained confidence in certain areas and lost it entirely in others. From Ron’s uncomfortable shifting from one large foot to the other, apparently Harry had become one of the latter.

“That’s okay …” Harry managed. Although, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t really want to discuss what was on his mind with Ron right now. That was exactly why he’d asked for Hermione in the first place. Unfortunately, there was no calling one without the other these days, as she spent most of her time at The Burrow.

And now, Ron was standing in his living room, eying the sofa longingly; he was not an early riser by any stretch and was fighting a wide yawn. He glanced nervously at Harry, and, after a second’s deliberation, sat down. He seemed relaxed, but Harry noticed that he had sat as far away from him as possible, a small reminder of the unspoken awkwardness that now floated between them. He wasn’t sure when or what had started it, but their friendship, which used to be as simple as breathing, had slowly become a frustrating maze.

Just as Harry’s insides started to smoulder like embers, a flash of green light appeared in the fireplace and a groggy-looking Hermione walked out, putting a shaky hand on the mantelpiece.

“I will never get used to travelling by Floo,” she croaked, with more vehemence than she could physically manage.

Ron jumped as though on fire and gently led her to the sofa.

“Thanks,” she said, gazing up at him with so much love Harry felt he had to look away, but couldn’t quite bring himself to, in some sort of masochistic way. And there it was again, brewing in him … That dark cloud of anger and emptiness he’d become so familiar with.

He had to say something, anything, to distract himself. He couldn’t be that person who wouldn’t be happy for his best friends, for the people without whom he wouldn’t have survived … but, as loneliness clung to him like a leech, all he managed was an awkward smile and a cough.

Using what could only be referred to as a sixth sense, Hermione turned a worried look in his direction.

“Er, Ron, love, could you make us tea please?” she asked, flashing a smile at her oblivious boyfriend.

Only too happy to be doing something useful for her, Ron nodded and left for the kitchen with an air of pride and determination that forced an affectionate smile out of Harry despite his dark thoughts.

Hermione quickly closed the distance between them, looking miserable. “I’m so sorry Harry. He’s been so keen to see you … and I couldn’t face telling him you’d asked to speak to me first …”

“It’s okay … I understand.”

“So … why did you call me?” she asked, her over-eagerness palpable.

He supposed it had been a while since he had contacted them. Looking at her genuine, caring face, he almost wanted to lie, tell her that all he wanted was to spend time with his best friend, but he knew she wouldn’t believe him, not after everything… He settled on the truth and, in any event, he couldn’t hold the question any longer.

“I, er … When’sMalfoy’strial?” he blurted out all at once.

Given the shock now written on her face, it was clear she had had several theories about his reason for calling, and Draco Malfoy’s trial date had not been one of them. “Er, on the first of June I think.”

Harry suppressed a smile at her awkward recovery before the weight of realisation fell into his stomach like a cold stone. “That’s … only two days away, isn’t it?”

He remembered now. Kingsley had told him about it, a week or so after the end of the War, but he hadn’t given it much thought then, not with everything else going on. And a month had seemed like a lifetime away – what with having died and been resurrected all in the space of an hour. Still, how had he lost track of time like this?

Hermione was frowning when he looked up after what must have been a suspicious amount of time.

“Why do you ask?” she queried cautiously. “I thought that after what happened last time, you’d want to avoid the Ministry at all costs …”

He shrugged, trying to keep his voice casual and hide the undeniable thrill of excitement combined with cold dread he was now feeling. “Just curious.”

He must have done a poor job of it because she looked less than convinced, but her next question, if there was to be one, went unasked when a beaming Ron came barging into the room with a tray of steaming cups of tea and biscuits.

They sat in silence for the next ten minutes, Ron lying on the rug and playing with the worn-out tassels, trying to avoid Harry’s eyes. Although they were used to silence – you didn’t go through life and death together without it – it was not the comfortable type they had once enjoyed, and they all knew it. There was an uneasy quality to it that made Harry shift in his seat and Hermione fidget with her jumper, until Ron couldn’t take it anymore and awkwardly rose to his feet, looked around the room and said something about promising a game of Quidditch to Ginny and George.

