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#drarry drabbles
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Complex is us
"Do you think it'll work?"
It was a strange question to ask in absolute silence, out of nowhere.
"what would?" Draco questioned back.
"Us. Do you think it'll work?" Harry asked.
Draco looked at Harry curled to his own body as they sat on the branch of that oak tree. He wondered why Harry asked such a thing but truth be told with everything going on, he kind of understood where it came from.
Problem was, he didn't have the answer.
"What do you think?" Draco asked.
Harry shrugged. He turned a little so he could see Draco's face while entangled together. He gazed into his serene eyes and he realised he had no answer either.
"I think we can hold onto the hope that we work." Draco finally said.
Harry nodded his head, "Would be a shame if we didn't work out you know."
Draco chuckled softly, "would be a massive shame afterall not a lot of people go from being arch nemesis to idiots in love."
Harry smiled and nodded, "seems strange how it happened so fast, right?"
Draco nodded. He leaned his chin on top of Harry's head and stared into Harry's line of sight, "I think it was always supposed to be fast with us."
"what do you mean?" Harry asked
"It means, we can't have it simple, it's complex between us, always, it's always going to be hard for us, difficult, secretive so it can't be slow for us either."
Harry agreed, "We can't have non chaotic, soft kind of love. Somewhere feels like it'll always be secret, behind closed doors, in forests, secret hallways."
Draco agreed but after a while of silence he spoke up again, "but don't you ever wish that it wasn't that way?"
Harry smiled as he took Draco's hands in his own and kissed them, "Everyday, I wish for that everyday but if that's the kind of love we get then it's not ours. We are meant to have that complex love that works in a way you know because we make it work, because we love to make it work, because we love one another."
Draco smiled softly and kissed the top of Harry's head, "Complex is us."
Harry chuckled and nodded.
"But who knows in future," Harry shrugged.
Draco smiled, "maybe we'll have our own soft love outside these walls."
"Maybe we will."
And maybe it all worked out in the end..
After a long span of absence in a massively busy schedule, I posted once again. It's obviously not as good but my drarry fangirl had it coming. Until next time.
Tagging some of y'all for a boost, don't hesitate if you're uncomfortable with the tag <3 @phoebe-delia ​ @chinike ​ @thecornerofbelu @nv-md @cissa-bee @missdrarrydawn @littlebodybigheartttt @harryandginnydeservesbetter @draco-lucious-malfoy @textrovert-01 @inflation-of-mind @dearly-devoted-dawdler @drarrywords @loves-to-read-fanfic
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onbeinganangel · 2 years
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content: draco/harry, cutesy shit, fluff, getting together, alcohol, drunkenness, vomiting
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for @babooshkart, basically the strongest lass i did ever see. for my Tarot Card Drabbles series
[for easier reading:
Draco Malfoy’s Guide to Taming A Lion: 
Step one involves a drunk Harry Potter being sick on your brand new shoes, and you having to undress him in a way very different to all those sad fantasies you had in Year Six.
Step two includes a surprisingly domestic breakfast, and lots of awkward apologising. 
Steps three to seven are a bit of a blur: a combination of dinner dates, walks in the park, an embarrassing incident of coming-in-pants, and too many brown-paper-wrapped pastries sneakily left on your workdesk, at which stage you have tamed your lion, and there’s no going back.]
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Hello! To anyone new scrolling on here, below is the collection of short fics I have!
Almost every small fic I’ve written and posted on tumblr is in the link below!
I’m also working on writing a longer 8th year Drarry fic (background Ginny wlw ft Pansy and Luny) surrounding the mystery of the Maruader’s Map and coping with grief and anxiety.
Please follow me here and on A03 if you want to read more from me!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/39268245/chapters/98260920
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alcohen · 1 month
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His hand slips and before he knows it, he’s losing balance and falling, falling, falling. His heart thumps wildly in his throat as he tries to grab his broom, but it drifts out of reach. Bad luck, he thinks, bracing himself for impact, when, out of nowhere, he finds himself forcefully tugged upwards, the sudden movement almost dislocating his shoulder.
Above him, scared grey eyes.
“You idiot,” Malfoy spits out. “Absolute moron.”
Harry shifts in the air and manages to latch onto Malfoy’s broom.
“Thank you,” he breathes out, relief flooding his whole body. “I really didn’t fancy Skele-Gro tonight.”
“Fucking show-off,” Malfoy goes on as if Harry hasn’t said a word. “Next time, I’ll let you crack your head open.”
When they reach the ground, Harry repeats, “Thank you.”
“Don’t,” Malfoy snaps. “Just keep yourself alive, will you? Scared the living shit out of me. Bloody nutcase.”
The stream of insults continues, but Harry can’t listen anymore, because Malfoy’s cheeks are flushed, brows furrowed, and this is the ultimate proof that he cares. Without thinking, Harry takes a step forward and shuts him up with a kiss. The broom drops onto the grass somewhere beside them, and the world disappears.
This drabble is inspired by @littlewinnow's awesome art:
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orange-peony · 5 months
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Written for @flufftober with the prompt "fireplace".
A little wolfstar raising Harry, rated T.
“He’s so irritating.”
“Tell me about it,” Sirius says. “He’s my cousin Cissa’s son.”
“And he’s so bloody posh!”
“Language,” Remus chides gently from the kitchen, busy with Christmas preparations.
“The b word is not swearing,” Harry declares with a frown, then softly, to Sirius, “is it, Pads?”
“Nah,” Sirius says, waving his hand in dismissal. “Tell me more about that obnoxious Malfoy kid.”
*  ~  *
“And he’s so fucking annoying with his pointy face and his white-blond hair,” Harry says, scratching his arm where another mosquito bite is swelling up.
“Language!” Remus says, even though Sirius can’t even see him. His husband seems to have a special radar for swear words.
