#drarry wip snip

[tackytigerfic]

WIP Snip

Nearly finished this fic, final extended scene is a go atm. In this snippet, Harry has just arrived unexpectedly at the Manor where Draco is undercover pretending to be a Death Eater. CW for wandpoint confessions and mild angst.

Draco’s eyes narrowed but he put his hand inside his robe and then, quicker than Harry could have hoped to notice, Draco had his wand out and was holding it to Harry's throat, pressing hard so the wood bit into the tender skin under his jawline. "You are Harry, I suppose? You seem right, of course, but there’s always a chance that someone enterprising might come along with a stash of Polyjuice and a gift for impersonation.” “Oh, fuck off,” Harry managed, and the point of Draco’s wand wormed slowly deeper into flesh. “You knew it was me the second you saw me.” “Mmm, I suppose that’s true,” Draco murmured agreeably, something suggestive about how the sound travelled through the small space between them. His free hand strayed to Harry’s forehead and he brushed his fingers lightly over the dried blood that Harry could feel tightening on the skin there. “But indulge me. Tell me something only you would know.” Harry scoffed, though he was thinking with his throat tight of Arthur knocking at the door of the Burrow in the middle of the night long ago, and Molly blushing, and how they had exposed the long intimacy of their marriage for safety's sake. “There’s a lot I could tell you,” he said tightly. “If you’re really sure you want to hear it.” “By all means,” Draco said, eyes on Harry, searching for something in his face. “You fucked me in that bed and afterwards you asked me not to leave because you wanted to wake up with me? Remember?” Draco wanted to look towards the bed, Harry could tell by the way his eyes flickered, but he resisted, and so Harry went on. “You told me you wanted us to win this war just so you could take me back to London and feed me my favourite ice-cream off your spoon. You told me the only thing you miss about France is how you and your mum really got to know each other properly, and that when she gets back you want to take her for dinner to that little French bistro we went to that time in Edinburgh. I know you remember that, you said the wine was better than anything in the cellar here.” Draco nodded shortly, and almost regretfully pulled his wand away from Harry’s neck. He didn’t move away. “Yes, fair enough, I believe you.” But Harry couldn’t stop, didn’t know how to shut up now he had started. “The last time we were together, you told me that I’m generous with my love. Do you remember that? And I wondered then… because I’d never said it, had I? Not out loud, anyway. Neither of us had. But I thought, maybe— Maybe it meant that you knew.” Draco was staring, his eyes wide and shocked, a blush crawling up his neck, blotchy with heat. Neither of them moved, the silence between them growing until Harry could practically feel it. Draco almost raised his hand to Harry then; Harry sensed the arrested movement, the enforced stillness. He didn’t know what he’d do if Draco touched him. But he didn’t have to find out, because that’s when the knock at the door sounded.

Does anyone have a snippet they'd like to share? Consider yourself tagged and pls tag me so i can see as i've been off tumblr and i miss every single thing on here. And I'll no-pressure-tag @boxboxlewis @citrusses @fluxweeed @maesterchill @moonflower-rose @skeptiquex @sweet-s0rr0w @the-starryknight plus the FrotCotLot.

[maesterchill]

WIP Snip Tuesday

(it can be a thing!)

Thanks for the tags @tackytigerfic and @wolfpants - your snippets were a delight! Find them here and here. I'll post a snip from the fic I attempted to write for Wireless, but never got even close to finishing. Perhaps some day.

It was after a raid on Dervish and Banges two months later that Harry saw Malfoy again. After he and Ron had arrested the illegal artefact dealers and had them Portkeyed into custody, Harry went for a little walk through Hogsmeade village. 

He hadn't intended on Madam Puddifoots as his destination. Not consciously at least, but he realised after five minutes that his feet had led him there. It might have had something to do with Malfoy standing outside the entrance on a stepladder stretching for something with his wand.  Over-stretching by the look of it—Malfoy’s jumper was riding right up his back, and he’d gone up onto his tiptoes. 

"Careful!" Harry shouted, to which Malfoy startled, and wobbled, and tried to right himself, and then wobbled some more, until finally the stepladder tipped over, bringing Malfoy down with it.

Thankfully Harry had one of those new wand holsters. Nought to spellcasting in zero point four seconds, or so the saleswix said. It was thus he managed to soften Malfoy’s fall with a speedy Cushioning Charm. 

Was Malfoy grateful? No, of course he bloody wasn't. Shouting at Harry and calling him all manner of offensive names, and Harry had certainly never heard Godric Gryffindor’s name used in such an imaginative and crude way before. It was kind of impressive.

Harry wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Draco Malfoy really and put his hands up in an I surrender fashion. Malfoy stopped his tirade and scowled, picking up his wand and pocketing it. His cheeks were pink, and they ballooned as he blew warm air onto his hands.

“Sorry, Malfoy, it looked like you were about to fall, so I thought—”

“You thought you’d make sure that I did by roaring at me at full volume.”

“Well, no, that wasn’t my… Listen, can I buy you a drink to apologise?” Harry was as surprised as Malfoy looked by that question. It was clear neither of them had been expecting it.

Malfoy frowned. “It’s quite obvious that I’m working, Potter. Besides, as an employee, I get all the free tea I like, so I’m really not that thirsty.”

“Alright, fair enough. Well, I’m heading to the Three Broomsticks now for a butterbeer or three, so if you get off soon and you change your mind—”

“I’m not off for another forty minutes, so I…” He paused and fiddled with his scarf, pulling it tighter around his neck. “Anyway, I’m not sure your girlfriend would be too impressed, you buying drinks for someone like—”

“I’m single, actually. Have been for a few months. But that’s not— This isn’t a date," Harry laughed. Perhaps a little too loudly. "I just wanted to say sorry for giving you a fright. So, yeah, pop over when you're done. I should still be there.”

“Oh.” More scarf-twisting. “I see. Well, I shall think about it.”

“Do,” Harry said, feeling pleased for some reason. Walking away with a whistle.

Malfoy never showed up. 

Which was a relief really, Harry thought as he went to bed that evening. He would’ve had to have had a conversation with him, and that would just have been awkward. 

It was just, well Harry’d been wondering why Malfoy worked at Puddifoots, of all places. Wondering for a while.

[wolfpants]

wip snip from the fic about the ship!*

I was tagged by the lovely @sweet-s0rr0w who gave us a taste (pun intended) of a gorgeous Christmas Drarry fic that I'm desperate to get my grubby mits on. Check it out here! Sadly my own snip isn't as festive themed (nor does it have any laced mince pies), it's from my gay cruise* Drarry fic that I'm hoping to start posting very soon once I crank the gears up on my productivity bus. Because er, I spent most of tonight eating cheese and drinking wine. Oops! Tis the season. Anyway, enjoy this slice of Harry-Pansy-best-buds action:

Harry swallows. “I never liked Draco. From the start. I never liked him.”

Pansy picks up her glass and points it at him. “But he liked you.”

Harry blinks rapidly, trying to catch his breath under the cold bucket of water she’s just chucked over his head, but the waiter stops by their table then, asking about more drinks, whether they’re enjoying their meals, something like that. 

Harry stares at him, hapless. 

“It’s all very lovely, thank you—and no, we’re fine on drinks,” Pansy says, and he totters off with a bow, hands crossed behind his back.

“Harry, darling, you have got to stop gazing at him from across the damn room,” she says, leaning forward. “If you think Draco is ever going to take the initiative on this, you’re wrong. He can’t remember.” 