“You know how he is now … I need to keep my promises, however small …”

Although Harry knew all too well it wasn’t the only reason Ron wanted to leave barely after arriving, he understood completely. There was no need to remind him of the gaping hole Fred had left behind, or of Ginny’s broken heart, both of which were because of him.

And there it was again. That cloud of cold, seeping anger. Why was Ron not screaming at him?

“’Course, Ron.” He forced a smile. “Give them my … erm … best.”

Somehow love didn’t seem like the appropriate word to use right now, at least as far as Ginny was concerned. His friend returned the smile with what looked like relief and turned his gaze to Hermione, who was still staring at Harry, clutching her empty cup.

“You go first. I don’t play Quidditch anyway,” she said in a tone that didn’t leave room for negotiation.

From Ron’s pained expression, it was clear he wanted nothing more than to negotiate, but years of knowing her had taught him it was a lost cause, so he merely sighed and placed his own half-empty cup on the tray. He turned around, waving an awkward hand at Harry and throwing a casual “see you soon mate” in the mix, and then vanished into the fireplace.

Harry stared at the vacant spot Ron had occupied a few seconds ago, his shoulders tense, and waited for whatever Hermione had to say, but what came next was not the torrent of questions he had expected.

“You’re thinking of going, aren’t you? To testify, I mean … You know you don’t owe him anything, right?”

He could feel her eyes boring into him and he knew her well enough to know that it was taking every ounce of her self-restraint to wait for his answer, but when Hermione was determined, there was no stopping her. If he didn’t say something, they would be there for hours, and he had other things to do now that he knew Malfoy’s trial was only two days away. Plus, he could feel the cloud of anger gathering dangerously in his chest at her tone and didn’t want one of his outbursts to rear its ugly head – then she would definitely think he was mental, and that was not what he needed. What he needed was to speak to Kingsley, now.

He looked up at her, unblinking and hoping with everything he had that he would be convincing enough to end the discussion. “He didn’t rat us out when he could’ve. It’s only fair I return the favour by telling the truth, don’t you think?” Although his reply had come out a bit harsher than he had intended, she seemed to have been ready for worse and, to Harry’s disappointment pressed on.

“Is it really just that? Because you know what you’ll be putting yourself through by going there … What if it happens again? And” – she hesitated, not meeting his eyes – “it's only Malfoy …”

The tight lid he had been keeping on himself went flying in an instant.

“Just stop, Hermione, please. I know you’re trying to help but it’s not helping. I know what I can and can’t handle, okay?” He struggled to keep his voice even. “I died and still managed to come back to life, so I’m pretty sure I can handle a few ministry officials, The Daily Prophet and a former Death Eater, thank you very much! And YES, I AM SURE”, he bellowed at her dubious expression, “DESPITE WHAT HAPPENED LAST TIME! I WON’T LOSE IT!”

That, he thought, had definitely come out harsher than he had intended, particularly as he was now standing with his hands balled up in fists, plainly demonstrating her point, but he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t want to act like he wasn’t angry and he trusted Hermione to be strong enough to take it.

“I know you can make decisions for yourself, Harry, and I understand why you’re angry with them, but I’m your friend. And I know you … I …erm … I know.” She overemphasised the word in a tone that reminded him instantly of how she had sounded when teaching Ron to levitate a feather in what now felt like another life. “I know why you really want to do this, and honestly, I’m worried about you!”

“Well, you don’t need to be!” he replied, instinct taking over. “And what the hell do you mean by ‘I know why you really want to do this’? Oh yeah,” he added, sarcasm quivering in his voice, “the famous ‘Harry Potter Hero Complex.’ They should really coin the term and add it to the Magical Dictionary of Unwanted Afflictions of the Mind, don’t you think?”

He was starting to shout again, part of him aware that he was taking it too far, that he was being unfair, but he was just pleased with himself for not having punched the sofa already.

