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#post hogwarts
wolfstarhaven · 19 hours
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FLATMATES (part 2)
Two years ago today I made my flatmates rec list, which is my favourite list ever. I never get tired of this trope. So, since it is once again my birthday, here are some lovely additions!
losing my mind, thinking about you, by drowsyanddazed (16k)
The black kohl along his water line is smudged, black flecks of it dusting his cheekbone. His hair is still flying everywhere, whipping across his face. He’s a mess. He’s the blurred edges of a photograph. He’s a heartbeat and stinging lungs. He’s the rattling behind Remus’ ribcage. And Sirius grins at him, tongue between teeth —illecebrous and tantalising and all things beautiful and dangerous— and all the air rushes out of Remus’ lungs in one fell swoop. He’s lightheaded and dizzy and burning.
An absolute gem, this one. In which the first wizarding war is on the rise, but the boys are flatmates and they go grocery shopping!! The jealousy and pining is perfect.
Heat the Winter Floods + A Little Sincerity Is a Dangerous Thing, by daphnaea (6k)
(Two parts)
It was funny, Sirius thought, the things you could fail to learn about your best mate despite sharing a dormitory for seven years.
A story of pining for you flatmate, in two parts. Set during the first war, it’s slightly angsty but oh so lovely and well-written.
Seeing Other People, by swings_and_roundabouts (21k)
Where Sirius is hopelessly in love with Remus Lupin who is always just a little out of reach. But their friends with benefits situation isn't sustainable, Remus is so close yet so far away and Sirius doesn't know if he can take it anymore.
Once again, they live together and are friends with benefits. Lots of pining, jealousy and idiocy follows, as well as a sort of “break-up”. This is quite angsty, very much a “requited unrequited love” kind of fic (which I LOVE).
Friends Don't, by shadow_prince (2k)
That didn’t stop him from glancing over the top of the paper to where he stood at the edge of the hallway. He was frozen in the way you froze just before you kicked off the ground on your broom. Right before a runner pushed off the block. Right before you dove off a cliff into the sea. Frozen with the promise of movement about to burst forth.
Sirius watched him, holding his breath.
“You’re lying.”
Short and sweet, less angst and more fluff!
the son and heir of nothing in particular, by @steelycunt (24k)
Remus is nineteen and tired, now. And he knows that if he and Sirius were ever going to become anything—if Sirius loved Remus the way Remus loves, and will probably always love, him—it already would’ve happened.
Another fic that proves that this trope is the absolute best. In which Remus is a stubborn prick (we love him) who refuses to move in with Sirius — but in the end he has no choice. There’s arguing, hurt feelings, and a stupid amount of pining. And, let’s now forget, the writing is out of this world lovely. Ridi’s characterisation of Remus is to die for. A must read!
Don't Make Me Beg For You (Because I'll Beg For You), by CuriousMay (14k)
“What?”
"You know, Rita Schaffer? She was that 4th year who had that incident with Bleatchley's Beauty Bleach in '75 just after our exams and Madam Pomfrey had to regrow all her hair-" Remus starts as he puts down the tomato but Sirius cuts him off with a sharp wave of his hand.
"No, not that, you idiot. The other bit. You said - you said you're in love with me?"
This fic was so much fun! In which Remus thinks that everyone, including Sirius, knows that he’s in love with him. Turns out: Sirius didn’t know. Some big realisations, pining and lots of sexual tension ensue.
Practical Oddities, by lurikko (48k)
Regulus needs a place to stay, Remus needs to get over Sirius. It’s August 1979 and things are getting out of hands.
In which Remus lives on Sirius’ sofa. That is, until Regulus shows up. Slow burn and beautiful pining in a First War setting. Lovely!
stars by the pocketful, by simplyylupin (16k)
But Sirius, Sirius is winter. He’s the cold mornings that startle you awake the instant you step outside. He’s the intricate snowflakes, the blunt shards of ice. He’s the holiday cheer, the twinkling lights and dainty decorations. He’s Aurora Borealis twisting around blinking stars. Remus always feels like he’s dying during winter. And if that isn’t the most ironic thing.
A wintery muggle au 5+1 fic full of not so subtle mutual pining. Very very cute!
Hic sunt dracones, by aryastark_valarmorghulis (5k)
Remus and Sirius try putting on makeup and end up trying a lot more: sex, kissing, and maybe even talking about feelings.
Well-written and spicy🌶️ Also very sweet! Poor Remus is pining like mad, and then he has to live through Sirius putting makeup on him? Torture☺️
I've sat upon the setting sun, by fiddleleafedfig (4k)
Sirius could see the swoop of long eyelashes that lined the brown eyes, still glued to the notebook in front of him. And as those sunrays danced, Sirius felt something heavy hit the pit of his stomach, simultaneously lodging itself in his throat.