“Sorry,” Harry says, looking much less concerned than he probably should. Sirius feels a little guilty because he’s always swearing in front of Harry, but brushes it off as teenagers being teenagers. “And he’s just—so tall and so smart and so…”
“So?” Sirius asks with a frown.
“So irritatingly fit!”
“Wait, what?” 
*  ~  *
“Do you think they’re going to spend much longer snogging on the train platform?” Sirius asks with a resigned sigh.
Remus chuckles and wraps his arms around Sirius’s waist, pulling him closer.
“Summer is long when you’re seventeen,” Remus says calmly.
“But they’re going to see each other in a couple of days!” Sirius protests. “We’re dragging the brat to France with us on holiday.”
“If I recall correctly,” Remus starts, his voice like a caress on Sirius’s cheek. “The first time we parted for a couple of days, you cried and begged me to come and visit you at James’s house.”
“Oh, shut up,” Sirius replies grumpily.
He thinks a kiss is in order, at least to distract him from his godson being snogged within an inch of his life by a Malfoy.
*  ~  *
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sirius groans, covering his face with his hands and making Draco squeal in embarrassment.  
He supposes it’s kind of his fault. He should have probably sent his Patronus to Harry before Flooing straight to his kitchen. But Harry is his son. And he’s been living on his own for only a week, so Sirius was worried and wanted to check on him.
He wasn’t expecting to find Draco Malfoy making himself tea in Harry’s kitchen, wearing only Harry’s oversized hoodie and a pair of boxers.
Sirius covers his eyes and makes a disgruntled sound.
“I’m going to go grab my pyjama bottoms,” Draco says. “I’ve made enough tea for an army. Help yourself, Sirius.”
“It’s Mr Black-Lupin for you,” Sirius grumbles.
“Oh, stop being impossible, Pads,” Harry croaks, appearing by the kitchen door wearing just a pair of pants and a collection of love bites. “Morning, love. Thanks for making tea.”
*  ~  *
The fireplace roars to life as a green flame appears and Draco’s blond head pokes through.
“May I come in?” he asks, looking extremely nervous.
“Of course,” Remus says, uncrossing his legs and sitting up.
And Sirius should have known. He should have fucking known, because Draco send an official request to speak to him and Remus, written on the fanciest parchment Sirius has ever seen (and he grew up with a bunch of pure bloods). Draco is wearing the most dazzling formal robes, and he has a small, blue box clutched in his shaking hands. He looks like he’s about to be sick. He looks even paler than usual.
“I—I know you have your reservations about me, and rightfully so,” Draco starts, and Sirius is about to say well, of course, you little Harry-thief, but Remus places a hand on his thigh, and Sirius just exhales and listens. “But I love Harry with all my heart. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him, and I promise I will spend the rest of my life trying to make him the happiest man on earth. So, please, I know I’m asking you an awful lot, but…”
“Can we say no?” Sirius asks, but Remus pokes him in the ribs.
“Of course, you can marry Harry,” Remus says with a warm smile, and Draco starts crying straight away, looking at Sirius, waiting for his approval.
Sirius sighs.
He should have seen this coming.
He really should have.
“Fine,” he grumbles. “But I reserve the right to tease you both mercilessly and to swear in front of your kids.”
“Deal,” Draco says with the brightest grin.
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phoebe-delia · 5 months
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I Have Never Been Loved Like This Before
Title from the song "Rock Me Gently" by Andy Kim. CW: very very minor injury
Scorpius will know gentle hands waking him in the morning. He will know lullabies sung low and soft in his ear. He'll have careful fingers sealing the bandage on his knees, and lips pressing a healing kiss to his injured skin. He'll wear colorful, soft clothes, have dozens of storybooks, and cuddle with plenty of stuffed animal friends to keep nightmares at bay. He'll never have a rotten Christmas or a lonely birthday. He'll want for nothing, but he'll never take it for granted.
"But most of all," Harry whispered to the pink-cheeked infant in Draco's arms, "I promise, that we will never let you know what it's like to feel unloved. "
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byanteros · 9 months
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post-mortem photographs [hpdm]
synopsis: when harry volunteers for the ministry mandated search and seizure of dark pureblood properties, he doesn't expect to be met with a memory in a picture.
content: rated mature, angst, major character death, harry is sad but he's also numb, draco is adorable, unhealthy coping mechanisms, slight dissociation, symptoms of ptsd (referring to the war and harry's childhood), post second wizarding war, no explicit romance; heavily inspired by @longdaytogo 's art and blurb
word count: 3k
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harry is suddenly hit by vicious unease the instant he steps foot inside the grounds of the manor. he is still unaware of the true reasonings behind his wanting to take part in the ministry ordered cleanup and seizures of dark pureblood residences. the war just ended, and yet he’s still fighting.
“it’s not healthy,” is what hermione told him, but harry doesn’t think he cares very much about that at the moment. he wants the opposite of it, really—he doesn’t want the time to be able to think.
he vaguely registers the path he took just a few months ago as he goes up the malfoy manor. despite the lack of death eaters and carnage, somehow, harry feels more dreadful walking up the steps.
his breathing is fairly normal, not the ragged ones he took as he was brought as prisoner. it’s a sunny day with clear skies, and he’s wearing dry shoes and clean clothes.
still, he feels like escaping, apparating himself out of this stained property, just to isolate himself and have a good cry. but if he does that, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop. so he continues walking.
as he walks up the spiralled stairs and down the long corridors, it hits harry that not only is he in the place where voldemort took residence for a year or so, but he is also where malfoy spent his childhood in—the malfoy ancestral home.
the eerie quiet is interrupted by the sound of a crying child, followed by murmured hushes from a corridor further up the walkway. harry moves towards the sound and is greeted by a long line of portraits, all old and dead. they glare at him and immediately disappear into their paintings. harry wonders if it’s because he’s there to seize their ancestral home, or simply because he’s freely strutting about the halls despite not being a pureblood. regardless of their being portraits, harry still hopes it’s the former.