“I didn’t mean that, Harry ... Forget I said anything. I just thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong!” He cut off with more confidence than he felt.

Part of him was curious about what exactly Hermione had thought she knew. He wasn’t entirely sure he knew why attending the Trials was suddenly so important he had had to fire-call his friend at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning, with no preamble despite not having so much as said “hi” to her for the past two weeks. His pride would not let him back down now, though, and he had succeeded in pushing her into silence, so he was not prepared to lose the advantage.

Apparently resigned that she wouldn’t get anything else out of him, and perhaps a little scared he would start yelling at her again, Hermione left shortly after, giving him one last half-frustrated, half-apologetic look, as if she could not quite make up her mind which emotion would win.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, the dark walls closing in around him.

“Two days,” he whispered to the empty room.

*****

Today was not a good day, not that any day was particularly good here, but this one was definitely one of the worst ones so far. He had woken up with a dead arm and had tried to move it back into life, when he realised that two of the fingers of his left hand had frozen stiff overnight. He kicked the empty bowl across the floor. It bounced against the opposite corner, spinning for a few moments until it slowly settled on the floor. To his frustration, there was barely any sound, no satisfying clatter – just a dull thud, muffled by the hissing of the constant wind. There was something different today, though: the air was even colder than usual. He looked up towards the dark ceiling and squinted. There was no use, however; he knew it. The ceiling looked just as foggy as the rest of this box. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, running a hand through his greasy black hair.

Now, where was I? he thought. Oh yes … half an adder’s tongue, one portion of Galanthus Nivalis, two inches of Boomslang skin (fresh), four drops of unicorn blood, stir clockwise with a wooden spoon on high heat until the contents dissipate into a dark blue liquid, add three live beetles and an ounce of powdered sage, stir ag—

He stopped and his eyes flew open as he felt a presence in the room. He knew that wasn’t possible though, and yet …

“Who’s there?” he said out loud, not recognising his own voice. His throat hurt from being used suddenly after so long. No one answered.

Maybe I am starting to lose it? he thought, as his eyes darted around the empty grey box.

*

Finally. Tasty food. The One’s favourite food. Desire. Must be prudent. The One cannot be found … Just a taste maybe? The Others will not know.

END OF CHAPTER 1 :)

If you liked it - Read Part 1 of Allegiance in full on AO3 ;) Part 2 is ready and I'll start posting in a few days! Hope you enjoy! https://archiveofourown.org/works/33585556/chapters/83455573

[missdawnandherdusk]

Call It What You Want

Draco X Gryffindor!Reader

Part One    Part Two    Part Three

Summary: The other shoe drops and you weren’t ready. 

A/n: Look at me posting twice in one day. Who am I? I don’t know. I love you guys and hope you enjoy some angst and pining. Let me know what you think! Please it means the world to me!

Tags: @un-limiteddd @geekysimmerthings​ @coffee-addicti​ @ilikestuffproductions​ @msmcsmutt​ @ravn-87​ @artemismohr18​ @whygz​ @crazywritingbug​ @dolphincommander​ @bisexualbumblebeesstuff​ @fuzzy-panda​ @bitemebro522​ @zombiesnips-blog​ @jillanaholland​ @shookyungsoo​

Draco’s feeling towards you started to morph from hatred and disgust to curiosity. You were almost too cryptic for his liking... it was too Slytherin for a Gryffindor.

So, he started to watch you a bit closer, learning your schedule and what you did or didn’t do. Most of the time he was left alone because you were in the Gryffindor Tower. He only assumed that it was the location that you studied in because you were never in the library other than to check out books.

Each day he found out nothing more than circling answers and more questions. It frustrated him He was the best at everything except knowing how you worked. Potter was easy, Hermione and Ron even more so, but you were a force to be reckoned with and he hated it.

“I want her kicked out Father! You don’t understand, she’s making a fool of the Slytherin house and our name!” Draco paced as he spoke to his father.