A short story of falling in love over the years. They don’t live together in the beginning, but they do later on. Sweet fluff!
xx Elliot
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radical-ghostface · 3 months
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Adult Seb visiting Hogsmeade 💚🍭🐍
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invalid-prongs · 2 years
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“you’re married.”
james subconciously twists the ring on his fourth finger. “yeah, i am,” he smiles softly. “nearly a year ago now, actually. our anniversary comes up next month.”
“oh, that’s nice,” lily smiles, tilting her head to the side, sounding half geniune. “so, who is she? and when did you get over sirius’ stupid little brother?”
“actually, i got under him,” james’ gentle smiles turns into a smirk. “sirius’ stupid little brother is now my stupid little husband.”
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Conversation
regulus: *trips over*
james, running to pick him up: oh my god! are you okay? are you hurt? look, you ripped your trousers-
sirius: *throws himself down the stairs*
remus, watching from the top: do a backflip next time.
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seurate · 1 year
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“We’ll be together,” Tom had coo, knowing that she would be afraid. “Forever.”
No one would separate them, not even Death itself. He’d known as soon as he set eyes on her that she would be his Lady, the only one that he would kneel before, just as she would perch on his lap while sharing his throne.
Hermione was the only one he allowed in, the only one who had a chance of understanding him.
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lulublack90 · 17 days
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Prompt 12 - Bombardo
@wolfstarmicrofic March 12, word count 266
“I don’t like this wall.” Sirius mused, running his hands across the wall dividing the kitchen from the dining room. “If we knock it down, it’ll open up the space, and we can get a larger dining table. Remus glanced up at him from the book he was taking notes from. 
“If that’s what you want to do, it’s your house.” 
“Our house.” Sirius corrected. “But what do you think? Good idea or not?”  He went back to running his hands over the cream-painted wall. 
“If you want to open the kitchen up, do it. I don’t mind either way.” 
“Very helpful. Thank you, Remus.” Sirius rolled his eyes at his boyfriend. “Hmm, I think I’m gonna do it.” He pulled out his wand. “Bombardo!” The wall exploded, firing chunks of plaster and concrete at them. 
“Merlin, Sirius!” Remus yelled. “You could have brought the whole house down!” Sirius turned around grimacing, covered from head to foot in dust. 
“Sorry. Probably should have used a more delicate spell.” 
“No, you think?” It was Remus’s turn to roll his eyes. With a flick of his wand, he tidied up the room. He walked over to the wall, surveying it. He bit his lip and waved his wand in complicated little movements that eventually vanished the wall. 
Sunlight poured into the space from the dining room’s window. Remus put his arm around Sirius’s shoulders. 
“You were right, sweetheart. This room is better opened up.” He kissed the top of Sirius’s head and returned to his book, enjoying the sun’s warmth that was now shining across the kitchen table. 
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talesofadragon · 9 months
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞
Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Draco is caged in an unrelenting spiral of distaste and distrust. The pervasive tendrils of hatred threaten to incinerate every aspect of his existence, edging ever closer to Y/N. A breakup seemed like the wisest choice. But a few bottles of Firewhiskey later, Draco is faced with something more daunting than his mind’s distorted illusions—a glimpse into his future. 
Warnings: Allusions to sex
Pairing: Draco x Reader
Genre: Angst | Fluff  
Word count: 4K
All Masterlists | Draco Malfoy Masterlist
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𝐈𝐟 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐤, the weight of guilt would have long since dissipated, evaporating into the vast expanse of time.
But tattoos, Draco had come to learn, lived on a polarizing spectrum—either itched by hope’s gentle caresses or marred by despair’s morbid claws. He liked to call them insignias because he knew that, either way, those brands never faded away. And even if, by Merlin’s stupendous power, their ink were to vanish, the tales behind them would eternally reverberate through the most somber corridors of time.
The choices made and the sacrifices offered in their creation were intricately woven into the curvatures of each tattoo, amplifying the weight of these indelible brands.
“Mate, I have never seen anyone treat Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey so foully.” 
Draco’s silver eyes were unyielding in their pursuit of the black snake that slithered into his pale skin. He refused to look away, not when he heard Theodore Nott’s voice and not when he reached out blindly for the silver goblet, determined to drown the lingering traces of Firewhiskey within it.
As the scorching pace of the liquid coursed through his veins, his heart constricted, and his eyes stung. Yet, he paid no heed to the discomfort, having endured far greater pains in the past.
“Maybe if you weren’t a lightweight then you would have known that the whole Slytherin House and half of the Gryffindors treat it with indignation,” Draco retorted.  
Theodore's arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze narrowing as he observed his best friend. Draco's weariness was evident, more pronounced than even during the days of the Dark Lord. 
Letting out a sigh of resignation, Theodore settled in the chair by Draco's side. Taking the goblet from his hand, Theodore filled it with some more Firewhiskey. “Not that I am unhappy to host you, but isn’t it time to go back home, Draco?”
Draco’s fingers tightened around the goblet. If he thought the Firewhiskey was testing his endurance, then clearly he hadn’t anticipated the words which came out of Theodore’s mouth. 
“I don’t have a home.” 
“But you do.” 