he continues down the path and spots the source of the noise—a young boy in a portrait crying, fisted hands covering his face. harry feels palpable heartache for him, to be the only youth among hundreds of portraits whose only source of entertainment are beratements and scoldings. harry feels the loneliness in his bones, as well as in his memories.
the portraits near the boy’s tell him to “pipe down,” that a malfoy crying is “unbecoming” and to “cease immediately”. before harry can tell them that reprimanding a clearly distressed child will bring them nowhere, the portraits disappear, leaving only harry and the little one. harry lets out a morose sigh, approaching the portrait to ask if he’s alright, only to stop dead in his tracks.
the boy must have been around six or seven when the portrait was taken. with flowing blond hair and a not-so-pointy chin, draco malfoy wears a white dress shirt with a ruffle collar, paired with a navy waistcoat and an amber bolo tie necklace. harry thinks distantly that he doesn’t have any memories of malfoy in anything other than his slytherin uniform or his preferred black suit and trousers.
he observes the painting silently, with a pounding heart. malfoy hasn’t noticed him yet; he’s begun hiccuping now and has abandoned trying to hide his face behind his fists.
he’s so small. much smaller than when he became the first wizarding kid harry met, than when he first asked for harry’s hand in friendship. harry’s never liked malfoy, he doesn’t think, but seeing young malfoy brings him an unambiguously great amount of pain.
this crying malfoy reminds him of dark bathrooms, screaming ghosts, and bloody floors.
harry exhales loudly, making malfoy finally open his eyes and look up at harry. he sniffles and wipes away at his tears. “who are you?” he asks in gasping breaths.
“i was hired to look over your house.” harry replies. he doesn’t think the child knows about anything that’s going on outside his portrait.
malfoy regards harry, still with furrowed brows and wet lashes. “it’s a manor,” he says after a few moments. of course, malfoy was raised to never tolerate any sort of belittlement of their name or their fortunes. with the company he’s had for however long he’s been here, harry should not be surprised with this child’s priorities.
“where are mother and father? will they be coming for me soon?”
lucius malfoy was immediately sentenced to spending the rest of his life in azkaban when he was captured at the battle of hogwarts. narcissa malfoy, on the other hand, was exiled from the country and, from what harry has heard from others, is currently residing in the south of france with distant relatives. this is a seven-year-old malfoy that has no awareness of what the future will bring, harry reminds himself.
“they’re taking care of business outside the country right now. that’s why they hired people,” he reasons. wealthy people usually work outside of their countries, he remembers from the dursleys’ envious complaints about this very thing.
malfoy is once again silent, only looking at harry. harry stares back and lets his eyes take in the other details of the portrait. there is a burgundy curtain behind malfoy and harry almost smiles at the irony of it. a bouquet of flowers are on the floor, however; and there’s no furniture visible in the portrait. he looks back at malfoy, who is still staring at him, and his mouth twitches at the thought of this young boy holding the bouquet and smiling for an extended period of time just so the artist can paint him.
“you said my parents hired you?” he finally addressed harry. “yes,” harry raises his eyebrows at the boy. he predicts an order from the young malfoy coming very soon and sighs internally. “i can arrange for you to keep me company, then.”
this is what he gets for being considerate.
“you can just ask me nicely, you know,” harry looks around and finds a table a few metres away. he starts walking towards it when he hears a small noise emit behind him, not unlike a whimper.
“i’m not leaving, i’m just getting something to sit on. keeping you company, remember?” he grins softly at the boy and places the table a few steps in front of the portrait. malfoy’s wearing a frown now, but harry notices his red ears and offers another smile.
“i’ve even asked for house elves as company, but none came,” malfoy says to him after a few awkward minutes of silence. “dobby always comes whenever i call for him, but even he never came!”
a bucket of ice; the innocence of young malfoy allowed him to forget the reality of the situation.
but malfoy keeps on talking, “i’ve been here for a while now. perhaps a few weeks? i’ve asked the other portraits how and why i happen to be here but they simply ignored my questions, the gall. i’m the heir to this family and they can’t even answer such straightforward questions!”
harry is getting lightheaded from the similarity of their speech patterns. of course, what did he expect? this is only a younger version of malfoy, not an entirely different person. but more than that, he can’t help but notice the continuous use of present tense, making him nauseous for an entirely different reason.
“great-great-aunt belvina and grandfather cygnus are especially rude. i understand they are older and, thus, better-informed, somewhat, but do they need to be so disagreeable? ‘cease your whinging, child’ this, ‘you are being quite an unsightly child’ that. it’s very annoying,” he rants, but harry is only half listening. he came here to calm a crying child, not to listen to petulant tirades from his former nemesis. “they never even call me by my name! speaking of, you never did tell me your name. what am i supposed to address you as?”
“harry is fine.”
“harry?!” malfoy exclaims, making harry wince at the sudden increase in volume. “how about your last name?” malfoy is leaning so forward that if harry didn’t know any better, he would be afraid that the boy would fall out of the portrait.
“presley. harry presley.” harry provides and sees how malfoy visibly deflates from his revelation, or lack thereof. “why, were you hoping for some other harry?” malfoy’s whole face reddens as he avoids eye contact with harry. harry thinks he hears a mumbled, “not particularly” before silence once again takes over the corridor. this time, however, it’s not eerie or awkward. a rather bashful stillness takes over them before harry asks about the flowers on the floor.
the fading red on malfoy’s face comes back as he suddenly remembers the bouquet’s existence. “mother was insistent i hold her beloved english rose shrubs,” he pouts and picks up the bundle, rearranging them and then placing them in his arms. “she’s quite proud of her garden,” he grins at harry, as if he is also proud of narcissa malfoy's garden. harry, on the other hand, is merely forcing a smile onto his face. malfoy doesn’t have to know that their estate has long been destroyed, not even able to grow weeds from the amount of dark magic the soil has absorbed during the death eaters’ reign at the manor.