It was the only answer that he could find. Send you away and he wouldn’t have to wonder any longer. His father could easily get you kicked out.

“And on what grounds do you actually have against her?” His father mused.

“Endangerment of students! She almost took down Snape’s entire potions class! She’s a Lupine father! What else do you need!?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” His father stood, “But in the meantime, I must commend you on your excelling in your studies. Very good,”

The last thing that Draco was going to do was tell his father that you were the reason that he was doing better in his classes. To beat you, he had to be smarter and ahead.

__________________________

“He’s going to realize what you’re doing,” Hermione muttered. “Or at least the teachers are,”

I chuckled and put down my notes where I had resorted to drawing instead of writing and rolled my eyes. It was hard to talk about my Malfoy scheme because I had to be careful about what I said around Harry and Ron.

“I don’t think they’re going to complain that he’s getting better grades to spite me Hermione,” I pointed out.

“Are you ever going to tell him?”

“Ha. No.” I shook my head. “He wouldn’t believe me.”

“Did your mother ever answer you?” She shifted the conversation slightly as more students passed.

“Yes, and no.” I muttered and pulled the letter out of my bag and handed it to her.

~

My Dear Y/n,

I’m sorry that you are having trouble with the Malfoys. I had hoped to keep you from it, but it seems like not everything can be prevented. As for what to do about Draco, I can only tell you to follow your heart my dear. You were always so kind and strong, don’t be swayed. Stand firm in what you know.

I also want to remind you that the young Malfoy was not raised how you were. His father is distant and cold and his mother even more so. I did my best to raise you without high expectations, and that’s all he’s ever had. Do not blame him for his harsh exterior. Find his heart my dear. Do what you do best and find what truly matters.

Have courage and be kind,

Love, Momma

~

“Wow,” Hermione raised her eyebrows. “That’s...”

“I know,” I complained. “I thought I was going to get some hate letter against the Malfoys, and I get this! What am I supposed to do with this!” I slumped against the table.

“Well, your mother did say to find out who Malfoy really is... if there is more under the malice and evil.” Hermione muttered.

“Did you get a letter from your mom?” Ron asked as the boys sat down in the Great Hall. Hermione and I exchanged a look as I shoved the letter back into my bag.

“Yeah, she just gave me some advice about what to do about a boy,” I lied easily—well, it wasn’t a total lie.

“You like someone!” Ron was delighted.

I gave him a flat look and he simmered down.

“It’s between my mother and I,” I narrowed my eyes at the boys.

“And Hermione,” Ron mumbled.

_________________________

Draco couldn’t help it. He overheard you talking about the letter from your mother and Ron exclaiming about you liking someone.

Who had caught your eye? He wondered. Maybe it was Krum after all. He did come out in first in the first challenge. His hatred for Krum grew a little more as another question was added into his mess of who you were. He couldn’t wait until you were kicked out. It would solve everything.

“I’m going to get her expelled,” He stated matter of factly to his table.

“How are you going to do that?” Crabbe asked.

“Are you talking about Lupine again?” Pansy scoffed. “Get a life Malfoy.”

His eyes met yours, and there was a small smile at your lips. Something friendly. Little did he know that it caused him to smile back.

How long was he going to live in denial? The voice in his head asked There’s something different about her and you know it, the voice chided.

You are above her, his father’s voice reminded him. You are chosen. You must achieve greatness.

Draco shoved both voices away and watched you slyly through the rest of dinner.

Rain turned to snow as December settled onto Hogwarts. Draco spent the night studying in his dorm room for Snape’s final that was coming soon. A tapping on his window interrupted him. It was an owl with a letter for him. The owl was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it as he took the letter and sent the owl off.

~

Malfoy, Draco,

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I should be studying for Snape’s final. But... here I am. 

I wanted to say thank you I’m sorry I understand how

My mother sent me a letter. I spoke to her about you, and our feud. She took me to America so that I wouldn’t be caught up in it, but I guess that plan backfired. I don’t want to fight you. Not really.

I want to say that were more alike than we care to admit, but then that would be admitting it.