Harry drags a hand over his face. He tries for a trademark bright smile, but it wobbles, lopsided. He sits back heavily. “I’m pathetic. I’m fucking pathetic. It’s been—fuck, it’s been twenty years, Pans. I need to—”

“Shit or get off the pot?”

“I was going to say move on.”

Pansy gazes at him from over the rim of her glass. “I hate to break it to you, lovely, but sometimes it looks like you have moved on. Or, rather, that there was never anything to move on from. Your exploits are quite literally, legendary. We’re just about to run the pictures from your evening with dear Charles.”

Harry groans, and says, without bite or meaning, “Fuck you.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“I hate Witch Weekly.”

“No you don’t,” Pansy says. “And stop changing the topic. Look. I know you’re going on this cruise, and that you’re going to have fun, and honestly you deserve that. But perhaps use it as an exercise in self-preservation? In reflection? Realise how good you could have it back home?”

Harry pulls in a shaky breath. “Pansy, what if you’re wrong? What if he’s never actually liked me either? What if he has nothing to remember?”

She shrugs and sets her glass down again, smoothing out the napkin by her plate. “I’m not wrong. I’m never wrong, especially when it comes to him.”

No pressure tagging @tackytigerfic @skeptiquewrites @kbrick @lettersbyelise @phoebe-delia @phd-mama @wheezykat @m0srael @basicallyahedgehog and anyone who wants to play! If you see this consider yourself tagged!

[rockingrobin69]

some-day-wip-snip

Thank you for tagging me, @mintawasalreadytaken and @orange-peony! I’m back to working on my housemates SEVERE PINING fic, brimming with so much excitement I literally cannot bear it, so, here’s a snip! Featuring: shenanigans, baking, and a tiny, mysterious dog-shaped item.

One night Harry came back late, terrible week, got stuck at the office in a useless meeting till his eyes nearly popped out. Took the bus home with his face scrunched, the beginning of a headache simmering behind his eyebrows, miserable and tired and utterly depressed to think that tomorrow would be the same, and the day after, and the day after it.

Walked in the kitchen and had to rub his eyes. Rubbed them again for good measure. The image didn’t change; all the bowls he owned stacked one on top of the other on every available surface, counter caked with flour, fingerprints in butter on all the cupboards, and in the dead centre, Malfoy, wearing an apron and his slanted, weird smile.

“Harry!” like this was the most normal thing in the universe. “You’re back! We thought you might never return. I set out to make my grandmother’s fabled biscuits, but, alas, as you can tell, the endeavour’s not been entirely successful. Yet.”

Too many questions and not enough air. The nearly-headache swirled in blacks and golds behind his eyelids. “Malfoy,” trying to breathe it out, “what… who’s we?”

“Hmm?”

“You said we were worried. Who’s here? Is it Ginny?” because he’s going to bloody—

“Oh! No, Ginevra is out of town, has a match tomorrow. I meant me and Crumpet.” He picked up something small and silvery and waved it about, weird smile trickling slowly into something else, unsure. “I named him Crumpet. Hope you don’t mind.”

Harry stared and stared and still got nothing. “Is that… what is that?”

“I think they’re for serviettes,” Malfoy presented the offending object on a flour-covered palm; a tiny, dog-shaped… thing. “Possibly cutlery. There’s a set of six in the bottom drawer, I was looking for a sieve. Is that okay?”

Must have seen something in Harry’s face, because he came closer.

Harry choked on nothing. “Didn’t even know we had them. Must’ve been my parents’. Or Sirius’s, maybe. I have a lot of crap all around that I never really get to… erm.”

Malfoy’s hand did a funny little dance, like it wanted to touch him, then remembered it was covered in butter and goo. Ended up scratching his nose, leaving a fine smudge behind.

“I shouldn’t be sneaking around, using your things. I can get my own, should get my own utensils.”

“Don’t be daft,” Harry rolled his eyes, tried to get this silly fizzing in his belly to stop. “You can use anything that’s in here. I wouldn’t even know we had them if you didn’t… so that’s Crumpet, then? Did you name them all?”

Malfoy’s bottom lip was between his teeth, one pierced eyebrow hiked up. “No, not yet. We had some serious business to attend to first, Crumpet and I. The third batch is actually meant to be ready soon, so why don’t you grab a shower and come back for some—hopefully, biscuits? Worst case, Asda’s own?”

He laughed, couldn’t help it. “Third batch?”

“Ah,” did Malfoy just wink? “Such the detective, Mr. Potter. The first batch we won’t even mention, the consistency was the single most disgusting thing I’ve seen, horrifying to think I made it with my own two hands. Apparently Nana forgot to mention some pretty crucial details when relaying the recipe—that, or the ever simpler answer, my mother is a cunt.”

“Oh.” Malfoy’s expression sharpened around the edges, devilish and handsome, and he ran a floury hand through his hair.

“Then came the second batch. Did you know, Harry, that baking requires absolute precision? And if, say, one was to go, ‘ah, fuck it’, then baking soda can become quite the vindictive bitch?”

Harry tapped the corners of his grin. “And the flour explosion? What happened there?”

“That,” Malfoy tutted, “is the result of some poor training on my part, I’m afraid. You see, Crumpet wasn’t quite ready for all the tricks—”

“You’re not seriously going to blame a three-inch placeholder for this, are you?”

“Aha!” finger pointing up in victory. “I knew you’d know what these are! Placeholders, then. How fancy. We shall have to throw a feast to display them.”

Laughing, laughing, what else could he do, rubbing the wispy remains of a headache from his forehead. “You’re an idiot. And you’re going to clean this, Malfoy, or so help me.”

“Of course, of course,” in a tone that suggested he had absolutely no intention to, not a chance. “They are good, though. The biscuits. In theory. Mother would always make them when she knew I’d—used them as bribes, probably, to be honest. But I thought, might be nice, seeing as your week is so disgustingly busy. It’s the only one of her recipes I remember. And poorly, at that.”

Harry’s eyes were still tingling, but he could see the look on Malfoy’s face. Recognised the feeling, he thought. This weird drop in your belly when you realise how very lost something is to you. Finding something you loved, irretrievable.

“Hey. They better be good. I mean it, Malfoy. Crumpet and I will be very disappointed in anything less.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re now in cahoots with my three-inch placeholder pet.”

“Pretty sure Crumpet’s still my three-inch placeholder pet, ta very much.”

He gave a little bow, then came closer. “My apologies for the disrespect, Mr. Potter. Master? Sir Potter. Please accept this as token of my most genuine regret.” When he unclenched his hand, there was only a second or two to realise what was happening and try to escape. Harry didn’t.

Ended up with his face full of flour, pinched from the counter. “Malfoy!” indignant and shaky on laughter, “you fucking bastard, come back here—”

Chased him around the kitchen, like children, like idiots, tackled him behind the table to smear his face full of—caster sugar, flour, whatever he could find, and Malfoy was squirming in his hands, roaring with laughter, fighting tooth and nail to push Harry back, and when that didn’t work, to lick him away (“UGH!”), laughing, laughing, laughing.

They only let up when the timer went off. Both disgusting, breathless, and Harry was still panting when Malfoy pushed him out to the corridor, yelled at him to take a shower. Rushed back down to find the kitchen still a mess, and two cups of tea, and a trayful of cooling biscuits.

Malfoy snuck a tub of them in his work bag the next day. They really were quite good.

If you got all the way here, kudos to you, and you are now IT! Share a snip with us, will you? And tag me!!

