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academicdisasterfic · 2 years

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Threshing

drarry | 1.5k | e

A slightly late gift for the lovely @anaxandria-writes for @drarrymicrofic Wheel of Drarry mini-exchange. Thank you to my love @wolfpants for the fantastic beta.

CW for chronic/terminal illness (but with a happy ending).

Years later, Draco would think it all began when the bartender asked him, ‘Would you like the shiraz, sir, or the tempranillo?’

‘Tempranillo,’ Draco said, but as it transpired, they had run out of the tempranillo, and the bartender had to dash out to the back for more, despite Draco’s protests that the shiraz would be fine.

Draco was left to tap his fingers on the wooden counter, and as he gazed aimlessly around the crowded room, he wondered whether thirty was going to feel any different to twenty-nine.

And that’s when he saw him; lingering by the door, flannel rolled up to his elbows, dark stubble covering his jaw. He looked tired, and Draco knew, knew before he even saw the string appear between them. He didn’t hesitate; it was like drawing breath, walking over to him, and Harry looked so relieved, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment, even though neither of them could have known, as these things were never able to be predicted, not even by the most gifted Seers or centaurs.

The string shortened and drew them together, and Draco reached out his hand to cup Harry’s face.

‘You look tired,’ Draco said, and Harry leant into his neck, inhaling, grabbing Draco’s waist, drawing their bodies together, fitting Draco’s hip bones against his. Draco gasped.

‘Of course it’d be you,’ Harry muttered, and then, ‘we’re going back to mine.’

They fucked in the kitchen, over dirty dishes and piles of unread mail on the sticky counter, Harry eating Draco from behind until Draco couldn’t take it and wrestled them to the ground, sinking down on Harry’s cock and riding him against the hard wooden floor.

They fucked on the sofa, Draco opening Harry quickly and efficiently so he could take him from behind, Harry whimpering harder, harder into the cushions.

They fucked in Harry’s bed, this time slow and reverent, Harry sucking Draco’s nipples until Draco was thrashing and sobbing, arching up and begging to be touched, and then Harry pushed into him and held his face between his huge, calloused hands. That's when Draco fell in love with him; fell in love as Harry covered him and held him like a precious, beloved thing, like he couldn't believe he was allowed to love, and be loved, by him.

After, spent and exhausted, Draco looked at where the string joined them, and asked, ‘Why now?’

Harry smiled, crooked and sweet, and kissed the back of Draco’s palm.

‘Probably because I’m dying.’

…

People weren’t supposed to be Horcruxes.

When Voldemort destroyed the part of his soul that lived inside Harry, Harry’s magical core didn’t know what to do. It had spent seventeen years growing and shaping itself around something that was no longer there, and it rebelled.

Harry hadn’t noticed for the first five years or so, too lost in the aftershocks of peace. But then he noticed the exhaustion, then the heart palpitations, the weird visions, the way he couldn’t quite cast like he used to. And by the time the Healers had figured out what had happened, it was far too late.

Back then, he still had good days, and Draco took advantage of them; dragged them out to the mountains, to the seaside, to gay clubs and bars and parades. He moved into Harry’s flat and quit his job so they could spend the bad days in bed together, doing the Prophet crossword and drinking tea and watching daytime soaps. He couldn’t feel Harry’s pain exactly, not like in the soulmate stories he was told as a child, but sometimes he did think he knew Harry better than he knew himself; knew the meaning of an eyebrow twitch, or a downturned lip, or a slight hand tremor. Loving Harry had been easy, effortless; like falling through clouds, and then when Harry was writhing in spasms, or sleeping through whole days, or waking in sweats and shouts, it was more painful than Draco had ever imagined pain could be.

Sometimes, Harry would get distant and withdraw, wracked with guilt that the bond hadn’t given Draco a choice but to care for him. Draco would get angry that Harry could even conceive of such a thing; even contemplate the thought of them not being together. Harry still wanted to put everyone else before himself, and Draco was still the same spoiled boy who wanted more than he should. He never made any apologies for that.

Sex became more gentle, with more laughter. Draco snorted into Harry’s mouth once when Harry tried to wrap his legs around him and his entire back cracked; Draco placed pillows under his head and knees instead, and sank down on him slowly, just like the first time, only now appreciating every detail; the greys in Harry’s hair that Draco actually thought were really fucking sexy, the soft dark hair beneath his navel, the dark circles beneath his eyes that refused to budge.