“will they be coming soon?” malfoy asks. harry hums in question and malfoy gives him an obvious roll of eyes. “my parents. you said they’re out of the country for business?”
“oh, yeah. they’ll be back soon,” harry feels guilt for lying, but he’d feel even more guilt if he tells the boy his parents most likely will never be coming back, ever. his remorse is somewhat appeased by the lucid light in malfoy’s eyes, and a slight smile on his lips.
“you shall keep me company, then,” he drawls loftily in that signature way of his that he has even at seven years old.
“yes, i’ll be staying for a while. do you have any messages for your parents? i think i can relay them when i leave for the day.” the light dims. harry, surprisingly, also feels dismal at the thought of leaving.
“it’s dreadfully boring here,” malfoy says in a way that harry suspects he wants to replace the word boring with lonely. “i would like if they took care of their business shortly.”
harry looks at him with expectancy. malfoy raises a brow in return and harry realises his message was complete. he doesn’t know whether to be concerned that he didn’t ask for souvenirs, or that malfoy didn’t offer any words of affection. but what does harry know, anyway.
“alright, i’ll tell them that, then.”
malfoy offers him a nod and, finding a willing listener in harry, tells him of stories from his childhood. or, harry guesses, were things that occurred to the seven-year-old malfoy quite recently. he tells harry about that one time pansy and theo fell face first in a puddle of mud near the forests of the manor as he and blaise watched, giggling as he reenacts the episode.
he recounts stories of his new toy dragon (“that breathes real fire, harry!”) from diagon alley, his first flying lesson (“i was a natural, of course.”) and his new broomstick, and his potions tutoring sessions (“potions is fascinating so i like attending classes for it.”) from his godfather.
harry quietly listens, noticing that malfoy still points his nose up tauntingly, and the way his haughty air of confidence seems to permeate the conversation even now. as opposed to his absentmindedness earlier, harry now tries to absorb all that he can, overlapping this young malfoy with his malfoy—noticing their similarities and differences. one easy to smile, light dancing in his eyes, with the red of shyness colouring his face; the other a mere husk of a boy, always bearing a gloomy aura, with the grey of ash marking his arm and life.
“say, harry,” malfoy starts. “do you know of anyone named harry potter?”
harry startles, although he really should’ve known malfoy would know of him at this age. he was the reason voldemort was defeated in both wars, after all. “yeah, i know of him. i think it would be ignorant of me to not know, no?”
malfoy again goes red in the ears, fiddling with the paper holding the bouquet. harry thinks it endearing and laments the fact that he will never see these habits on the malfoy he knows. knew.
“once i go to hogwarts,” harry looks up at the malfoy in front of him. the one with rosy cheeks and a gentle smile, “i’m going to be the best of friends with harry potter.” he says this with such conviction and pride that harry feels his chest constricting.
harry looks up at the manor’s high ceiling, breathing hard and slow, willing his tears away.
“i made father buy me all the books on harry potter and i insisted mother read it to me at night rather than those useless beedle fables. did you know he was born a month, three weeks, and five days after me? that means we’ll be in the same year at hogwarts, so there’s a relatively high chance of me befriending him!” he exclaims, excitable at the concept of spending his seven years at harry’s side instead of opposite him.
june fifth, he remembers abruptly. harry remembers a litany of sweets, a rowdy slytherin table and an excessively gleaming malfoy.
his gaze strays from young malfoy and onto the plaque under the portrait: draco lucius malfoy, dated the 5th of june, 1987. malfoy would be turning 18 in three days and the reality of the situation once again strikes him.
harry suddenly wants to protect this boy, wants to gather him in his arms and tell him if he could do it again, he’ll grab his hand. he’ll hold a conversation with him instead of throwing around scalding insults and actually make an effort in maintaining a friendship. they’ll play quidditch together, draco would help harry with potions and harry would help draco with defence. they’ll eat together at the great hall and drink butterbeer at the three broomsticks and laugh under the tree at the black lake.
draco would help harry with the triwizard tournament, maybe even go to the ball with him. he would comfort harry after sirius died, and he would go with them to hunt horcruxes.
he wouldn’t be covered in scars that harry inflicted on him. he wouldn’t have been forced to make choices that killed him inside. he wouldn’t have been engulfed in those bright sentient flames in the room that became his perdition.
“swear to me that you won’t tell anyone?” draco brings harry back to their conversation, to existence. the number of times he’s drifted during this conversation is terribly concerning. “yeah, i promise,” he smiles ruefully, knowing that his promise is futile, both because he won’t be able to keep it (he needs to talk about this with a mind healer, or at least hermione), and because it’s simply pointless.
draco malfoy is dead. keeping or breaking this promise won’t change anything.
“listen, draco. i need to go—”
“not this soon? you haven’t even been here for an hour!” he whines.
“i know, i’m sorry. i just, i have other work to do, yeah? i told you your parents hired me to look over your house?”
“we have house elves for that. can’t you stay a bit longer? if you leave the other ones are going to come back and their discussions are absolutely banal,” draco pouts more, using the bouquet as a pointing tool. curiously, none of the petals are disturbed. “and they’re rather crass towards me.”
“i’ll make sure they’re moved then, so you don’t have to talk to them anymore. but i really do have to go. the house elves have been dismissed from the manor, that’s why they couldn’t attend to you when you called for them. so i’m here, along with a few others to look over the property, ok?” harry reasons. he stares at draco almost pleadingly, while draco simply regards him with a furrowed brow.
“fine,” draco relents. “but you’ll come back soon?”
“i will, don’t worry about that,” he smiles. a genuine one this time, mirthful instead of sorry.
“and you’ll relay my message to my parents?”
“yep, you can count on me.”