“No. I do not!” His voice ricocheted against the walls, pained echoes pushing against the boundaries that confined them. Draco’s voice shook, the rage in his words dissolving into meek submission. “Not without her.” 
“Mate.” Theodore watched helplessly as Draco swung his head back to gulp down the entire goblet of Firewhiskey. He violently slammed the empty goblet against the marble of the kitchen bar, gaze stuck far ahead. “This is killing you.” 
“Let it.” 
“Draco—”
“I should’ve died long ago in that war, Theo. Maybe this is retribution for everything I did.” 
“What retribution, you imbecile? Dooming everything you’ve both built after the war?” 
“Do not mention her,” Draco seethed. His bloodshot eyes matched the color of his soul, a violent red that overwhelmed every one of his senses. He’s hated the war for so long—he failed to realize how much it seeped through his soul until he became one himself. “I don’t want to hear it.” 
Theodore scoffed. He reared back, placing his weight on the back of the chair and studying Draco’s hunched posture. “I‘ve known you since we were brought into the Wizarding World, Draco. I know that you didn’t come here to escape the fray.” 
“What finally tipped you off, oh brilliant Rowena? Was it the way I shut down every mention of her name? Or perhaps my defensive stance and guarded demeanor?” Draco mocked.
With an air of indifference, Theodore replied, “You don’t run away from battles, Draco. You wage them.” 
“That was the old me.” 
"If that were truly the case, then why did you declare war on Y/N? What suddenly woke you up, making you realize that you couldn't bear to be with her for another second?"
A flash of irritation crossed Draco's face as he interjected, "I told you not to mention her name."
Ignoring the warning, Theodore continued with a pointed intensity. "Her name itself is a battle, Draco. One you’ve ignited because of the conflict that rages within you, fueled by your selfish desires."
"Selfish?" Draco roared, his anger escalating. In the heat of the moment, he flung the empty goblet against the wall, the sound echoing through the room. His nostrils flared as he struggled to control the tempest brewing within him. "What part of letting her go for her well-being is selfish? She deserves better, Nott. So I gave her better!"
"Better, is a subjective notion.” 
"It's the only notion," Draco countered, his composure slipping as he struggled to rein in his emotions. The veneer of false placidity he had tried to maintain for days proved futile in containing his anger. "You have no idea the price I have to pay for the blood that rests on my hand. For the mark that’s refusing to die with time.” 
“I know,” Theodore whispered breathlessly. 
Draco's head shook with a heavy burden of remorse. "No, you don’t. Because being a Death Eater's son and being a Death Eater are two separate realms. I would trade anything, everything, to return to a time when I was feared and hated. Because now, I have to watch the world extend their animosity to the only woman who was brave enough to try and pull me out of the Dark Lord’s dominion.” 
Theodore pushed himself off the chair, his movements purposeful and determined. With each deliberate stride, the distinct click of his shoes echoed against the ground. "By pushing her away. By hurling venomous words at her. By replicating the very path the world forced upon you, dragging her through darkness and uncertainty."
“She deserves better! Better than a semi-stable man who was a servant of darkness. Better than a wizard whose father is serving a sentence in Azkaban and whose mother is a victim of delirium. She deserves better—”
“Than a man who is stripping her of her choices the same way his lineage stripped him of his.” 
“No.” Draco negated. If only he hadn’t drank this much Firewhiskey, maybe his breath would have come out steadier and his words wouldn’t have grappled with conviction. “I left for her.” 
“You left her,” Theodore corrected. It always amazed Draco how Theodore Nott, the epitome of reticence, became a forceful and impassioned defender when it came to matters close to his heart, including Y/N. “You left her because you’re selfish. Because you craved your twisted path of redemption. Retribution, as you have so masterfully termed it, should not come at the expense of hurting Y/N. She fought for you with everything she had. And if you are so keen on being a masochist, Draco, then have the decency to leave her out of your descent into madness!”
With a final venomous glare, Theodore took a step back and began to march away from the room. Draco, caught in a state of disbelief, felt his hands instinctively fall upon the cool marble surface of the kitchen counter. He pressed his palms firmly against the chilled stone, desperately seeking solace from the tumultuous emotions raging within him.
In an abrupt intrusion, Theodore burst back into the room. Draco barely had a chance to meet his gaze before Theodore snatched the bottle of Firewhiskey from the counter and swiftly left. There was no doubt in Draco's mind that he must have also cast a spell to lock the cellar to deny Draco access to any and every liquor stored in the Manor. 
In that moment, Draco's vision was void of any specific color—not a glimpse of red, black, or any hue in between. His rage transcended ordinary perception, defying quantification by any shade or measurement. All that existed in his awareness was a hazy fog enveloping his sight, a world imploding upon itself.
With venomous intent, Draco's fingers slithered through his hair, viciously tugging at the strands. Curses and fury spilled from his lips, weaving a tapestry of disaster, painted with every twisted emotion inhabiting his soul.
The shattered glass before him mirrored his fractured heart, and the disarrayed furniture reflected the homelessness of his wounded spirit. If he excelled in wars and battles, then he might as well transform this space into a battleground.