Sometimes Harry couldn’t finish, and Draco would try not to be upset about it. If he was, it was never in front of Harry.

…

The summer they both turned thirty five, Harry stopped being able to cast.

He was still magical; Draco could feel it, even when Harry couldn’t, could feel the golden warmth surrounding him, and could also feel its frustration, the way Harry’s magic so desperately wanted to escape and couldn’t.

Things got worse after that.

Harry’s fits were worse, and he was addled and confused after, taking hours to come back to himself. Draco could only sit by the bed and stroke his hair, read to him, watch as Longbottom and Lovegood came in with increasingly bizarre herbal concoctions which never did anything, but Draco appreciated them both anyway, the way they teased Harry, reminded him who he was.

Granger and Weasley were more distressed and less able to be funny, but they tried as hard as they could. Rose liked to snuggle next to Harry after his fits, tell him about her friends and teachers, knowing he wouldn’t remember the details but was always soothed by her voice.

Teddy didn’t visit very much, which Draco couldn’t blame him for; he’d lost enough parents.

One morning, Draco was woken up by Harry’s lips on his neck, and his hand over his stomach.

‘I want you to give the Invisibility Cloak to Hugo,’ he whispered. Draco’s blood ran cold. ‘James and Sirius’ mirror to Ron. The Potter fortune to Teddy. Everything else is yours.’

Draco wanted to scream at him. To point to the string, still a vibrant red connecting them, and ask him how he could even fathom leaving Draco; why his body didn’t love Draco enough to keep fighting, to stay alive.

But Harry had already fallen asleep again.

…

Not even Voldemort had dared approach the fae. They took more than they gave, always, but as long as the thing they gave Draco was Harry, he didn’t care what he’d sacrifice.

The Forbidden Forest was very dark, and very quiet.

‘You called,’ came a voice. The fae never showed themselves.

‘I require your help,’ Draco said, voice firm.

‘For your mate?’

‘Yes.’ Draco tried to imagine Harry, seventeen and terrified, walking to his death out here. He just had to be half as brave, and he could do this. And then he thought about Harry in their bed, skin blotchy and grey, his body shaking in pain, and everything else faded into insignificance. ‘He’s dying. And he saved you too, that day.’

‘That’s debatable.’ The voice sounded vaguely affronted, and Draco stared stonily ahead. ‘It would have taken more than a mere human to eradicate us.’

‘I know. But it would have been harder without Harry.’ Draco squeezed his eyes closed. ‘You would have had to leave the Forest.’

Something squawked overhead, startling Draco's eyes open. The stars were very bright.

‘You do have the power to save your mate,’ the voice echoed, seeming closer, and Draco’s heart soared. ‘But something must be given; energy cannot be destroyed or created. A life cannot be created from anything other than a life. Do you understand?’

Harry was never going to forgive him. Draco was okay with that.

…

Years later, Draco would think it all actually began when the bartender asked him, ‘What do you want tonight, sir?’

Draco flicked his gaze over him, and the bartender flushed. ‘Usual spot, Sebastian. Five minutes.’

Pulses thrummed in the dark, smoky room. The night smelled like sex; arousal and sweat and blood.

Harry had started by the time he got out there. Sebastian was always too keen. It was one of the things they liked about him.

‘Hello,’ Draco said, amused, and Harry unlatched himself from the young man’s neck. He was so beautiful like this; selfish and greedy and so very alive.

Or a version of it.

‘Does he taste good, Harry?’ Draco asked. Harry and Sebastian groaned at the same time. ‘My turn.’

He did taste good, Draco thought with satisfaction. Sebastian moaned as Draco pressed his hardness against him, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Behind them, Harry was panting, and when Draco finally sent Sebastian back inside with a Blood-Replenishment Potion and a quick cleaning charm, Harry was on him in seconds.

‘Here?’ Draco asked, amused, and Harry growled softly.

‘I can’t wait.’ His voice was gruff and low and his eyes were trained on Draco’s lips. Draco smiled and lifted his hand to cup Harry’s face, string dangling between them, blood-red and taut.