“alright, then. farewell for now,” he nods at harry, giving him a reluctant smile, like he doesn’t believe that harry will really come back for him, so harry adds on a promise of “i’ll see you later” before draco disappears into his portrait. harry watches the boy go, and turns to leave down the corridor he came.
he passes by a junior auror on the way back and requests to move draco’s portrait to a more isolated, but comfortable area, preferably in a wing the hasn’t been tainted by the war. hopefully draco won’t be too disgruntled by being moved.
the auror seems to be displeased at the fact that a non-auror is giving him orders, but he’s harry potter so they oblige. harry thinks using his name for things like this, personal sentiments, is more than acceptable given how much he sacrificed for the wizarding world.
walking down the stone path back to the gate, he recalls pale, slender fingers, cold on his own amidst the scorching flames. despite the touch being only a slight brush of limbs, harry thinks his right hand will be perpetually frigid.
he recalls shorter fingers toying with wrapping paper and baby pink rose petals, and blood rushing to pink cheeks and even pinker ears.
he leaves the manor feeling choked and a little worse than when he arrived. harry finally lets the tears fall, hot against his cheeks and glistening under the bright sun of wiltshire. all the same, he knows that he’ll be coming back.
it’s the only way he’ll be able to feel draco’s warmth again, after all.
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starlitsilvereyes · 10 months
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Written for @drarrymicrofic's prompt: Slide | Rating: E | Warnings: Smut | Read on Ao3
Draco’s breath gets knocked out of him as Harry slides in, agonisingly slow, one hand on Draco’s arse cheek to keep him open for him and the other grasping Draco’s hand.
“Too fast?” Harry pants, pressing his forehead against Draco’s shoulder in an attempt to keep himself steady.
Draco only whines, nearly fucking himself on Harry out of pure desperation.
Harry watches himself disappear inside Draco’s body for a moment, relishing the show Draco has decided to perform for him. Until it entirely becomes too much for the both of them, and Harry decides to finally fuck Draco properly, gripping his hips with both of his hands.
Draco turns his head, unconcerned about the odd angle, as Harry leans in and moans into Draco’s open mouth.
Nothing has ever felt more like coming home.
art commissions: open ☕️
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Proud supporter of the head canon that Oliver Quidditch-for-brains Wood noticed the recurring pattern that many of the best players he’d ever seen were gay and decided that, post-retirement (or hell even as a side project), he would pursue a Potions and Charms Double Mastery to fix their fertility problem.
Because he saw Harry James Potter, the best Seeker in a century, absolutely obsessed with Draco Lucius Malfoy, a damn good Seeker and an even better Chaser, and wow all those fantastic Quidditch genes are just not even getting passed on. How absolutely unforgivable. That has to stop, and it has to stop now.
Anyways “Oliver Accidentally Gay Wizarding Pioneer and Icon Wood” that single-handedly fixed the massive fertility problem for all wixen just so his favorite gay Quidditch players could make Quidditch prodigy babies.
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xx-thedarklord-xx · 1 year
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Malfoys' Darling
Drarry where Lucius and Narcissa have another child later in life, a little girl who absolutely adores Draco.
Harry didn't expect that his office straight out of Hogwarts would be next to Malfoy. An unfortunate circumstance that he was forced to get used to even if he hated it.
Until the laughter came.
It started out as baby babbling, little giggles that warmed even his jaded heart.
"Dddu!"
Harry laughed himself silly when he realized that was the baby's way of trying to say Malfoy's name.
Dddu turned into, "Drrr," and "Draaa."
"That's my sweet girl," Malfoy would say every time Narcissa brought her for a visit. "I'm your favorite, I know. Not everyone can be me."
Harry stopped dreading work, the highlight to each day was listening to little giggles and babbles that were slowly getting more coherent.
"Drayy," turned into "Co," sometimes, like she couldn't combine the words but could say them separately.
And when little feet ran into his office, a chubby hand covering a heart stopping smile, Harry knew that he'd never be the same.
"And just who might you be?" Harry asked as she stopped near the leg of his desk, needing the support as her tiny legs threatened to give out. He wondered how long ago she learned to walk.
Wide eyes that looked so much like her brothers stared back at him; mouth parted before she tugged on his pant leg.
"Up!"
Who was he deny such a demand from a little princess?
Harry settled her on his knee as he spun in his chair, grinning at the little shrieks of laughter as she clapped her hands together.
"You are adorable. I understand why Malfoy is besotted with you. Don't tell him I said this, but I used to think he was the prettiest person I'd ever seen. Even gangly and too much chin as a teenager I was fascinated. And definitely in denial.
"But," Harry continued, tickling her sides, lips stretching at her breathy giggle. "You are just as pretty. I think he has competition. And I know how he handles competition. Badly. What do you think he'd say about it, hmm?"
"I think he'd know a losing battle when he saw one."
The drawling tone caused two very different reactions. Harry startled, grasping his chest as his heart missed several beats. But the best reaction was a small happy shriek as a loud,
"Dwaco!!"
Malfoy's eyes softened; nose scrunched up as he smiled gently.
"Hello, Darling."
Wiggling limbs had Harry setting her gently on the ground, watching as she rushed to Malfoy who was already crouched, prepared to catch her as a small body launched forward.
"She wins hands down," Malfoy glanced at Harry, hand playing with her curls. "But I'll settle for top two as long as it comes with a date."
That was the day—a boring Monday—where Harry not only got himself a date but also had the pleasure of meeting Darling Malfoy. A sweet girl who filled his office with laughter and smiles.
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lupine-trees · 3 months
Text
learn me, love me, let me know
[something, something, learning as a love language. dedicated to the mundane bits of falling. a drabble in three parts.]
word count: ~1,550, rating: t
I.
The routine dictates: Thursdays are for new recipes and bad movies.
Draco stood at the stove, hovering over a saucepan. I want to try to make something for the gnocchi, he’d said, like an absolute fool.
He’d gone rogue, recipe-less, and this was what he got for it.
“Something’s not right,” he called to Harry, who was poking at a puzzle spread across the living room coffee table. “Here,” he said, scooping up a spoonful and carrying it over, a careful hand cupped underneath. He lifted the spoon to Harry’s lips.