[tenthousandyearsx]

WIP Snip

Fandom: Harry Potter Category: M/M Relationship: Draco Malfoy / Harry Potter Rating: Knowing me, it will likely be E. This snippet is G however (or T for cursing, I suppose). Author: tenthousandyears (tumblr | AO3) Thanks: Thanks to the wonderful @crazybutgood for the beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own. Additional Tags: Fall in love or die, Curses, Veritaserum, Pining

Summary:

Draco sits down heavily on the sofa. Potter is fucking doomed. Potter is going to die unless he falls in love with Draco. Which means that Potter is going to die.

Notes: I've been tagged by several people, but I thought I was going to finish my Fall-In-Love-Or-Die fic and just post it. Alas, no luck. Since I'm working on a separate WIP for an anon fest now, I thought I might as well post a snippet. Enjoy! x

The knock on his door at 10 pm on a Tuesday is unexpected, but it’s the sight that presents itself when Draco opens the door that makes him freeze.

“Malfoy,” Granger says, looking apologetic. “We need to talk.”

Weasley has none of the same courtesy, the oaf, which doesn’t surprise Draco in the slightest. It does, however, surprise him to be suddenly held at wand point.

“Let us in,” Weasley says.

“It’s a matter of life and death,” Granger says urgently. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Isn’t it always, with the Golden Trio?”

Potter is not with them, he notices, which makes his stomach knot unpleasantly.

Draco hasn’t seen Granger and Weasley in years. He has kept up with Potter, obviously, the press makes it impossible not to; but he hasn’t talked to him since the trials, even though he sees him around sometimes. They nod at each other on the best of days – and that’s that.

“It’s about Harry,” Granger says, and Draco’s stomach properly twists now, which is utterly preposterous.

“Fine,” he drawls, even though he should probably ask, How is this my problem? And, Was that supposed to be a convincing argument? And even, What in Salazar’s name are you doing on my doorstep? The words don’t come, however, and he arches an eyebrow and opens the door to let them in.

Granger and Weasley follow him inside through a corridor and into Draco’s sitting room, and Draco has the time to catalogue the tiredness in their eyes, the sallowness of their skin, how much both of them fidget. They don’t look much different from their Hogwarts days, even though both of them are Aurors now.

It’s a sobering thought. Draco always assumed the Golden Trio must have developed nerves of steel after the war, but perhaps that’s just not how Gryffindors operate. If he thinks of Potter – stubborn, heroic Potter just flinging himself into life and death situations, all hot-headedness and no thought – Draco has to wonder whether the myth of Gryffindors’ skillfully wielded courage is just that – a myth, a PR operation for people who move through the world with their hearts, not with their heads. His chest feels funny again and he wonders where Potter is.

“Can we have a drink?” Granger asks, once they are seated. “Something strong. It would help.”

Draco’s eyebrows shoot up. “Didn’t really peg you for a Whiskey type, Granger.”

He complies, however, mostly because he feels like he needs one too. What has Potter got himself into, for Weasley and Granger to be looking for him?

He summons three glasses and a bottle of Talisker, and fills all three. Every noise is amplified in the silence, the clinking of glass, the pouring of Whiskey, Weasley’s overt fidgeting. Draco eyes them, tension zinging through his own body, and levitates two glasses to them.

“Do you know what this is?” Weasley asks, taking out a few sheets of paper from the pocket of his robes and handing them to Draco. His wand is still out. Draco eyes it wearily but takes the papers nonetheless.

At first, Draco is unsure of what he’s looking at. The writing is minute, the curls precise. Complex calculations are scattered among geometric shapes and rune patterns, the result so intricate it’s practically bewildering. It’s nothing Draco has ever seen used in this specific way before.

He sits down and reaches blindly for his own glass while staring at the pages.

“These are to calculate location,” he muses aloud, scanning the pages and gesturing vaguely with his glass. The other end of a spell? Or the one who cast it? No, that doesn’t seem right.

He takes a sip. There are more than two endings; there are… at least three. A triangulated spell. He turns the page frowning and there it is, a triangle with the relevant runes and coordinates jotted down. And the last one ends right at his – right at his –

“I’ve put Veritaserum in your drink,” Granger says out of nowhere and Draco is startled enough that he drops his glass. It smashes on the floor, the liquid splattering on the polished wood and seeping into the carpet.

Draco is on his feet before he knows it, his heart hammering wildly, his wand pointed at Granger.

“What the fuck, Granger?”

“Don’t you even think about it, mate,” Weasley says, his own wand trained on Draco.

Draco’s body shakes. He doesn’t know what they can possibly want, doesn’t think he’s been so ready to leap and hex since the war.

“You come to my house,” he seethes. “You hold me at wand point, you drug me –”

Granger swallows but doesn’t move. “I only need to ask you a few questions, Malfoy. Then we’ll be out of your way.”

“I’ve only had a sip,” Draco spits. “You won’t be able to get anything out of me.”

“True. But I put the equivalent of three vials in that glass.”

Fuck.

Draco’s throat tightens with rage and fear and he has to fight the need to lash out, to put both of them in a Body Bind and step on their faces.

He considers Apparating away until the effects of the Veritaserum wear off, but Granger’s It’s about Harry echoes in his mind and he can’t bring himself to move.

“What the fuck do you want?” he hisses instead. His fingers itch to hex them, level the field a bit, but he can recognise a checkmate when he sees one. There’s no way he can get both of them without ending up in a Body Bind himself.

“Just ask him, so he can say no and we can be on our way,” Weasley mutters. Then, to Draco, “We’re not enjoying this either, Malfoy, whatever you think.”

Draco ignores the urge to spit in his face.

Granger braces herself and looks up at him.

“Malfoy,” she says. “Draco.” Draco winces. “Are you in love with Harry?”

Draco freezes. That’s not what he expected. But he’s even more shocked when his mouth opens and he says, “Yes.”

Weasley looks like he’s been struck by a Stunning Spell, and Draco cannot blame him, because that’s how he feels too. “What –”

“Were you in love with him at Hogwarts?” Granger presses on, and Draco’s mouth opens, and to his horror, he finds himself saying, “Yes.”

He turns around, startled, his hands flying to his hair. He wants to pull it out.

“What’s this?” he asks. “Did you want to humiliate me? Congratulations, you’ve succeeded. Now, if you can just fuck off –”

The unthinkable happens, then – Granger crosses the room in three strides and hugs him.

“Oh god, it’s you.”

“What –” Draco starts again, bewildered, and when she pulls back, he's astonished to see her wiping away her tears.

“That just makes it worse, ‘Mione,” Weasley says, looking completely baffled. “You’re weird as hell, Malfoy, you know that?” He almost lowers his wand then, but he changes his mind half-way and points it back at Draco, his gaze hard. “Would you intentionally hurt Harry, if you had the opportunity?” he asks, and Draco whispers, “No.”

Draco is too stunned to keep a hold on his rage or to keep track of what’s happening. He’s too unsettled by what he’s being forced to confront after all this time – without having seen Potter in weeks, without having talked to him in years.

Granger looks at him as if she can read his mind. “Have you seen Harry, recently?”

“I –” Draco swallows, the Veritaserum taking over again. “There’s this Muggle breakfast place, not far from here. I see him there, sometimes, in the morning. But… not in weeks. We haven’t talked since the trials.”

Granger nods. “And you are still in love with him.”

“I don’t –” Draco croaks. “Yes.”

The room spins. Draco knows what he said is true. He knows he has never uttered anything truer in his life. But he didn’t know. He hadn’t wanted to know.

Weasley lowers his wand, passes a hand over his face, and collapses on his sofa.

Draco might be too shaken to collect his thoughts, but he still raises his wand, points it at Weasley and growls, “Explain.”