‘Sweetheart. We have time.’

#drarry #wheel of drarry #drarry fic #draco x harry #cw chronic illness #soulmates #red string of fate #rooney writes

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wolfpants · 1 year

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the holly and the ivy (a drarry holiday wheel of drarry exchange fic)

Happy @drarrymicrofic WOD to the lovely @geesenoises! I hope you enjoy this little festive treat!

The Holly and the Ivy | Drarry | Rated E 4.6k words

This year at the Annual Ministry Yule Auction, Magpies Seeker Draco Malfoy's time is up for sale. When Harry places the winning bid, will their contracturally-binding weekend together heal old wounds, or worsen them? Featuring a fluffy black cat called Marley, a castle on the western coast of Scotland, an Eighth Year Christmas kiss, and stupid boys who can't express their feelings.

“This auction wasn’t for you,” he said tiredly.

“Says who?”

Draco lifted his head and looked at Potter again, his voice full of reproach as he said, “Says anyone with a brain and common fucking sense, Potter. Win a Silver Lightning training workshop with Draco Malfoy? You already know how to play Quidditch, you absolute imbecile! You’re better—”

Draco bit his tongue, staring at the glee writ large on Potter’s stupidly pretty face.

“—than most,” Draco finished faintly. He folded his arms. “Not me, of course.”

Potter had the audacity to cackle. “Tell that to all my school wins.”

“Then why did you spend six fucking thousand galleons on this?” Draco despaired. “It’s a full weekend with overnight stays! And a binding contract! What do you need it for?”

Potter shrugged. “I don’t ‘need’ it for anything,” he said. He pointed his wand at the seats, at Draco’s champagne-splattered uniform, clearing everything up with a wordless charm that left the carriage smelling of a field in late summer, buttery and hazy and sweet.

Draco’s heart thudded loudly between his ears. Potter’s charm rippled over the minute space between the fabric of his clothes and the surface of his skin, bright and electric and alive. It felt like a touch he hadn’t forgotten but had instead left stored away somewhere in the recesses of his mind: wrapped snugly, well-hidden, for his eyes only.

He shifted on the seats, watching Potter’s keen gaze travel the details of his uniform.

Potter touched the tip of a finger to the edge of the number stitched onto Draco’s vest in shimmering silver thread. “A weekend isn’t a long time,” he said. “But—it could be like that Christmas—”

Draco inhaled sharply.

“Just give me the weekend,” Potter whispered.

Behind them, London disappeared.

🌲✨🏰💘

Read The Holly and the Ivy on ao3

#JUST managed to squeak this in before the 25th #ilu geese!#drarry #drarry fic #draco/harry #harry/draco #harry x draco #draco x harry #drarry fanfic #wheel of drarry #gift fic #harry potter fic #harry potter #draco malfoy

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goblinmatriarch · 4 months

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✨Wheel of drarry gift exchange✨

Look what this MA wrote!!!! Omg I absolutely love it! Oblivious Harry! Also oblivious Draco! Two pining dummies sulking over their unnecessary angst!

@drarrymicrofic thanks for the fest!

#wheel of drarry #drarry #oblivious idiots

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makeitp1nk · 1 year

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For dear Eliza, as part of the WoD exchange for @drarrymicrofic, based on her prompt ethereal. A gazillion thanks to my beloved @crazybutgood for the always excellent beta. Inspired by The Dreamer Trilogy; the title is from the song with the same name by Bowerbirds. Hope you like it!

Overcome with Light

Drarry | Rated G | No warnings | 295 words

Two souls, ethereal wisps of dreams and fears and hopes and heartbreak, meet in that place before we come to be. Guileless and shy, they circle around each other, curious.

Loyalty, sacrifice, love, they see in each other.

You’re like me, they sing in the language of souls that have yet to be. Laughing and dancing, each moment together is an eternity spent reveling in their similarities and loving their differences. They find the jagged edges where they connect—two pieces of a larger whole—and swear they’ll never be apart again.

But all souls must come to be, and as one piece of the whole disappears from the home of souls, it begs, Find me. Find me. Find me.

Twenty mere mortal years later, in a crowded London pub on New Year’s Eve, two young men meet once again. They’ve been broken, but both pick up the pieces of their worlds and determinedly piece them together into something better than before.