Harry tasted, nodded, thoughtful, knees tucked under him on the rug. “Salt.”
Draco huffed. “I added salt.”
Harry grinned up at him. “More salt.”
Draco went back to the kitchen, and Harry, with sudden realization, rose and followed behind him.
“Wait— here,” he called, reaching up to the potted plant on the windowsill and plucking a few sprigs of chive, pulling a pinch of parsley. He made quick work of them on the cutting board while Draco stirred at the sauce, sprinkled in more salt.
“Alright.” Harry passed the board to Draco, who slid the herbs into the pan.
“It’s still—”
Harry reached over him to one of the myriad jars on the shelf, poured just a bit of the powder over the mixture.
“Cornstarch,” he said, a smile easy on his lips. “It’ll thicken. Give it a minute.”
And sure enough.
Draco took a spoonful, warm and fragrant, tasted it, and nearly moaned. Cleared his throat.
“So?” Harry said, leaned back against the countertop.
“Delicious, of course. You’re unbelievable.” The annoyance was put-upon, a convenient cover for an inconvenient truth.
“I think you mean, ‘Thanks, Harry, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’”
“I assure you, I do not,” he murmured, small grin sharp, crowding into Harry’s space, pressing him back against the counter, one hand splayed over his hip.
“Go on, try it,” he said, placing the spoon again at Harry’s lips.
Harry did, and he had no such qualms about moaning.
II.
This part was definitely not routine.
Draco’s flat— once Harry was finally permitted to visit— was, somehow, smaller even than Harry’s own, and more bafflingly, he had crammed a piano into it anyway.
“Are you even allowed to have this here? Surely it’s too heavy. There’s gotta be, I dunno, building codes or something.”
Draco gave him a belabored glance. “That’s what magic is for, Potter.” He gave the piano a gentle shove, and it slid. “Featherweight charm.”
“Oh,” Harry answered, carefully pulling the piano back into its place. “Y’know, I always wanted to learn to play one of these.” He plunked a finger down on a key, trailed a few notes.
“Did you?”
“Mhm. They have one at the Burrow, an old upright heirloom. I could play Jingle Bells, but, well. Doesn’t really count, does it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Here.” Draco lifted the bench seat, pulling out sheets of music, settling them on the stand. “Sit, sit.”
Harry sat. Draco slid in beside him. “Put your fingers here,” he said, placing him at rest on the keys.
So, it went like this: The afternoon was long, bleeding into evening, the music clunky. Harry definitely played Jingle Bells upward of twenty times. Draco might’ve taken the opportunity to lean cozily on his shoulder, to place his hands atop Harry’s for teaching purposes.
“Your neighbors are going to hate you,” Harry murmured, softened by the bottle of wine they’d kipped into about an hour in.
Draco laughed. “You’re unbelievable.” He gave a tug at his magic, and the walls lit up with the delicate web of it. “Silencing charms. Wizards. Magic school. Ringing any bells?”
“Oh,” Harry breathed, eyes trailing the soft golds, the cool blues of the trace magic patterned over the wallpaper.
“Play again,” Draco said, bustling him, their shoulders flush.
Harry let out a sound of protest, his cheeks a pleasant, dusky pink. “I can’t. You play.”
“Alright. You pitiful thing.”
And he did, play, and it was lovely.
But anyway, it wasn’t about the music, really, was it?
III.
The routine didn’t really have a say in the weather, but if it did, it would typically be indifferent to rain.
Unfortunately, the tire had gone out on the Corolla, which meant they were left like so: stranded road-side, with the jack and the spare, but a bit tragically, with none of the requisite experience or education necessary to make use of them.
All this and the rain, which had picked up from a steady patter and was dropping buckets rather insistently.
Harry was holding his best umbrella charm— best being the operative description. The raindrops were sneaking through in patches to where Draco’d laid out the spare blanket from the backseat. He was flat on his back, slid under the car, trying to position the jack, to make it lift, to do something.
The ground, though, was hard and cold and wet. The jack slipped again, dropping the car the few inches it had risen, and Draco shrank back, startled, and swore.
He clambered inelegantly from beneath the car, abandoning the rear passenger tire, the nail jammed into it, flat flat flat.
“Alright?” Harry called over the downpour, offering him a hand up.
Draco accepted, then dusted at his dampened trousers. “It’s no good. I’ve got no bloody clue. The cursed thing won’t stay put, and I—” He felt the frustration crawling up his neck, and left the sentence unfinished, tossing his hands in the air.
“We’ll figure it out,” Harry assured.
“Oh, we’ll figure it out. Brilliant. My favorite plan, the kind that doesn’t actually even exist.”
“We can apparate into town, then come back—”
“I’m not leaving the Corolla,” he said, stubbornly, knowing it was stubborn as he said it, unreasonable.
Harry’s voice was raised, shouting over the torrent of the rain, which his spellwork was doing little to deflect. “Draco, I get it, but the car will be fine. We need to—”
“I know the car will be fine,” Draco interrupted, a hiss, “because I’m not leaving it.” He stalked back to the driver’s side door, pulled it open, hard on the hinges. “And your umbrella charm’s shit,” he flung over his shoulder, before climbing inside and slamming the door shut.
The regret was almost immediate, mingling with anxious irritation and the rain drops sliding cold down his spine, plopping from his hair and onto his nose. The rain was louder, too, inside, pinging off the roof and the windshield. Draco fretted at Harry, standing out there still, nudging at the tire, undoubtedly soaked to the bone.
The minutes stretched, and the tension wilted. Draco folded into the steering wheel, knocking his forehead lightly against it. Just as he found the resolve to go back out, to make it right, to try again, the passenger door opened, and Harry dropped into his seat. His curls were plastered to his forehead, and his glasses fogged in the sudden heat of the car.
“Alright,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Draco said. “It’s my fault. The car. This whole ridiculous idea.”