Weasley doesn’t even flinch, he just grabs his drink and downs it in a single gulp. Granger picks up the papers again, skimming them ruefully.

“Harry has – has had an encounter with a hag,” she says.

“He’s been cursed,” Weasley says. “On the job. It’s –”

Draco swallows. Hag magic is no laughing matter. If these two are here, in his living room, they must be at their wits’ end.

“Go on,” he says, because this is still about Potter and Draco is in love with him, Salazar’s fucking –

Draco has to remind himself to breathe. He would have appreciated some time to freak out alone, but that's apparently not an option. His heart is thrumming and he can feel it everywhere.

“The curse was in hags’ tongue,” Granger says. “It's a good thing Harry thought of preserving the memory, because otherwise… Well, that’s why it took us so long. I translated it and –” she takes a deep breath "– Harry is going to die, Malfoy, at the next equinox. Unless he falls in love with –” she swallows “– with someone who has been pining for him for 180 moons.”

“That’s fifteen years, Malfoy,” Weasley says, looking truly distressed now.

Draco opens his mouth and closes it, feeling completely wrong-footed.

“What made you think that meant me?” he almost wails, because that couldn’t have been obvious. It hadn’t been obvious to him.

“We went through every other option,” Granger says. “Every other person we could think of. Then, I remembered that I’d read somewhere about combining Ancient Runes and Arithmancy to calculate the location of magical threads – assuming that I could unravel them first, obviously. Well, it took me ages, but I could. And after that, I could pinpoint the three points of the curse. One was the hag, untraceable. One was Harry. The third – the third brought us here.”

Draco sits down heavily on the sofa, his eyes on the shattered glass, the liquid a useless pool on the floor. That’s how he feels too. Shattered. Hollowed out.

Potter is fucking doomed. Potter is going to die unless he falls in love with Draco. Which means that Potter is going to die.

“What are you asking?” he croaks, because this is still about Potter, and Draco has been in love with him for fifteen years. Salazar’s sagging bollocks. “What do you expect me to do?”

They must want him to do something. Do they expect him to date Potter? The thought is fucking ludicrous, and it makes Draco want hex everything in sight.

Trying to date Potter means he will have to face Potter’s rejection first and Potter’s death later. He doesn’t think he can take it.

“We’re trying to keep Harry alive,” Granger says, like Draco is being deliberately obtuse. “And for that to happen, he needs to fall in love with you, Malfoy.”

Draco lets out a hysterical laugh and leans forward to stare at her. “He’s fucking doomed then, isn’t he, Granger?”

“Don’t you fucking dare –”

Draco looks up at Weasley balefully, but Granger has put a hand on Weasley’s arm, eyes intent on Draco.

“What do you have to lose?” she says. “You’re already in love with him. If it goes well, you’ll get what you want. If it doesn’t –” She swallows. “Well, Harry will be dead anyway.”

Draco can't breathe.

“I’m looking at other scenarios too, obviously,” Granger continues. “I’m trying to unravel the curse, but it’s been two months and I have nothing, Malfoy. Nothing.”

“Well, how do you suggest I go about it?” Draco snaps. “You can’t fucking expect me to ask him on a date.”

“I don’t know,” Granger says, chewing on the inside of her cheek, looking as despairing as he feels. “You cannot ask him on a date, that’s out of the question. He’ll know it has come from us and he must not find out. You can’t tell him we approached you, Malfoy, or he won’t talk to us about the curse anymore and we need him to keep us updated, so I can adjust my research accordingly. We – We might have set him up on a bit too many dates,” she sighs. “We had a fight about it. He asked us to stop meddling, but see, he’s not doing anything to survive this, he’s just…”

“Wallowing?”

“Not even that, he’s… sure that it will all solve itself or – or not.” She swallows. “And he’s not particularly worried about the… not scenario.” She smooths her papers, frustrated. “He’s just not – He’s not good at this, Malfoy, not just not getting himself into life or death situations, obviously, but also… you know. He hates dating. He’d probably been on three dates in his whole life before this curse and he hated every single one of them. Don’t tell him I told you this. We sent him on about thirty-seven in the last two months –”

“Thirty-seven?!”

“– and he has hated every single one of them, too. It’s just – it’s just not his thing.”

“Thirty-seven dates, Granger. Bloody hell, were you just picking them off the street?”

“We were not picking them off the street,” Granger scowls. “We went through people in our year, and then… some of the other years. That’s the thing. We needed someone who has known Harry for at least fifteen years.”

Draco rubs his eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Wasn't he seeing your sister?” he asks in Weasley’s direction.

Weasley scoffs. “My sister has been dating Hannah for the past five years.”

“Not in love with him, then?”

“Doesn’t look like it, no.”

The feeling of relief that surges in Draco pisses him off even more.

“Fine,” he snaps. “So what do you suggest? Even if I’m willing to try, which I’m not sure is a humiliation I want to subject myself to, Potter won’t – He’s still going to die.”

Granger chews her lip. “Can you think of an excuse to live with him?”

“Live with him?”

“He has only three months until the equinox, Malfoy. It was five, but we wasted two. Do you think you’re going to woo him with flowers and some letters?”

Draco can’t woo Potter. He has to tell her that, at least.

“He hates me,” he says instead. The words feel bitter in his mouth. “You know he hates me. This won’t work.”

Granger eyes him speculatively. “He’s always been obsessed with you,” she says. “If he ever hated you, I’m sure he hasn’t in a long time. Will you give it a try?”

And Draco has to laugh, because they have asked him if he is in love, if he has been all along, if he would ever hurt Potter – and now they think he won’t try?

“You knew I’d help since I answered your first bloody question,” he says bitterly, “Of course I’ll give it a try. But let’s be clear, Granger. I won’t court him.”

Granger opens her mouth to protest, but Draco raises a hand to stop her.

“I’ll help you research the curse. I’ll move in and keep an eye on him, if he’ll bloody have me. I’ll do what I can. But I won’t –” He swallows. “I won’t court him. I won’t do anything romantic. I won’t –” forsake my dignity, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. “I can’t,” the Veritaserum pulls out of him, and Draco chokes on it, hates saying it and hates that it’s true. “That’s my only offer. I don’t care what you say. That’s as far as I can go. Take it or leave it.”

“We’ll take it,” Granger says earnestly.

“But –” Weasley says, startled. Granger shakes her head at him and Draco doesn’t have to watch to know she's mouthing Veritaserum. He looks away, pretending not to have noticed. His eyes sting.

He Vanishes the mess on the floor, summons another glass, and reaches for the bottle of Talisker, pouring himself some more Whiskey, trying to drown his terror about the fact that Potter is going to die, the shock of being faced with his own feelings, and the horror of having been outmanoeuvred by two Gryffindors – one of them not even particularly bright.

“Good,” he says. “Now get the fuck out of my house.”

[oknowkiss]

a year in fic!

thank you to @wolfpants for the tag! what a fun idea. see here for their incredible work (340k in a year and each word a banger, like, how!) no pressure tagging @geesenoises @eveningstruggle @corvuscrowned @sorrybutblog @saintgarbanzo @academicdisasterfic @mintawasalreadytaken @vukovich and you!

Rules: Share 1 line from each fic you wrote this year. In 2022 I wrote: ~250k words over 15 fics (lmaooooo) 

JANUARY - FEBRUARY

UNPOSTED WIP that I worked on every day for two months and have not touched since, to be posted TBD in 2023 || Drarry || 40K at the moment

Harry hopes when he goes his eyes are open, like Fred’s were, so that the people who are with him then will look down into his face and see not anger or grief or pain, but a constellation of stars, never setting.