Good luck on Snape’s final. If you want help, let me know.

Y/n

~

He stared at the letter, the scratched-out words in anger and frustration, and he wondered what possessed you to send this to him. This was different. This was new.

You were kind. He knew that, of course, but this was the first time you had been kind to him directly. It was jarring.

He was tempted to throw the letter into the fire and forget about it. He wanted to make fun of you for writing it and never let you live it down. Kindness was weak. Kindness lost the game. But were you playing the game anymore? Did he want to play anymore?

You are a Malfoy. His father’s voice scolded. You will do as I say and uphold the family name. 

He folded the letter and tucked it under his pillow.

___________________________

Penelope, my screech owl, returned with nothing to say, but she wanted a bit of food for her travels. I gave her the end of my stock of her treats and she twittered before heading off to the Owlery.

Not that I expected anything. All I had to do was be kind and have courage. My mother was right about that.

Friday came again and during study hall Professor Snape came up to my table and requested my presence in his office. I wanted to argue, but my eye caught Draco’s and the look on his face let me know that this had something to do with him, and that worried me. What had Draco done?

I followed Snape to his office where McGonagall sat as well. This couldn’t be good. My anxiety spiked as I took a seat and awaited my fate.

“Miss Lupine,” McGonagall began. “It has come to our attention that you and Mr. Malfoy are in a sort of constant duel,” She spoke calmly.

“Duel? She almost took out half the Potions class!” Snape hissed, glaring me down.

“I didn’t,” I muttered. “And Draco had a hand in that too. Why isn’t he in here?” I pressed.

“He did not have a complaint raised against him by a concerned parent.” McGonagall spoke with her eyes.

Draco really told on me... to his dad?

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered. “What? Does he want me expelled? So that Draco can just coast through life? And never have a challenge? Never get any better?”

“Get better?” McGonagall mused, something hidden in her eyes. Oh, she knew my game. Maybe that’s what this meeting was about.

“Draco is... very proud.” I began, looking at my lap. “He won’t ask for help in his academics... but give him someone to beat and...”

“And he’ll do anything to beat her.” McGonagall raised her eyebrows at Snape. “I told you, this was nothing more than healthy competition. Y/n wouldn’t endanger anyone,”

“Never,” I was appalled. “This is because I’m endangering people? I would never put anyone in danger.” I looked to Snape, pleas in my eyes. “You have to believe that, after being with me all year. I wouldn’t take it that far,”

He pursed his lips and found resolve.

“I suppose you are right,” He sighed. “Be careful Miss Lupine, you are under watch now.”

I nodded and stood, taking my bag. Walking down the hall, I was fighting tears. I had maybe ten minutes to get to Hagrid’s for Care for Mythical Creatures and I was going to be late. Not that I was concerned.

Hurt flooded my senses at the thought of Draco wanting me expelled. I thought that maybe I was getting through to him... that maybe something could work out and then...

It made my stomach drop.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Pansy from Slytherin grabbed my shoulder and yanked me around in my fervor.

The students nearby stopped to watch us.

“I was going to class,” I righted my robe and glared her down, trying to keep from crying in front of her. “Did I miss something? Is there a reason you’re assaulting me this morning?”

“What are you doing to Draco?” She ignored my question completely.

“What do you mean what am I doing!? What I’ve been doing for the past four years, why do you care!?” I screeched, clenching my fists.

“No this isn’t whatever has been happening in the past and you know that. Now what game are you playing you filthy little whore?”

My eyes widened in surprise as I gaped at her.

“Excuse me?” I demanded drawing my wand. “What did you just call me?”

“What you are.” She drew her own wand. “You’re playing with his head like you’re some Slytherin. Stay in your lane you little bitch!”

A list of spells ran through my head, none of them very nice. As I opened my mouth to cast the worst one that I could think of, I caught sight of familiar blue eyes pushing through the crowd and I stopped. He looked hurt and confused.

Was I doing that to him? What was he doing to me? Was this a set up?