He reached for Harry’s glasses and wiped them clear as he could (rain-damp shirt given) before returning them to the bridge of his nose.
“And I’m sorry. For snapping. It’s not fair.”
Harry reached for his hand. “Thanks. But I like the car. And I like the idea. And I… like you. So.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Stop that, now. Try the car.”
“What?”
“Drive it. Just a few metres. To try something.”
“Alright.”
And the car moved, and nothing horrible happened, and really, you couldn’t even tell there was a flat. They stopped, hazard lights still blinking.
“You changed it?”
Harry laughed, low. “Not exactly. Fortunately, though, my levitation charms are less shit than my umbrella ones.”
“You’re… levitating the car?”
“Sure. I mean, we need to get to an auto shop, because I don’t know how long it’ll hold, but I think we’re only about 12 kilometres—”
Draco practically leapt across the console, the need to kiss Harry an absolute.
“Mmph!” Harry muffled against his lips, startled, but he had no further protests. The kiss was clinging, hands all wrapped in hair and around one another, damp and desperate and delighted. They pulled apart, breath heavy, and Draco laughed.
“You’re brilliant. You’re ridiculous. I can’t believe you. I love you. I— oh.” Draco stopped short, a blush creeping sudden up his neck.
“Oh,” Harry breathed, and smiled at him, and Draco wanted to sink into his seat.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” he murmured, slowly, careful.
“It’s alright,” Harry said. “I did.”
“What?”
“I meant it. Before. I love the car. And I love the idea.” He reached for Draco’s hands again, holding him steady, the way he did.
“And I love you.” He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Mostly that one,” he said, dimple flashing, devastating.
Draco’s heart pattered with the rain, and he leaned forward, the grin on his lips barely contained.
“You’re completely absurd,” he said, all fondness and irrepressible warmth.
“And you love me,” Harry whispered.
“A madman.”
“And you love me.”
“Absolutely shit at umbrella charms.”
“And?” Harry said, hopeful and plain, unexpectant.
Draco closed the little distance left between them. “And I love you.”
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Text
Want to decorate Christmas tree together?
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Word 6: waffles
This idea came from the most random conversation so here we are.
As soon as the bell rang, Draco hurriedly answered the door although he was pretty sure it was too early for anything and he didn't have anything to be delivered at the place but he went anyway.
He opened the door to a man holding a sheet of paper, "Yes?"
"Delivery for Draco Malfoy?"
"That's me but I didn't order anything." Draco frowned.
"It's a parcel." The man said and handed Draco the sheet of paper to sign it.
"What is it?" Draco asked as he stepped more outside the door to notice almost a 5 feet tall Christmas tree standing erect.
"Do you know who might've sent it?" Draco asked but the man shook his head.
Draco signed the paper and the man's co-workers took the tree inside and placed it where Draco asked them to.
"This came with it." One of the co-worker said as he handed him a small piece of card.
As all of them left, Draco finally opened the small card and immediately recognised the handwriting and smiled.
He took out his phone from his pocket and dialled the number.
"Morning." Draco immediately greeted as he picked up the call on the other end.
"You sound too chirpy for me in the morning." Harry said but Draco could still recognise the smile behind the call.
"It's 9 am, why are you still sleeping?" Draco asked as he looked at the tree endearingly.
"Because it's a Saturday, Draco. But I'm up now." Harry said as Draco heard some shuffling on the other end.
"I got your parcel today. When were you planning on telling me that you bought me a 5 feet tall Christmas tree?" Draco asked.
Harry sighed on the other end, "You said you didn't have time to buy the Christmas tree with everything going around and how the shops are too far away. I just wanted you to be able to decorate the tree on Christmas and since we can't be together, it's hard enough."
"Yes but it's only one Christmas. I could've bought a small one for me."
“Yes but I bought it for you now.” Harry said. 
Draco smiled, “You’re a menace, Harry Potter.” 
“Yes, I know but now tell me do you want to decorate it together?” Harry asked.
“We’re in different places, Harry. How are we ever supposed to do it together?” Draco asked confused. 
“We have internet, Draco, we can always do video call.” 
“You know I suck at muggle technology.” Draco remarked. 
“Well, we can do a call and stay on it while we decorate it together and then send each other pictures.” Harry suggested. 
Draco thought about it for a moment, it didn’t actually make sense to do it together, the process of decorating it while on the call seemed like a time consuming idea even. 
“What would we get out of decorating it together?” Draco frowned.
“That we get to decorate it together? Come on, do you want to or not?” Harry asked. 
Draco was still confused but then there was something in Harry’s offer that made him want to do it together, so he agreed. 
They both agreed to call in the evening after they had done all their work, chores and when nobody would disturb them so they would just be with each other. So, when the evening came they did just that, they started decorating the tree together on a call with wired earphones plugged in to their phones. 
Draco had thought it would be almost odd but they slipped briskly into conversations. Harry kept asking random questions like if the cat ornament would look better next to the dog ornament or licorice ornament which made Draco wonder what the hell Harry was doing but at the same time it was all very amusing. He told Harry about his family traditions and how they used to celebrate christmas together and about how every year he would bake cake with his mum as a Christmas ritual but can't this year because his parents' are arriving late this year while Harry told him about his Christmases especially the ones he spent at the burrow. They also got around talking about how things are going and somehow some old school talks and they both realised how funny it was when Draco used to try to get Harry’s attention. They laughed off most of the call but it was just a beautiful bubble moment Draco never wanted to get out of. Towards the end of decorating, Harry started complaining about how Marco, his dog was eating the Christmas balls which had Draco laughing all the more and then making fun of Marco. 
When it was finally done, Draco clicked the picture of his Christmas tree and sent it to Harry and Harry in return sent two pictures, one of his Christmas tree and the other one of Marco chewing off the Christmas ball which made him smile. 
Draco was looking at both the Christmas trees and then he realised, 
“I’ve never decorated a Christmas tree with anyone before.” 