He persisted for hours, tirelessly wreaking havoc until Theodore's once-familiar abode became unrecognizable. Yet, the knowledge that a mere flick of his wand could undo this chaos only fueled the flames of his fury even more.
How ironic it was that he could demolish a meaningless space in mere hours, only for his magic to effortlessly restore it in seconds. Yet, the home he had reduced to ashes remained irreparable, defying any spells he cast upon it.
With a heavy heart, Draco sank to the ground, embraced by the unforgiving coldness of the stone beneath him. Leaning back against the chilling marble, he stared vacantly at the ceiling of Theodore's dwelling. It was no longer the familiar dark maroon he had once known, but a mosaic of melancholic hues. It was in that moment, as the taste of salty tears brushed against his lips, that he realized his own hollow gaze had been the architect all along.
As his shuddered breaths gradually calmed, and the twitching of his fingers ceased, Draco couldn't help but feel his heart, exhausted from its rapid sprinting and relentless pounding against his ribs.
Standing up, he reached for his wand. "Scourgify," he commanded. Instantly, his magic eagerly clung to every surface in the room, diligently working to restore order and mend the damage he had caused.
While his magic busily repaired what he had broken, Draco made his way to the kitchen, intending to pour himself a much-needed goblet of water. As he approached the marble counter, his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of a mysterious black box neatly resting there.
“What in Merlin’s name?” It must’ve been hidden somewhere amongst the furniture because even in his stupor Draco would’ve recalled coming across it. 
Gingerly, he pulled the lid up. What he found inside was something akin to a Time Turner, along with a couple of notes. Knowing well that all those magical devices had long been destroyed, Draco’s curiosity peaked. He reached for the notes, eyes trekking along the lines of Theodore’s handwriting. 
“Temporal Surger, experimental prototype number five,” Draco read aloud. He briskly skimmed across the pages, absorbing more and more information. “Contrary to the Time Turner, the Temporal Surger springboards the wizard forward through time. Though the exact destination remains unpredictable, prototype number five provides a ten-minute window for the wizard traveling into the future.” 
Draco discarded the notes in favor of picking up the device. It didn’t look any different from the Time Turner with an hourglass in the middle and golden outer rings surrounding it. Yet, when Draco tried to nudge the hourglass, it didn’t budge. He raised his brows, eyes narrowing down to investigate the object. His fingers lingered on the rings, the pad of his index finger tracing the surface. 
Inadvertently, his fingers slipped, and the outer rings turned on themselves. Draco paid them no heed, though it became increasingly hard not to notice them when their momentum increased as they followed an unfamiliar rhythm. Draco didn’t have enough time to panic before a bright light emanated from the center of the Time Surger, engulfing him whole. 
When the light weathered, Draco immediately sprung out of his seat. Taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, he blinked twice. At first, he thought it was his broken heart playing yet another trick on him till it became evident that the Time Surger had, in fact, transported him to another place.
“Merlin’s beard, Theodore is going to murder me,” Draco said aloud. He immediately clamped a hand over his mouth when it dawned on him that he didn’t even know where he was or who was in the same vicinity as him.
Draco hardly had a moment to register his distaste for the petrifying yellow curtains and cream-colored kitchen walls before he caught the sound of leisurely footsteps approaching from his right.
He sprinted across the room, his entire body whirling around itself until he spotted, what he hoped was, a door that led him to the pantry. He rushed in but left it slightly ajar, enough for him to peek through. A crease etched itself in the middle of his forehead when his eyes met a tall man with platinum blond hair tied into a bun. 
The man was shirtless, tall, and well-built. His back was littered with scars, some seemingly thinner and more recent than the others. He moved seamlessly around the kitchen, without a wand in sight, opening draws and cabinets to prepare some food. Draco tried peering closer to catch a glimpse of his face when the sound of someone apparating startled him. 
“What is Master Malfoy doing here?” a squeaky voice asked. 
Draco’s eyes bulged out of their sockets, rivaling the size of the round plates that man had been filling with fruits. He bristled, the gears in his mind rushing to concoct an explanation. But how was he supposed to explain that he’s acquired a, possibly illegal, prototype of a Temporal Surger created by none other than his best friend?
“What does one do in a kitchen?” Draco heard himself say in a mirthful tone. He sighed in relief at the plausible answer, but his relief proved to be ephemeral when he realized that it wasn’t him who spoke. 
He widened the door a bit further, revealing a house elf standing in the kitchen, gazing up at the shirtless blond wizard. With the man's face now visible, Draco was taken aback by the striking similarities between them. The man was a slightly older version of himself.
“Blinky serves the House of Malfoy. It’s Blinky’s job to prepare breakfast for her master.” 
The house elf, Blinky, attempted to pry the spatula out of the Malfoy Patriarch's hand. He didn’t relent, keeping a firm grip on it and flipping whatever he was cooking in the sizzling pan. 