The clock strikes midnight, and they’re alone in a sea of kisses. Cheeks rosy from cheap champagne, they glance at each other before one grins and says, “Scared, Malfoy?”

“You wish, Potter.”

Their lips meet once, a forced thing—all bravado. It’s electric and familiar, more right than anything has ever been. They kiss again, guileless and pure, curious.

Fingers entwined and foreheads touching, they silently search each other’s eyes. For what, they’ve forgotten, but it’s under their skin, in their hearts, dancing in recognition and joy.

It hits Draco first, his heart stopping before he wraps his arms around Harry and whispers, “You found me.”

Harry pulls away, confused, but then he sees the light in Draco’s eyes—the dreams and fears and hopes and heartbreak deep within. He gasps and whispers, “Oh, there you are.”

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #drarry microfic #p1nk writes #wheel of drarry

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gallifrey1sburning · 1 year

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Waifs and Strays

For @tink-wondering for the @drarrymicrofic 1/2023 Wheel of Drarry exchange. Many thanks to the mods, to @savvyspark86 for the Brit pick and help on early childhood developmental norms, and @shigacajun for the beta!

Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy Word count: 5K Rating: G Also on AO3

Summary:

When Draco Malfoy was seven years old, he got lost in Diagon Alley and met a cousin he’d never heard of. When Harry Potter was seven years old, he ran away from home and met a friend he never knew he had.

A story of how chance encounters can change everything.

—

When Draco Malfoy was seven years old, he got separated from his mother on a trip to Diagon Alley. A peddler near the entrance to Gambol and Japes had been showing off a toy dragon that was breathing fire—real fire!—as it darted around his head, and Draco, mesmerized, had stopped. By the time he looked up, his mother was lost in the crowd.

“Mother!” he called, feeling rather huffy that she hadn’t waited for him. When she didn’t appear, however, nervousness quickly overtook his annoyance. “Mother?!” he called again, more loudly this time, but still, she didn’t respond. He couldn’t see her distinctive blonde hair anywhere.

Draco began to panic. He spun in a circle, tears beginning to prick at the corners of his eyes and face scrunching up in a way that his father would have told him was unbecoming of a Malfoy and lacked decorum. His next call came out somewhat wobbly and rather quieter than he would have liked. “Mummy?”

“Hey there. You lost?” The voice came from behind Draco, and he whipped around, startled, to find an older girl he’d never seen before crouching near him. He sniffled and nodded, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers, he knew, but something about this girl made him feel safe. She looked quite grown up to Draco—she might have even been a teenager—with warm, dark eyes and a friendly smile, and he thought she seemed like just the right sort of person to help him (and not be angry at him for being a crybaby out in public, like his father would have been).

“I can’t find my mummy,” He mumbled. “I was looking at the dragon and…” a tear rolled down his cheek, and the girl reached out and wiped it away with her thumb like it was the most natural thing in the world. She glanced up at where Draco pointed and smiled.

“Don’t blame you, mate; that’s pretty wicked.” She looked back down at him. “I’m Dora, what’s your name?”

“Draco. Draco Malfoy.”

Dora’s eyebrows shot up. “Malfoy, huh?”

Draco nodded.

“Does your mum happen to be called Narcissa?” she asked. When Draco nodded again, Dora grinned. “Guess what?” she asked him.

“What?”

“That means we’re cousins!”

Draco’s anxiety began to abate as his curiosity and confusion rose. “I don’t have a cousin called Dora.”

Dora grinned. “Oh they wouldn’t have told you about me. Your mum and my mum don’t get on very well.”

“Why not?” Draco asked.

“Ahh, it’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell you some other time, yeah? For now, let’s go find your mum.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Draco nodded. He wanted to know more about this mysterious cousin, but he also really wanted his mother. Dora held her hand out for him to take, and he took it, even though Father said he was too old for such things. Draco didn’t want to get lost again, and father never had to know.

They had only walked a block in the direction Draco and his mother had been headed when he heard a familiar, panicked voice calling for him. Lighting up inside, Draco began to tug Dora toward it, but Dora held him back gently.

“Listen, Draco. It was really nice to meet you, but your mum probably shouldn’t see you with me, because of what I said before. Alright?”