MARCH

big hands, i know you’re the one || drarry || 887 || M

The day Hogwarts realised Draco Malfoy, reformed Death Eater (and was that kind of hot, now? Now that he wasn’t trying to kill them all? Sort of a bad boy thing?), had really quite big hands was an unmitigated disaster.

APRIL

any day now || drarry || 17K || E

Draco is aware he comes from a long line of extremely intelligent wizards who somehow, with very few exceptions, haven’t made a single smart decision between them.

scarhead || drarry || 2K || E

He scratches absentmindedly at the scabs on his chest as he imagines them -- his observers -- wandering through the world, their pockets full up with gold and his secret.

a licence to kill || drarry, past-nottpott, past-dramione || 11K WIP || M

The Department of Magical Licences, Permits, and Assorted Permission Granting (or, as it’s more commonly referred as, and always in grumbled utterance: the DOMLPAPG) is located on Level 1, just to the left as you exit the lifts.

MAY

acts of service || drarry || 5.6K || E

Draco had fucked him three times that night –- first in the hallway, to remind Harry what he’d been missing; second in the kitchen, now that Draco knew how much he’d been missed; third in the bedroom, face to face this time, rough and in love –- so when Harry woke up on Monday with a raw throat they both figured it was because that’s where Draco’s cock had been.

jesus, etc || drarry, charlie/draco/harry, charlie/draco || 1.5K || E

They drink at the table where Harry once found it easy, being in love. Where he kissed the tender expanse of Draco’s open palm.

JUNE

the complete idiot’s guide to losing your entire mind || drarry || 10K || E

They weren't to go to Harry's flat, because it was “a cry for help” and made Draco sad.

in between two tall mountains (there’s a place they call lonesome) || drarry, past-hansy || 8K || E

He rests a hand on top of Harry’s, intertwining their fingers so he can lift them up and turn his mouth to the palm, and when he kisses it Harry smells rich like ancient pines and beds of thick moss, and the taste of his skin is lovely, warm despite the rain.

SEPTEMBER

eager for the sky || drarry, background ronarry || 35K || M

Draco had imagined this moment often, in so many permutations, trying to prepare himself for how it might feel, to rehearse in his mind so as not to make a total wang of himself in the actual doing of it. He’d accounted for a variety of extenuating circumstances, but what he hadn’t anticipated was the kindness of Potter’s touch.

the july tree || drarry, hinny || 52K || E

Harry wondered sometimes if being raised in an environment of constant withholding hadn’t developed in him a deep, gnawing avarice, as though instead of a heart he’d been given the Room of Requirement, a space that could never be filled.

OCTOBER

the long ways || drarry, harry/omc || 10K || M

“I should go,” Draco says.

“You should,” Harry says. “Or we could get a last round, before you run out of my life forever, again.”

NOVEMBER

100 beats per minute || drarry, harry/omc(s) || 14K || E

“Ten a day, I figure.” Potter shrugged. “On a circuit weekend? How hard can it be.”

“You tell me.” Draco looked pointedly at the spot on the table where Potter’s lap would be, if he could see it.

DECEMBER

fest fic! watch this space

soon to be posted self-indulgent WIP || drarry, harry/charlie, harry/bill || 10K and counting || E

“Nasty habit of yours, surviving,” Draco says. He puts a hand on Harry’s throat and squeezes, as though testing the veracity of his musculature. “Like a cockroach.”

[stationintern]

Sunday Snips!

Thank you to @mallstars for tagging me! This fic is something I've only recently started tinkering with. Here's the working synopsis for a little context: This story is about portrait. It’s also about the warmth of a shopfront on a foggy morning, the intimacy of eavesdropping, and the love we have for our terrible mothers. Alternatively, this is a story about Draco Malfoy.

Draco was struggling for a quick-witted reply when a man’s laughter rang out from the same corner as the woman’s from before. The sound struck Draco right between the lungs, engulfing him in nausea similar to the kind he’d managed to quell with the croissant. Something about that laugh was so familiar, so grating–

In an instant, he knew to whom it belonged. He could hear it echo from high above the Quidditch pitch, down a corridor, across the expanse of the Great Hall, against all odds.

Then, the voice spoke.

“Fuck! I have that meeting with Helena in an hour.”

Every ounce of comfort that Flora’s had managed to provide was dashed like waves upon a rocky seashore as Potter whirled into action from behind the fern. He was just like Draco remembered: broad, dark, with those boyish mannerisms– such as shoving a half-eaten muffin between his teeth as he wrestled his arms into his coat.

“Oh no,” Pansy said, and Draco would have said it first if he wasn’t busy being slack-jawed and generally terrified. This was not the time. This was not the place. 

“Oh no,” she said again, more frantic, batting at his arm, “Darling, darling–”

Draco just sat and stared as Pansy spurred into action, bumping her knee against the underside of the table, sending their espresso cups clattering into their saucers as she launched herself toward a newspaper stand, just out of arm's reach. Potter was still struggling with that damned jacket, repeatedly missing the holes as he tried to talk to his partner with a mouth full of muffin, undignified. 

Pansy finally managed to nab a paper, whipping it open and shoving Draco’s face behind its pages, right as Potter turned in their direction. Draco and Pansy had a silent conversation that contained a fair amount of expletives using only their eyes, nose to nose behind the singular newspaper, lacking in width, which they were now using as a hiding spot. A little boy had saved a kitten from a tree. There was something to do with Iraq that contained too much political jargon for Draco to glean anything of substance from at this moment.

A muffled goodbye, footsteps, the ringing of a newly-familiar bell. Potter was gone. Draco urged Pansy to drop the newspaper, but she held firm, and it was easy to guess that she was terrified, with the way her sharp nails dug into the words, threatening to puncture them. She was holding her breath, eyes squeezed shut, murmuring a silent prayer unto herself.

More footsteps sounded from the corner– slower, more hesitant. Someone, not Potter, was approaching them.

“Pansy,” a woman’s voice said. Ginevra.

“Pansy,” she repeated, “I know that’s you. I heard you saying something about shagging on a piano bench.”

Slowly, so slowly, Pansy lowered the newspaper, just enough so that Ginevra could see her eyes. Ginevra was not how Draco remembered, rail-thin and on fire, sometimes pale and awestruck when Potter walked by during her younger years. She was taller, and underneath the forest green turtleneck she wore there was the distinct outline of muscle. Perhaps she had grown a few more freckles, as well. Draco wasn’t sure what she’d been up to for the last few years, but it appeared to have served her well.

“Hi,” she said, more timid and with less fire than Draco would have thought. Pansy flinched beside him.

“Hello,” Pansy squeaked, and pulled the newspaper up higher, “I’d really rather not speak with you, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind, actually.”

In a flash, the newspaper was ripped from Pansy’s grip, dangling limp and tattered in Ginevra’s hand. Her smile was soft, as opposed to victorious over their unveiling. Draco resisted the urge to throw up. He didn’t want to be in the vicinity of anyone who knew more than his name and occupation, let alone a Weasley.

“Let’s have a chat, shall we?”

Once again, another WIP for me to think about. This month is very very busy for me, along with stressful, so I doubt much writing will occur, but I'm glad to be able to share these little snippets. I'm tagging @uncannycerulean @thehoneybeet and @teledild0nix

[romaine2424]

WIP Snip!

Thank you for the tag @squintclover. I definitely LOL at yours.