“Thank you, Blinky. I do appreciate your efforts,” he said over the elf's loud huffs. “But I wanted to cook my wife a special breakfast myself.” 
A loud gasp reverberated in the narrow space of the pantry. Draco stumbled even closer to the door, almost pushing it entirely open. His eyes stumbled, intently studying the Malfoy Patriarch's hand. And sure enough, a silver band adorned his ring finger, glistening in the light. 
“Mistress Malfoy has woken up?” Blinky asked in her tiny voice. They must’ve not heard Draco’s shock over the sound of whatever it was that was cooking. 
“Hmm,” the Malfoy Patriarch hummed. He was picking up a goblet from the cupboard and filling it with pumpkin juice. “Blinky, could you please get the Mistress’ favorite flowers? I’m sure she’d appreciate the gesture.” 
Squealing in excitement at fulfilling a task for her masters, Blinky apparated out of the kitchen immediately. By the time she came back with some orchids in a small, round vase, the Malfoy Patriarch had already prepared a full assortment of food. From French Croissants to Quidditch Quaffles, he set them all on a tray and merrily exited the kitchen. Using a disillusionment charm, Draco quietly followed after his older self. 
Draco noticed that the house, or rather cottage, was significantly smaller than Malfoy Manor, yet a million times more alluring. It had a cozy and welcoming atmosphere, adorned with bright colors and pictures from his Hogwarts days. Every decorative piece, whether a vase or an ornament, seemed to have been picked with care making it evidently known that this house was not of his choosing. Whoever his future wife was, he was sure she had to be the one to decorate the house so quaintly and delicately because he could never fill any space with such beauty.
With careful steps, Draco ascended to the upper floor, his attention fixed on each stride. The walls, still adorned in their creamy hue, now bore intricate engravings of an evocative design. The sight of verdant trees and lush bushes lining the hallway welcomed him, instilling a profound sense of tranquility within him.
The Malfoy Patriarch pushed open one of the doors and casually entered. Fortunately, he left it open, making it easier for Draco to hurry inside. He found an equally charming interior, where sunlight streamed into the room, casting a beautiful glow, while the books on the bookshelf created a colorful display like a rainbow.
In the center of the bed, a woman laid peacefully under the covers. Her entire back was exposed, making a pink tint hug Draco’s cheeks. 
The Malfoy Patriarch offered a winsome smile at the painting before his eyes. He placed the tray aside and walked to the bed, letting his thumbs trace the woman’s back.
“Angel,” he called in a soft voice. “Wake up for me.” When the woman didn’t give up her sleep, the Malfoy Patriarch bent down to plant soft kisses on her arm. They were featherlight and soft caresses as if coming out of a dream. 
She sighed heavily, turning on her back. Draco watched his older self laugh, taking this as a chance to kiss his wife’s lips. 
“Draco,” she whined. And Draco had to brace himself against the wardrobe to stop himself from falling to his knees. "Please, five more minutes."
“Y/N Malfoy, you know denying you anything is physically impossible. But I really need you to get out of bed and eat something for me. Now, my love.” 
He heard Y/N say, “Don’t want to.” And Draco’s heart squeezed in his chest because he knew that she was pouting beneath the covers, and most importantly, she was wide awake but trying to get Draco to give her a few more minutes of his attention. 
The Malfoy Patriarch pulled away, surprising Draco. He walked to the tray he had placed aside, grabbing the goblet of pumpkin juice. Y/N opened her eyes when she noticed her husband’s ministrations came to an abrupt end. She hugged the sheets to her naked chest, pouting when she saw her husband against the wall, sipping from the drink.
“This is delicious,” he teased. Y/N made a face. 
“Give it.” She held her hands out, opening and closing her palms in anticipation. Her husband diligently took the whole tray to her side, positioning it on the bed. “I hate you,” she huffed while dipping one Quidditch Quaffle in honey. 
The man in front of her beamed, shaking his head. “You must hate me fiercely, angel. Your ardor set my soul ablaze a million times over yesterday night. And I've got marks on my back to prove it.” 
Both Y/N and Draco choked at the heat that permeated the air. Y/N’s gaze meandered across the room, trying to escape the heat of her husband’s scintillating eyes. 
“Well, you set mine ablaze a million times over every day, Draco! Go put a shirt on instead of teasing me!” Y/N grunted while reaching for the goblet. 
The Malfoy Patriarch’s laugh roared within the four walls of the room, and even Draco had to cover his mouth to avoid laughing at her retort. 
“Is my wife looking forward to dessert already?” 
Y/N let out a sound that was both a whine and a sigh. She pushed the tray aside and reared back, burying her body in the pile of pillows on her bed. Her husband laughed, studying her pout. Her hands rested on her stomach, and if Draco hadn’t been shocked to his core before, he was baffled at the sight of Y/N cradling a very noticeable baby bump. 
“Draco, please.” 
“Please what, angel?” 
“Not that! You know if we do that now we won’t get out of bed for another three hours!” 