“Really? What about your Mum and Dad at the Manor?” 
“Nope. They were mostly busy with Christmas invites or holding a Christmas ball and I didn’t even use to decorate the main hall tree even, just the small one in my bedroom hallway.” 
“Well.. now you’ve decorated it with someone, how does it feel?”
Draco thought about it for a moment, then looked at his tree and finally said it, 
“Like I want to celebrate the rest of them with you,”  
There was a pause after that. Harry didn’t say anything so Draco went on, 
“I didn’t think about it before but I want to and I know we haven’t been dating all that long but you know the moment when you just know-”
“Draco, I love you.” 
There was a pause again and Draco continued again,
“I-I never knew I wanted to decorate it with you. I didn’t even know it was a romantic gesture till now but Harry- nobody would ever do this for me, send me a Christmas tree, ask me to decorate it with him- I guess what I’m trying to say is that I love you, too, Harry. Merlin, it feels so good to finally say it out loud.” Draco and Harry both chuckled at their ends. 
“I want to decorate all of my mine with you too, Draco.” Harry finally said and Draco smiled. 
“Do you want to bake cake together as well?” Harry asked after a while.
Draco grinned on his side, "Absolutely. Tomorrow at 5?"
"Done."
In that moment, he realised he's found it, he's found the one man he had been looking his whole life for and he’s never finding anyone better. Ever. He didn't need to find anymore, it was him. It was Harry. All along.
Tagging some of y'all for a boost, don't hesitate if you're uncomfortable with the tag <3
@phoebe-delia ​ @chinike @elenaxoxo22 ​ @thecornerofbelu @nv-md ​ @cissa-bee @missdrarrydawn @littlebodybigheartttt @harryandginnydeservesbetter @draco-lucious-malfoy @textrovert-01 @inflation-of-mind @dearly-devoted-dawdler @drarrywords @loves-to-read-fanfic
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onbeinganangel · 2 years
Text
content: draco/harry, first person pov, legilimency, love confessions, idiots to lovers
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for my lovely @pennygalleon who asked for The High Priestess, Drarry and 'I noticed'. for my Tarot Card Drabbles series
[for easier reading:
Draco is panting when I break the Legilimency connection. 
“Happy with your discoveries?” He asks, harsh as ever. The blush over the apples of his cheeks betrays him.
I say nothing, still dizzy after so long in his mind.
“I could have told you… If you’d asked.”
I can’t help but smile, now. He would never have told me. We both know he wouldn’t. I scoop him right into my arms.
“What? That you like me?”
Even now, after I’d seen it, he struggles to say it, gulps nervously, before he manages a whispered, “Yes.”
“I knew, Draco. I noticed.”]
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oknowkiss · 4 months
Note
94 for the spotify wrapped drabbles💖
slow wake up sunday morning - mountain man (drarry; 359 words; rated T for language)
Harry thought, when he was young, that life would eventually slow down. He held onto this belief like a beacon, something to run towards. It had been easier at the time to pretend he was rushing to the finish line, sprinting to the moment he could finally relax, instead of what had actually been happening: that he was running for his life. 
There were a few months, here and there after the war, where Harry’s shoulders were given the space to fall from his ears. But what Harry didn’t account for — afraid and determined and all of seventeen — was adulthood. He didn’t account for the way it would come for him, just as it did everyone else lucky enough to be given the gift of time. 
There was so much to do, after the war. And when that stopped, there was his work. There was dating, the complete and utter catastrophe of it all. There was falling in love and falling out of it, hellos and goodbyes and “I love you” and “Fuck off.” There were bills to be paid and meals to prepare and holidays to take, birthdays and weddings and babies to meet with bright wet eyes. 
And then there was Draco. Somehow. Impossibly. There were dinners and drinks, at first. Careful nights spent over. Then he was there at the birthdays and the weddings, drunk at the Christmas parties, looking unsure near the babies. 
And now here’s Draco in bed, their bed. Harry takes in the shape of him, all his points going soft, getting wider, just like Harry’s. Harry looks at Draco now and can see the boy he hated, the terrified young man who saved his life for no reason. He can see the confused twentysomething he fell in love with, the thirty-five-year-old he married. He sees the future, too, their bodies continuing to settle and reform through the sheer miracle of existence. 
He watches dappled sunlight cross Draco’s sleeping face and thinks how lucky he is to have this morning, whole hours with nothing to do. He presses his nose against the curve of Draco’s shoulder and, in time, falls back to sleep. (give me a number 1 - 100 & i'll write you a drabble based on the corresponding song on my spotify wrapped)
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alcohen · 26 days
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The first time they go out in the Muggle world, they go dancing.
The lights inside are vibrant and tacky. There are too many people. Draco doesn’t know how to dance to this music, so he just jumps, and Harry jumps with him, threading their hands together, pulling Draco closer by his t-shirt. They’re sweaty and a little bit out of breath, and it’s perfect the way it is.
They don’t drink much, but it still feels like they’re wasted thanks to the sheer novelty of the experience and the breathtaking freedom of being anonymous. No one gives a fuck about them, so they can dance and kiss and not think about a single other thing.
What an absolutely underrated thing—to be able to be yourself.
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toopaletogotojail · 7 months
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Drarry, Romione headcanons? (Again,possibly, very likely ooc)
Romione:
- WE ARE TAKING THE GRANGER LAST NAME
- Ron thinks that there's enough Weasley names, and decides he should take his wife's last name
- Hermione thought hyphenating was a good idea, ends up crying at how sweet Ron is for suggesting that
- "I think Ronald Granger has a nice ring to it?" "I LOVE you!!!"
Drarry:
- Draco still goes by malfoy in public for legal reasons ig, but informally he likes it when Harry calls him Mr potter, it makes him feel weird and giddy, don't tell his husband
- "good morning Mr Potter" "good morning Saint Saviour" "really Draco"
- I love the idea that Harry hates some of the nicknames he gets called, like Saviour or Saint.
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