This is from my Christmas Drarry WIP I'll be finishing and posting during the holidays. It's called More Than a Legend. This is from Chapter 7:

Harry laughed, put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. “Minerva, you’ll never be old in my eyes. You’ll always be wee Minnie holding onto her stuffed lion.” Minerva’s eyes shot wide open. Draco decided he needed to hold onto her so she didn’t faint. She was giggling like a little girl as she looked up to Harry fondly. “Oh Merlin,” Snape mumbled. Harry turned towards the portrait. “I’m sorry, Sevie, that I wasn’t around when you were young and needed someone like me most.”

Tagging but only if you want to: @sassy-cissa, @mosrael, @ghostofnoxnoir Have fun!

[andithiel]

Snippet tag

Thank you for tagging me @uncannycerulean (you can find her lovely snippet feat. Pansy here).

I’m currently writing agonising over an anon fest (while being away with extended family, yay, life is great!) so I can’t share a snippet of that. And I feel like maybe I’ve shared enough of the brain rot that is “Draco got a vibrator stuck in his arse and Harry needs to help him get it out”? And this is probably a bad idea because I can’t be distracted from the fest fic and I’ve no idea when I’d be able to finish this, but I’ve been toying with the idea of a werewolf A/B/O fic where Harry goes into his first heat and Draco needs to help him out by having him in his home and trying his best not to give into his rut. This is a pretty rough section (but the most polished I have for this WIP) where Draco’s asked Luna to come over and give Harry some special lycanthropy sex aid.

Luna hums and Draco’s not sure if she agrees or not. “He likes you though.”

“Luna, I’m sorry, I know you live on another planet, where I’m sure that statement is true. I, however, live on this one, the one where Harry Potter does not like Draco Malfoy. He’s not in his right mind right now, he doesn’t want— He’d want anyone who happens to—”

Luna regards him and it’s eery, he squirms.

“And what would the harm be in that? If he wants you for this problem, and you want him for the exact same—” Draco looks up and then down again. “Oh.”

Draco rubs at his nose, trying to quell his embarrassment.

“Maybe ‘like’ isn’t the right word,” she says. “But you were both heavily obsessed with each other in school.” Matter of factly as she always does.

Draco doesn’t feel like elaborating on this. “As pleasant as talking about Potter and me is, there was a reason I asked you to come over.”

“Oh! Yes, you did! I’m sorry Draco, I was so happy to see you that I forgot.”

Guilty that she feels that way about him and that he’s not good at keeping in touch. Luna rummages around in her bag and pulls out a box.

“Here, this is the latest in our lycanthropy collection: the inflatable dildo.”

Draco frowns while Luna unpacks the contents of the box. She pulls out a regular looking dildo. It’s purple, of course it’s purple.

“Right,” he mutters, unreasonably jealous of a piece of plastic. “Thanks.”

“Shall I give you a demonstration?”

“I’ve used this kind of thing, and I would venture that Potter has, too.”

“Oh, but this isn’t a regular dildo. It can sense when the user is about to reach climax, and then it expands at the base, like this.” She taps the dildo with her wand, and sure enough, it expands around the base, mimicking a knot that Draco is all too familiar with. “It won’t stay inflated for as long as a knot does, we’ve reached the conclusion that our clients find it a bit uncomfortable to keep it for that long when there’s not a body attached to it. It automatically deflates after about five minutes, but the user can postpone or shorten that time as they choose.”

Okay! That was fun right? *sweats nervously*. Onto the tagging! No pressure @rei382 @phdmama @dragonbornphoenix @crazybutgood @fictional @thehoneybeet and YOU who see this and want to share, please do!

[lqtraintracks]

WIP Snip

Thank you for the tag @wolfpants and @teacup-tai! I enjoyed both of yours so much! 

I’ve been sharing from my trans Draco/werewolf Harry fic, and this week I finally decided to go ahead and make it a self-prompt for @hp-bodiceripper, so I’m very excited about that! I’ll share a sweet scene here, one of the very few with no sex. ;) Content: werewolf-based fatigue, mild hurt/comfort

And I’ll tag (only if you feel like it) @corvuscrowned @nerdherderette @mintamintathings @maesterchill and @3lvendork

***

Summer began, and then it was my birthday, and Harry insisted we go out to celebrate even though it was during a full moon.

“It’s the first day. It won’t be as bad as the second,” he said. When I gave him my most sceptical frown, he went on. “I’ll take my regular Wolfsbane. Come on, I want to take you to the pub.”

It was a very Gryffindor-type celebration: all our friends at The Leaky, mixing like oil and water if you shook them together really hard. It was very sweet of him to put it all together. Blaise and Pansy came. So did Theo and Greg and Daphne. I was surprised at how many of Harry’s friends came as well: Ginevra, Longbottom, Lovegood, Finnigan and Thomas. I wondered if he had bribed them with an offer of free drinks, but Potter only bought his own and mine.

And though he tried to act like he felt okay, I could see that it was wearing on him as the evening turned to night. He laughed at the story Finnigan told, his friend gesticulating so wildly his pint sloshed and Thomas reached out a calming hand with a murmured, “Alright, love, they get it.” But I saw the pallor, so unnatural looking on him. I saw the strain in him, his eyes tired, haunted even.

After a couple pints, I got him a peppermint tea instead, and he gave me a grateful nod, that hang-dog expression passing over his face. I took his hand, kissed his knuckles. “I’ve had a good birthday. Why don’t we get you home now?”

He’d insisted on staying a bit longer. I finally got him to make his way toward the Floo sometime a little before midnight. But when I stumbled into Grimmauld after him, it was to find him still on the floor.

“Sweetheart,” I gasped, dropping to my knees beside him. “Do you need to go to Mungo’s? Should I ring someone?”

“No,” he said weakly. “No, this is what happens. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, you dickhead.”

He gave a fatigued laugh. “Can you just side-along me to bed, please?”

“Of course,” I said, my hand soft over his brow.

I got him to his bed, and he let me take off his shoes.

“That’s good,” he said, curling under the covers in the remainder of his clothes.

“What do you need?” I asked, hurting for him, that he overextended for me when I didn’t need him to.

“You,” he said, lips barely clearing his blankets. “Hold me?”

The sweet innocence of the request nearly knocked me off my feet. I ditched my own shoes, crawled into the bed behind him, and I wrapped him as best I could in my arms.

“Happy birthday,” he said miserably, ironically, and I squeezed him gently close.

I waited until I was sure he was asleep to answer. “Oh Harry. You have no idea.”

[oflights]

wip snip 5.1

i've been tagged a bunch of times over the past few weeks to post wip snips and only had the last few chapters of star splitter to post, so i bailed. i finally have something new to preview!! have a bit of the gilmore girls fic, still in progress. 🥰

Just about 8 years ago, the bell over the doorframe jingled violently as Draco Malfoy threw the door open and swept in, already talking. “Bloody hell, that snow is abominable,” he was saying. He hefted a bundled, starfish-shaped form that would turn out to be a toddler by his hip, a pram scooting behind them and leaving a wet trail on Harry’s floor. With a flick of his wrist, the pram had folded up and nestled in the corner of the dining area, dripping there ignored, as Draco descended upon the counter much the same as he did almost every day.

“You, there—please tell me this place has something warm to—” And then Draco froze, because back then he had not done this every day; this was the first time, and more specifically the first time he had seen Harry Potter in the flesh since their eighth year of Hogwarts.

“Malfoy,” Harry had said, eyeing the puffy bundle warily. He didn’t know it was a toddler then; every bit of Scorpius was covered up and radiating Warming Charms. In hindsight, he was probably sweating, but Harry was to later learn that Scorpius had been a quite agreeable child until he learned to read—an apparent mistake that Draco despairs of having made a few times a week—and he made no complaints even dropped onto a stool as he was, propped up against his father.