“Would it be such—”
“Yes!” Y/N interjected. She looked like an angry little pixie with her narrowed eyes and pointed glare. “It would. Because we have so much to do today.” She went on to explain that she and Narcissa were supposed to meet for tea in the afternoon and that Draco had to finish seeting up the nursery. Y/N kept on listing everything they had to do while her husband intently listened without saying a single word. Instead, he watched her, letting one of his hands wander to her stomach and cover hers. “What are you thinking?” Y/N finally asked, coming to grasp with the realization that her husband had zoned out. 
He didn’t answer at first, noticeable lost in his wife’s beauty. “I’m not thinking. I’m feeling.” 
Y/N let out a semi-laugh. “What are you feeling, Draco?” 
“You,” he replied solemnly. He interlaced their fingers together, keeping their intertwined hands on her belly. “Time and time again, I only feel you.” 
“Dray.” Y/N’s expression softened. She tugged on her husband’s hand, and even though she had lamented that they couldn’t stay in bed for long, she let him pull her to his chest while he made himself comfortable on their bed. “I love you.” 
“I love you so much.” It was Draco that said it. With teary eyes and a battered soul, he surrendered to the images of his older self caressing Y/N’s lips and her cheeks. 
“I love both of my girls. And I only hope our little princess can learn to love me despite all my flaws.”
Y/N shot her husband an indignant look, her gaze filled with disapproval. However, a hint of tenderness softened her eyes, conveying a complex mix of emotions. 
“She does.” 
“How do you know?” 
“She's currently expressing her displeasure at your words by stirring up a commotion inside my belly.” 
“Oh, yeah?” the Malfoy patriarch laughed. He tightened his hold on Y/N and pulled her even closer. One hand on her belly and the other in her hair, he peered down at her and locked his silver eyes with hers. “She’s a tornado, like her mother.” 
Y/N chose not to respond, embracing a peaceful silence instead while staring at her husband. He arched an eyebrow in a silent question. “I’m feeling,” Y/N spoke out. “Time and time again, I only feel you.” 
While her husband's gaze fixated on her lips, inching closer to his own, Draco's attention was abruptly seized by the Time Surger stirring once more. His eyes dropped downward, observing the rings spinning autonomously. 
Torn between stealing a final glimpse and safeguarding the precious moment, Draco reluctantly withdrew from the room. Hastening his steps, he hurriedly exited, stealing one last glance at his future self tenderly pulling the sheet away from Y/N's body until a blinding light dissolved the scene. 
The curtain fell, and he found himself back in Theodore's living room. 
Draco struggled to catch his breath, hurriedly placing the Temporal Surger back inside its box. His restless eyes darted across the room, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions surging through him, dragging him deeper into the abyss. Gasping for air, his head whipped around, desperately trying to make sense of his surroundings.
His eyes landed on the box, the notes still outside. Future, he read in Theodore’s perfect handwriting. 
“Nott, you knobhead. If you were here right now, I would have kissed you with such intensity time would stop. And even your stupidly brilliant Temporal Surger wouldn’t have worked.” 
The numbness of his heart dissipated, and the crippling guilt roaming across his forearm vanished. Draco breathed deeply, embracing the placidity around him. Maybe Theodore’s walls were grim compared to the ones his future self occupied. Yet all Draco could feel was the warmth of Y/N’s voice and the tranquility of the mornings they were yet to share. 
He rushed to Theodore’s fireplace, not bothering to fix himself up. Tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, Draco finally spoke aloud. “Take me to Y/N Y/L/N.” 
He finally realized that whether time turned or surged, him and Y/N Y/L/N were bound by a string of fate that was unyielding in its war against the Sands of Time.
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Draco Taglist:
@imabee-oralizard@ameliaphoenix@arcana-greenleaf@dittos-blog-dylanobrien
I have been wanting to write this one for a while! Feels good to be writing again for our favorite Slytherin!🪄
Let me know if you would like to be moved/removed from my taglists.🤍
For those who want to be tagged in my Harry Potter/Marvel works, head over to “The Owlery” section on my profile and send me a message!
#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine
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azastr · 9 months
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Hairbrushed Hearts
Draco Malfoy
Description : Draco developing a habit of doing Y/n's hair over the years
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Draco's First Attempt
Draco sat on the edge of the bed in his dorm , Y/n seated in front of him on a cushioned stool. The dim candlelight flickered, casting a warm glow across the room as Draco ran his fingers through her unruly Y/hc hair. He had always found solace in the task of taming her locks, and tonight was no different. As he gently brushed through the strands, Y/n closed her eyes, leaning back into his touch.
"Draco, you have such a knack for this," she murmured, her voice filled with contentment.
He smirked, his fingers weaving effortlessly through her hair. "It's just one of my many talents, darling," he replied, his tone laced with playful arrogance. "Besides, I have to make sure you look presentable. Can't have my girlfriend running around with a mess on her head, now can I?"
Y/n chuckled, swatting him playfully on the arm. "You're insufferable, you know that?" she said, a fondness evident in her voice.
"But you love me anyway," Draco teased, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss against her temple.