“It’s not worth it,” I muttered to myself putting my wand away to the disappointment of the crowd.

Turning, I went to head to class. Then I heard Pansy cast her spell. I dropped quickly, dodging the spell but when I looked back, I realized I didn’t have to.

Draco was between Pansy and me... protecting me...? 

“Pansy what are you doing?” He hissed.

“Taking care of your problem for you!” She snarled. “I’m tired of hearing you constantly rant about her! She’s nothing Draco! Nothing compared to you or me! She’s a pathetic excuse for a pure blood,”

Something was different hearing it from her mouth instead of Draco’s. Draco has to hate me... Pansy said it on her own accord. My gaze dropped to the floor.

“She better than every wizard in this school and you know that,” Draco hissed. “I always knew you were a jealous bitch.”

“Draco,” I chided softly. 

The crowd around us grew, hanging into every word said. 

“Shut up,” he muttered. “Get out of here Pansy,” Draco sneered. “And leave Y/n alone,”

Pansy looked cornered before she fled the other way. Draco started to leave too but I grabbed his arm.

“Oh no you don’t,” I snapped. “What the hell Malfoy?” My voice shook and tears threatened to spill. “Why are you doing this to me? You try to get me expelled then you come and play hero!?”

“Doing it to you!? What about what you’re doing to me!?” He demanded. “What game are you playing here Y/n!?”

“I’m not playing! Don’t you see that!? I’m tired of playing the game! The feud! I’m tired of it, Draco,” tears did start to fall. “Can’t you see that?” My voice broke as I trailed off and for once, I ran away from a fight.

.

.

Part 5

[mylifeontheline]

This was written by @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover, not me, btw.

---------

“Potter.”

Harry tilts his head, meeting Draco’s eyes. Ice grey - and they glint blue.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I think people are still calling it reading.” Harry holds out his book - a bulky, borrowed issue of Engines and How To Build Them’. Awful, darned mechanics. “But I’m not so sure about you.”

Draco fights the urge to snap back something rude, and instead sits down next to the shorter boy - who scoots to give him space, but only metaphorically, which basically implies he ends up squeezed next to Harry uncomfortably.

Of course, he doesn’t budge.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Draco asks instead, frowning.

“Oh, did I forget my trousers again -” Harry begins, in a perfectly earnest deadpan, but Draco holds a straight face long enough for him to shut up. 

“You’re not playing?” Draco rephrases, pursing his lips. He’s not worried - he’s impatient, that’s more accurate. It’s the time. Every minute he spends in here is a minute not spent warming up. And he can’t choose a subdued-looking Potter over warm-up for inter-college football semifinals. 

Except for that he already has.

Harry crosses his arms, in obvious reluctance to admit it. “So?”

“Nothing.” Draco raises his eyebrows. “Coach McGonagall didn’t drop you, did she?”

“Of course not.” Harry lets out a huff, closing the book he’d stopped paying attention to a long time ago. Dumping it next to him on the bench - which, yes, camping out with a physics textbook in the boys’ locker room wasn’t the best idea he’s ever had, but leave him alone, this is his thinking space - he gets up.

Grunts in pain as he does, and in a second,  Draco’s on him - stunned, as Harry leans his weight away from his left leg, onto Draco.

“It’s my stupid ankle.”

“Let me -” Draco starts to bend to check out the injury but Harry grabs his shoulder, and hoists him back up. 

“Not if you don’t want me falling on you.” He warns, serious. “And plus, I’ve been to the ER.” Draco’s eyes widen, so he rushes to reassure him. “You know what Hermione’s like. Trust me, I’m fine.”

“Of course.” Draco lets out, still trying to figure out the injury through an X-ray vision he doesn’t quite possess. Harry notices the obvious interest the blond takes, and barely resists a smile in pointing it out. 

“You’re pre-med, Malfoy. Not a doctor.” 

“Enough of one to not break my ankle being stupid.” Draco returns, and it’s paired with a smug look.