“What are you doing here?” Draco, then Malfoy, had demanded. He looked utterly thrown and somehow offended, as if Harry’s existence in his own place of business was a grave insult to him.

“This is my place,” Harry said, and then as an instinctive response to Draco’s disbelieving scoff, he added, “I own it.” He’d hoped Draco would pick up on the implied threat—don’t be an arse or I’ll kick you out.

...

“This place is called Al’s,” Draco said accusingly. “You’re not Al.”

“Nope, I’m not. I’m Harry.” When Draco stared at him, Harry clarified, “Harry Potter.”

“I know you’re—who is Al, then?” Draco went pale beneath his winter flush. “Wait. Did you name this place after—Dumbledore?” He whispered the name as if ashamed, and Harry supposed that was about right, though it garnered him little sympathy.

Harry let that dread sit on Draco’s face for a few moments before he said, “No, it was already called Al’s when I bought it. Didn’t feel like changing the name.” He had changed everything else about it, though, spending one exhausting summer converting it from a pub no one really liked to go to anymore to a greasy spoon that people liked much more.

...

Harry had not opened this place and kept it open so he could be insulted and bullied; he was long past the time in his life when he would accept that, especially from the likes of Draco Malfoy. And so he opened his mouth once again to tell Draco to get out—ignoring all the questions he had for him, like what he was doing in this town, out in the snowstorm, carrying some sort of doll, maybe?

Before he could say so, and even before Draco could interrupt, the doll made a noise that made Harry startle and drop the rag he’d been wiping down the counter with. The doll made another noise, reached out, and grabbed the rag.

“Mine!” the doll said, lifting its head until a nose poked out of its bundling. That was when Harry realized that what Draco had set down on the stool was a toddler.

“Not yours,” Draco said as Harry tried to process this. “Let it go, Scorpius, it’s disgusting!”

“Oh,” said Scorpius, in a very wobbly sort of voice. His head tipped up so much that Harry could now see wide eyes, which were a complex hazel shade that made him really start to wonder what Draco was doing with a toddler. Said eyes were glistening slightly, and to accompany the look, Scorpius said, “Okay,” in the saddest little voice Harry had ever heard. He dropped the rag back on the counter; he could barely move his arm in his heavy, puffy coat.

“He can have it,” Harry said quickly; he grabbed up the rag and tried to hand it back, unable to deal with that stricken face.

[dracognition]

wip snip sunday :P still part of my Secret Thing... but i'm having fun & i hope you'll all have fun reading it when i can set it loose! cw: blood, injury

Harry’s mouth felt hot and too wet, so he opened it and frowned when red spilt onto his hands. “I think,” he said, his tongue thick with blood, “something’s gone a bit wrong,” and the world tipped over and distantly he heard Malfoy’s panicked high voice yelling about fifteen different spells, half of them illegal when used on another person, and then his pinched face was right above him, shaking fingers cupping Harry’s jaw.

“You’re an idiot,” he said feverishly. “You’re an idiot and—and if you die Robards is going to have my head—”

“Prob’ly give you an award,” Harry murmured. “Good work today.”

Malfoy swore, then looked at Harry’s face, then swore again. “Good work doesn’t count if you—if you—” He swallowed. “I’m going to get us to St Mungo’s, all right? And you’re going to be okay—you fucking imbecile, stop moving; you’ll just make it worse—”

Harry kept moving anyway, lifting his hand to cup Malfoy’s face, too. It was only fair when Malfoy’s hand was against his. “Feels nice.” He moved it to see blood coating Malfoy’s cheek and frowned. “Sorry. Didn’t really—think it through.”

“I’m going to kill you,” raged Malfoy, and then he looked stricken and ran his thumb reassuringly over Harry’s cheekbone and said, “Just—just hang on; we’re going to Apparate and it’ll hurt but it has to—there’s no other way—you’re so bloody stupid—”

It didn’t hurt, but that might’ve been mostly because Harry couldn’t feel much at all other than blinding numbness. Still, he recognised the high tiled ceiling of the hospital, so he tried to smile at Malfoy, dimly realised this may not have been the smartest choice of action when blood was probably all over his teeth, and said, “Thanks. Sorry.”

The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was Malfoy calling him a moron. Typical.

[oknowkiss]

happy birthday iota & maddy!!

@sorrybutblog @thebooktopus !!!! it is your birthdays! wow. what an absolute pleasure it has been to get to know both of you this year. you are both so generous with your time, offering incredible betas and recs and gift-fics, and then somehow still finding the time to write amazing words yourselves. i am consistently in awe of you both! to that point, i do have wee giftie of my own for you, however due to how everything is so much all of the time, it isn’t quite ready yet. so for today, please enjoy a couple semi-lengthy excerpts (E-rated) — featuring professional quidditch player bicon harry, bartender draco who definitely does NOT have a crush and is not going to do anything at all with amortentia cocktails, and their very patient roommates/partners pansy and neville — the general plot is that everyone is going to fuck everyone (although, of course, drarry endgame) — i hope you both have the best day ever!!! 

And maybe it was more Pansy’s fault than Harry had initially thought, because it was after all Pansy who had talked loudly about walking into the loo to find two men in there with the door unlocked, one bent over the sink, the other rutting into him from behind. And it was Pansy who had asked Draco and Neville what it felt like to have your prostate fucked, but it was Harry who had spoken up–again without thinking, seemingly the theme of the night–and said around the mouthful of olives he was sucking off a toothpick,

“Bloody fucking amazing, that.”

“Sorry, what–” Draco demanded, at the same time that Neville choked on his own drink, sloshing beer down his chin, and Pansy buried herself in one of Draco’s four gin & tonics, her eyes bright and gleaming.

“What?” Harry said, looking up at them then, taking in their shocked looks. His eyes focused on Draco because he was the easiest to find in the dark light. “You don’t have a monopoly on getting buggered.”

“Obviously, but I didn’t–”

“Know that I’m bi?” Harry finished for him, pulling down another olive, chewing it as he spoke. “Soz, suppose it never came up.” And then, “You could’ve told them, Pans.”

“Wait,” and it was at this point that Draco had put his hands on the bar, his knuckles white, as though he needed to find purchase on something solid and reliable. “You’ve been buggered by a man?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said, and then, at Pansy, “You say I’m the idiot?”

“I presumed—” Draco started, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Honestly Potter, I’ve seen what she keeps in the trunk under her bed. I just presumed she’d fucked you.”

“Not yet!” Pansy laughed, clapping, practically dancing.

Harry looked from Pansy to Draco and then shrugged, returned to his olives, dragging the last one down the toothpick with his teeth until it disappeared into his mouth with a tiny pop.

“We’ve been waiting for a special occasion.”  

“I need air,” Draco said. “A lot of air.”

+++

A few days later came the protein powders and the dusty bags full of loose grain, which Draco found shoved into the cupboard between his imported chocolates.

“Are you a horse?” Draco asked casually, bending over Potter as he lay on the floor stretching his right leg up and around in circles in a way that Draco hardly noticed and had not been watching, due to the fact that he was reading, and taking in every word.

“What?” Potter asked, pulling a headphone out of his ear. Draco could hear the tinny sound of a guitar streaming out.

“Only, I was wondering why your feed bags are in my cupboard,” Draco said, crossing his arms and focusing on Potter’s face, not at all noticing the way Potter’s cock shifted in his joggers when he stretched his leg out to the side.

“Grab that would you,” Potter said, gesturing to his foot. He had his leg in the air and one socked foot wiggling over top of his head. “My hip is so tight today. Need to loosen up before practice.”