Habit Continues
It had been a few months since Draco and Y/n's wedding, and they were settling into their married life together. Draco was still adjusting to the idea of being married , but he couldn't deny the growing affection he felt for Y/n. One morning, as they sat together in their cozy living room, Y/n was struggling with her unruly hair. 
"Draco, I can't seem to get my hair to cooperate today," she sighed, frustration evident in her voice. Her Y/hc locks tumbled around her shoulders in an untamed fashion. 
Draco looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, let me have a go at it, love. You know my talent for taming your wild locks," he offered, a playful smile playing on his lips. 
Y/n raised an eyebrow, unsure of what to expect. Nevertheless, she handed him a hairbrush and sat back, watching as Draco approached her with a newfound determination. His fingers gently sifted through her hair, unraveling the knots and taming the wild strands. 
As he worked, Draco found himself growing more and more engrossed in the task. The silky texture of Y/n's hair slipped through his fingers, and he reveled in the intimate act of caring for her in this simple way. Gradually, the unruly tresses began to submit to his touch, transforming into a sleek and elegant style that framed Y/n's face. 
When he finished, Draco stepped back to admire his handiwork. Y/n turned to look at herself in the mirror, her emerald eyes widening in surprise and delight. "Draco, you did it! You actually tamed my hair," she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. 
Draco couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at her reaction. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her temple. "Only for you, my darling," he murmured softly. 
A Daily Ritual 
Months turned into years, and Draco's newfound talent for styling Y/n's hair became a daily ritual. Each morning, they would sit in front of the vanity mirror in their shared bedroom, Draco standing behind Y/n with the hairbrush in hand. It had become their private moment, a way for them to connect and start the day in an intimate and loving manner. 
Draco's fingers moved with practiced ease through Y/n's tresses, unraveling any knots and weaving them into intricate braids or elegant updos. Sometimes, he would experiment with different hairstyles, trying out new techniques he had learned from professional hairdressers or simply improvising. 
Y/n would close her eyes, savoring the gentle touch of her husband's hands on her scalp. The sensation was soothing and comforting, a reminder of the love that had grown between them. She trusted Draco implicitly, allowing him to mold her hair into any style he desired, knowing that he would always make her look beautiful. 
Occasionally, their son Scorpius would wander into their bedroom, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. At six years old, he had already developed a deep admiration for his father and a desire to emulate him in every way possible. He would perch himself on the edge of the bed, watching intently as Draco worked his magic on Y/n's hair. 
"Can I help, Daddy?" Scorpius would ask, his voice filled with eagerness. 
Draco would smile and ruffle his son's hair affectionately. "Of course, Scorp. Here, take this brush and try combing through Mummy's hair," he would say, passing Scorpius a smaller brush. 
Father and Son Bonding 
As the years went by, Draco noticed that Scorpius had developed a keen interest in hair styling, just like his father. It had become a shared passion between them, a way for them to bond and spend quality time together. 
Draco and Scorpius would often find themselves in front of the vanity mirror, with Y/n sitting patiently between them. While Draco worked on one side of her head, Scorpius would take the other, mirroring his father's movements with a childlike enthusiasm. 
Together, they would experiment with different hairstyles, laughing and joking as they tried to outdo each other. Sometimes, Scorpius would come up with imaginative creations that left both Draco and Y/n in fits of laughter. 
As Scorpius combed through Y/n's hair, he would occasionally glance up at his mother, his eyes shining with adoration. "Mummy, you look so pretty," he would say, a wide grin spreading across his face. 
Y/n would return his smile, her heart filled with warmth. "Thank you, sweetheart. You and Daddy make me feel beautiful every day," she would reply, her voice tinged with love. 
A Shared Tradition 
As time passed, the habit of doing Y/n's hair became a cherished tradition for the Malfoy family. It was something they looked forward to every morning, a moment of connection and love amidst the chaos of their daily lives. 
Draco and Scorpius had become skilled in their craft, each with their own unique flair. They would take turns, one styling Y/n's hair while the other watched, ready to offer compliments or suggestions. It had become a dance of love, a symphony of trust and affection. 
Sometimes, Y/n would join in the fun, attempting to style Draco or Scorpius' hair, much to their amusement. They would all end up in fits of laughter, hairbrushes and hair ties strewn across the room, as they playfully teased and styled each other. 
Through the years, their love only grew stronger, intertwined with the simple act of taming Y/n's unruly locks. It was a constant reminder of their journey from enemies to lovers, a testament to the power of love and forgiveness. 
In the quiet moments, as Draco's fingers glided through Y/n's hair, and Scorpius followed suit, the room would be filled with an unspoken understanding—a bond that transcended words. They were a family, united by love and the shared joy of caring for one another, one strand of hair at a time. 
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I need someone to do my hair too
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drunkshogun · 1 year
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Crucio
Ominis Gaunt “Mermaids never swim up to the window“
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zatvornitza · 1 year
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“I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love.