Harry falters - never having seen the familiar smirk this close, which brings attention to the fact that he’s still standing - leaning on Draco, while there’s a perfectly good bench a metre away, and he makes a move towards it.

Draco helps him easily, and he lands with a soft ah. “Wasn’t being stupid.” Harry tells him. “That’s more up your alley.”

“And idiot’s yours. Well, what were you doing?”

“It’s not important.”

“Of course it isn’t.” Draco rolls his eyes. “What is it?”

“I -” Harry bites his lip, for the first time showing any signs of embarrassment. Draco’s surprised - intrigued - but he doesn’t let it show.

“Yes?”

“Not important.” Harry repeats, slumping again. Draco sighs.

“Look, I have a game.” Draco points out, jerking a thumb towards the field. “And if I show up distracted because I’m thinking about you being stupid, and we lose - it’s on you.”

He doesn’t deign to add that the chances of that happening were infinitesimal, because he’s gotten used to playing football - and doing most things, really - with Harry on his mind, but it’s probably best that he doesn’t.

“Fine. Bugger.” Harry adds, earning another pleased smirk from the other. Oh, did he have to be so infuriatingly good at smirking? “I was practising climbing a wall.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You were - what?”

Harry doesn’t repeat himself - instead choosing to stare back Draco’s laugh with all the defiance he can muster. It isn’t much.

“Why?”

To see if I could drop off a card on your study table without you knowing it’s from me, Harry does not say. So I could ask you out without having to look you in your ridiculous face, he definitely doesn’t say.

“None of your business.” He chooses to respond with, and Draco blinks singularly.

“Potter, you climbing a wall terribly definitely sounds like my business.”

“Doesn’t, to me.” Harry challenges, their eyes locking in a longheld stare that causes butterflies in both their stomachs - painfully unknown to the other.

The moment slowly passes, almost easing into a comfortable sort of a silence - until the door to the locker room swings open and their teammates start swarming in, most of them larger than Draco or Harry, and talking loudly. Consciously, Harry scoots over further - the space between them now, glaring.

Draco squints at him as the room fills up, most of the players ignoring the two freshmen. “You’re weirder than I thought, Potter.”

Harry levels him with another look. It lingers.

(They’ve known each other since sixth grade - been parts of opposite cliques since. Academic rivalry, carried forward to the field, and onwards to just about everything. They’ve been each other’s arch nemeses, all the way uptill they ended up in the same college - and realized belatedly, and separately, that there might be something more than hatred between them. They do still try to proceed as though they’re highschool seniors fighting over extra credit - and fail spectacularly at it, ending up each time one step closer to friends. 

Or boyfriends.)

Harry wouldn’t be able to frame it exactly like that, but he’d agree with the sentiment that he couldn’t possibly be any weirder than Draco’s already aware of - because there’s few things now, that they don’t know about each other.

“This way, Malfoy!” Wood yells, from the other side of the room, and Draco jerks back to reality. He gets up.

“I - I need to go.”

“I know.” Harry informs him, with a grin at the strange expression Draco wears.

“You could wait for me. If you want.” Draco adds hurriedly. “After the match - maybe. I could give you a lift to the dorm.”

“You do realize it’ll have to be more than just a lift in your car?” Harry teases, not even perceiving the flirtatious edge in his tone.

“Yes, of course. I planned to carry you over the stairs.” Draco answers promptly, and Harry can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “As long as you don’t insist on climbing every wall we pass, we’ll manage.” He adds, and Harry tries to look nonchalant as he rolls his eyes - but he strongly suspects he fails.

“Alright, Malfoy. I’ll wait.”

Draco beams. “See you then, Potter.”

“Try to focus on the game!” Harry shouts after him, as Draco joins the lineup of prayers marching out to the field to the backdrop of loud cheering from the crowd.

“If I want to play the finals with your stupid arse on our side, I’ll have to.” Draco reminds him, fixing his mask right after a smirk in Harry’s direction - leaving the latter in the locker room with his book, and at least kind of a date. 

Harry shrugs to himself. “I suppose you will.”