Draco considered it. The bottom of Potter’s socks were surprisingly clean; Draco hadn’t counted on Potter being a slipper man, but he was, and his various pairs of house slippers had been cropping up in every room over the prior week, sometimes left in pairs by the couch or by the doorframe to Pansy’s room, sometimes just one shoved under a table or a chair or, mysteriously, under the kitchen sink.

“I’d rather die,” Draco said, coming to the only reasonable conclusion.

+++

It was all so presumptuously comfortable of him, to be lying on Draco’s sofa, relaxed and drunk enough that when Pansy started rubbing the dips of Potter’s skull behind his ears, her painted fingernails scratching over the short buzzed hairs of his undercut, that Potter gave a soft little moan—a moan that they could all see his mouth make—and then put his hand with all its veins on the thickening bulge in his joggers.

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Draco dear?” Pansy asked, and Draco realized she’d been staring at him for a while.

“I’m just wondering,” he said, “When we acquired a new piece of furniture?”

“You mean the telly,” Potter asked, at the same time as Pansy had said, “Do you mean my boyfriend?”

The word boyfriend hung in the air like the aftermath of a shot. Slightly beer delayed, it took Potter a moment to register it, but when he did he reached an arm over his head and pinched Pansy’s side and Draco would’ve commented on the utterly sopping look on Potter’s face if he hadn’t been distracted by the tuft of curly black hair under Potter’s arm.

Not that it was the first time Draco had seen Potter’s armpit—the man was apparently suffering from a severe allergy to sleeves-–but every time Draco walked past Potter and his bare armpits he expected to find himself encountering a stench, and every time he was forced to begrudgingly admit that Potter smelled good.

He smelled how being windswept felt, a rush to the head, earthy sometimes like dirt or very tall trees. He never smelled sour, not even after he left Pansy’s room, not even the time he had walked into the bathroom naked and sweating. Draco had been washing his face at the time and Potter was either truly blind or kept his brain in his glasses, because he was barefaced and naked when he opened the door and walked straight into Draco, who was only wearing a pair of pants at the time.

It lasted only a second, but in that second Draco could feel every inch of Potter’s skin pressed against his side. He was dark with flush, hot to the touch and sticky against Draco’s cool pallor. When Potter stepped away, or more accurately unpeeled himself from Draco’s side, there was a damp spot on Draco’s hip from where Potter’s dick, red and still half swollen and slick with wet, had pressed into him.

Draco could smell Pansy in Potter’s facial hair, which was more than he ever wanted to know, despite literally seeing Potter’s head between her legs the night previous. He had stepped around them in the hallway as he came home from work, had studiously not felt Potter’s eyes following him and had definitely not looked back as he pushed open the door to his room, had not been pierced by a flash of green in the half-light.

Draco had not leaned, jelly-legged, against the wall in his bedroom so he could better hear the obscene wet sounds Potter made as he lapped at her cunt. He had not spat in his palm and came with a recordbreaking swiftness not seen since his Hogwarts days as he thought about the way the corner of Potter’s mouth had tilted up into a grin when he saw Draco look back. Potter had pulled back briefly to breathe, allowing Draco the briefest glimpse of teeth and pink tongue as he licked his swollen lips, glistening wet.

But in the bathroom, Potter was laughing an apology and had put his hands on Draco’s shoulders to steady himself; his fingertips were pruny, which was really more information than Draco ever needed to know, and as Draco turned to push Potter out into the hall the scent of his body washed over Draco like a wave, and when his eyes fluttered closed he saw soup stock boiling on a stovetop, leaves in bright red and yellow blanketed beneath his feet, the golden warmth of sunlight the moment before it sets.

[basiatlu]

Lil Belated Wip Snip - ty for tagging me @squintclover ♡

The name of the game is to share a snippet, a smackeral, a tiny taste of something you're working on! I'm tagging @littlewinnow @mono-chromia @hihimissamericanbi @maxrowave @lqtraintracks only if you'd like~☆

[writcraft]

WIP snip

Tagged by @the-starryknight thank you so much! This is a snippet from a short sequel to the Drarry part of my Little Compton Street series, when they finally get to New York and Harry has a business proposition for Draco <3

“I’m selling the flat in Bermondsey.”

Draco nods. It’s not a surprise. Now the renovations are complete at Godric's Hollow, Harry hardly uses the flat anymore. Still, Draco can’t quite imagine Harry leaving the hum of London behind. For all the happy months they have spent in Wiltshire and Godric's Hollow, London still calls to them. Draco knows he's not the only one that craves the restless beat of the city with her bright lights and hidden streets.

“The Mayor and Miners is for sale,” Harry continues. “Did you know it used to be called The Gryffindor Lion? It changed hands the summer after the Triwizard Tournament.”

“I didn’t know.” Draco watches Harry curiously. There’s something that tells him this isn’t a casual conversation. “How did you find that out?”

“I had a drink with McGonagall." Harry pushes a hand through his hair.

Draco presses his lips together, trying not to focus on the angle of Harry's wrist, the leather band that caresses his skin, the plain, silver rings and the flex and twist of his fingers. The audacity of it all. It is utterly appalling that Harry can still make Draco salivate with such an innocuous gesture.

"I thought McGonagall was more interested drag kings than wizards," Draco says, in an effort to keep his desire at bay, at least for the time being.

"We went for a whisky, not a date." Harry laughs under his breath. "We visited Dumbledore's memorial on the edge of Compton Common. I didn't even know it was there. You can't see it for the long grass."

Draco raises an eyebrow at Harry. It seems apt that Little Compton Street has memorial sites that flower with each new season, hidden to those who don't know where to look. “What were the two of you doing digging through weeds looking for graves?”

“It’s not a grave, it's a memorial.” Harry rolls his eyes and takes a swig of his beer. "You haven't answered my question."

"You haven't asked me one," Draco points out.

"Do you want to buy a pub with me?"

I'll tag @danpuff-ao3, @perverse-idyll, @mia-ugly, @lqtraintracks, @shiftylinguini and anyone else that cares to do this. Please tag me so I can see!

[goblinmatriarch]

Thanks for the tag @myrtlefics ! This WIP snip is from a vampire AU (or, like, not AU exactly just....vampires) for the FrottCott AU challenge.

“How could you not know?” Draco was practically shouting now. “It’s a matter of public record! There are lists of all humanoid creatures, and literally anyone can access them, including landlords and potential employers, but especially hexing Aurors, Potter!”

Potter shrugged, eyes on the ground. “It felt like cheating,” he muttered obstinately. “Looking you up.”

Draco gaped. “Sweet Circe’s pig trough, are you serious? Besides!” He gestured up and down his body. “It’s pretty fucking obvious!”

At this, Potter looked up. He took his time following the path Draco’s hand had taken. Draco resisted the urge to squirm under his consideration.

“Is it?” Potter asked finally.

Draco couldn’t answer for a few moments. “Yes!” He finally burst out. “On account of how I’m incredibly alluring and absolutely perfectly groomed at all times? Not to mention my fangs, or the chill of my skin, or any number of other tells?”

“Well,” Potter pointed out, “it’s not as though I’ve touched you, or stared at your teeth. And the rest of the stuff—” He cut himself off, flushing a violent and unbecoming purple. “I mean, er, how was I to know that was vampire stuff?”

“Oh, what, you just suddenly thought I was fit and that didn’t seem strange to you?” Draco demanded sarcastically.

Potter toed shiftily at the floor. “Yeees?”

No-pressure tagging @elskanellis @mono-chromia @thehoneybeet @skeptiquewrites @peachpety