We are good people and we’ve suffered enough”
Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger through the years
Art by Midjourney
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uncertainwallflower · 26 days
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GIGGLING GROWN MEN For @jilymicrofics March 2024. Prompt: horrified. Words: 447.
“What did you do?” hissed Lily in her most venomous whisper, watching, horror-stricken, as Sirius and Peter totted her husband—one of his arms slung over a shoulder each—down the little pathway from the gate to the front door in which she stood. Amendment: her very drunk, very nearly unconscious, and very bald husband.
Remus, who made up the rear, shutting the gate—which he dwarfed with his long lean frame—behind him, shyly offered what to Lily was no explanation at all but to the boys—not men, boys—supporting James was funny enough to nearly drop him into the azaleas. “Sirius bet him his broom he couldn’t down a bottle of firewhisky then walk across the river and back.”
“On the ledge!” adding a guffawing, evidently also pissed, Sirius.
“Yes, on the ledge.”
A million and one thoughts raced through Lily’s mind. Did he really drink the whole bottle? What if he drowned? How fast was the river? He’s probably got alcohol poisoning! What was the spell charm to induce vomiting? Had they had dinner like they planned? What if he caught hyperthermia? Oh, god, he definitely had alcohol poisoning. Why are they so stupid? She gnawed at her bottom lip, flattening herself against the doorjamp to allow the giggling grown men into her hallway. They carried James through to the small loungeroom and dropped him on the small sofa, his long limbs sprawling out in his mindless state, then deposited themselves in various squashy spots about the room; and Lily picked her way around and over their legs to reach James, pressing a cool hand to his warm cheek.
He peeked a bleary eye open, probably only enough to gauge light and shadow. His glasses were bent and smeared with algae. He cracked a grin. “Lily.”
“Hello, love.”
His smile fell away and he frowned, closing his eyes again with a groan as he pressed his cheek into her palm. “It’s all his fault,” he said to no one and everyone, but probably meaning the one who proceeded to kick out at his foot. James muttered a groggy “Fuck off, Sirius” and Lily sighed, turning on the other three. She pulled her palm from James’s cheek—he protested with a whine, reaching blindly out for her—and set both hand on hips, brows raised.
“And what happened to his hair?”
James paused his search for his wife and reached instead for his scalp which sported a few uneven tufts and fair amount of short stubble, the result a poorly—or intoxicatedly—performed sheering charm.
Sirius and Peter fell into another fit of giggles and Remus sighed heavily. “That would be the other bet.”
AO3
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karinagiada · 11 months
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Decided to populate my old account with some newer works. One of my favorite portraits studies I’ve done recently. 🐍
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invalid-prongs · 1 year
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“what are you, gay?”
james casts his eyes to the floor, silent. the cigarette in his hand is beginning to burn his fingers, so he drops it on the floor, crushing it under his foot. “i don’t know. i really like him.”
peter sighs gently. he takes a moment before reaching out slowly, resting a hand on james’ arm. “okay,” he smiles, causing the other lad to look up at him, confused. “okay. i’m sorry for being rude. you can’t help who you like.”
a smile flickers on james’ face and he pulls his best friend into a hug. “thank you, pete,” he whispers, and the shorter lad squeezes him gently.
“but you had better tell sirius before he loses his shit.”
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rijsamurai · 10 months
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post-hogwarts ronarry :)
AO3 fanfic (RU): https://archiveofourown.org/works/45126391
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james: i mean, he supposably- regulus: supposedly. james: what? regulus: you said supposably. it's supposedly. james: ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE, OKAY? regulus:... you're from london.
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lulublack90 · 12 days
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Prompt 17 - Incarcerous
@wolfstarmicrofic March 17, word count 283
They were being chased by death eaters. So many curses were being shot at them that they couldn’t disapparate. So they ran. 
Somehow, they’d managed to escape being hit by anything too bad. He had a beautiful collection of boils down his left arm, and Remus had a splattering of angry red marks but nothing that impeded them. 
That’s when he heard the death eater yell his spell. He missed the first part of it but clearly heard Incarcerous. 
Thick ropes spun themselves around Remus, and he went down with a hard thump. Sirius ground to a halt and threw himself at Remus, protecting him. 
Remus was screaming in pain. Normally, this spell, while annoying, was harmless. A sliver of silver ran through the ropes. They knew he was a werewolf and had covered him in the one thing that would floor him. 
Sirius felt the rage flooding his body. He turned to face the death eaters that were almost upon them. Some of them faltered when they saw the look on his face. A truly enraged Sirius Black was not a wizard you wanted to mess with. 
It took him less than 30 seconds to incapacitate the death eaters with the spells his mother had taught him many years ago. He never used those spells. They were dark, and he knew it, but Remus was in danger, and he’d do anything to protect his Moony. 
He bent down and vanished the cruel ropes. Angry red welts crisscrossed the skin where the ropes had come into contact. But other than looking uncomfortable, Sirius knew there’d be no lasting damage. He gathered Remus into his arms and disapparated, leaving the unconscious death eaters behind. 
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