Draco’s lip wobbled. “You can’t stay with me until we see her?”

“I can,” she reassured him, “but I don’t want her to recognize me. Want to see something cool?”

After making sure he could still hear his mother’s voice, Draco nodded quickly. Smiling at him, Dora began to change her face. Draco’s eyes went wide with shock as her hair darkened and her eyes lightened, her lips thinning and her cheeks rounding out. “How did you do that?”

“I’m a metamorphmagus. It’s a secret—just like us meeting is. I can tell you’re pretty mature, though, so I know I can trust you with it.” She smiled and winked at him.

Draco nodded solemnly, feeling grown up and important. “I’m very good at keeping secrets,” he told her.

“I thought so. Alright, let’s go!” When Dora began to move forward, however, Draco pulled her to a stop again and bit his lip. He was feeling less scared now that he knew his mother was nearby, and he had just realized something.

“Will I not be able to talk to you again, then, if it’s a secret that I met you?”

Dora looked a bit sad for a moment, but then she eyed him consideringly. “Are you old enough to know how to write?”

“Of course I am!” he answered, offended. He’d been able to write in sentences for several months now.

Clearly trying not to laugh, Dora apologized. “Sorry, I don’t have any younger siblings, and I don’t know your age. I was asking because I thought maybe we could be pen pals… if you can get or send letters without your parents knowing, that is. I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

“I’m seven,” Draco announced, still feeling mildly put out. Then he thought about the rest of what she’d said. He liked the idea of a secret pen pal. “A house elf might help me?”

“Clever,” Dora said approvingly, eyebrows rising. “Alright, I’ll write to you soon, then, okay?”

Draco smiled and nodded, affront immediately forgotten in his pleasure at both the compliment and the promise of receiving a letter from his fascinating new cousin.

With that settled, they followed the sound of Narcissa Malfoy’s voice until they were close enough that Draco could sprint to her. After hugging his mother, Draco turned and waved to Dora. She returned his wave before blending back into the crowd.

“Who was that, darling?” Narcissa asked.

“I don’t know,” Draco answered with what he hoped was a convincing shrug. “Just some girl who said she would help me find you. She was nice.”

Narcissa gave a moue of disapproval. “You know you shouldn’t talk to strangers, Draco.” He blushed and looked down, and she sighed. “But I suppose there’s been no real harm done, and the circumstances were unusual. Come along, just one more shop to visit and then we can return home.”

“Yes, mother.”

—

Draco thought about his mysterious metamorphmagus cousin for the rest of the day. Despite his excitement and impatience, he managed to wait until after he heard his parents go to bed to try to call an elf. He’d never done so by himself before, but he was pretty sure he knew what to do.

“Dobby!” he hissed once he was reasonably sure all was clear, and to his pride, the elf popped into existence almost instantly.

“Master Draco is needing something?” the elf asked, rather more loudly than was necessary in Draco’s opinion. Draco glanced nervously at his closed door, but he didn’t hear anyone coming to investigate the sounds.

“Yes.” He tried to make his voice cool and commanding like his father’s. “Now that I’m seven, any post addressed to me should be given to me, not my parents. You will deliver it to me here. You will also keep anything sent to me, or that I send, secret. Do you understand?”

Dobby’s already gigantic eyes went even wider. “Master Draco, Dobby is not being able to lie to Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa! House elves is not allowed to lie to their masters!”

“I know that,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “But keeping a secret isn’t lying. Not unless they ask you about it.”

Dobby nodded, though he looked doubtful. “I suppose you is right, sir.”

Draco tried not to let his relief show. “Of course I am. So you’ll do it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Draco didn’t have much experience dealing with elves himself—it was always his mother or father giving them orders—and he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do now.

“Err, thank you. Goodnight.”

Dobby’s mouth dropped open in shock before he promptly burst into tears.

Draco stared in stunned silence as the creature wailed, “No one is ever thanking Dobby or wishing Dobby a good night before! Master Draco is a kind and generous Master!” He seemed ready to go on, but Draco, snapping out of his shock, shushed him loudly.

“If my parents hear you, we’ll both be in trouble!”

Immediately, Dobby clapped a hand over his mouth, cringing. “Dobby is sorry, sir,” he whispered through his fingers. “How should Dobby be punishing himself, Sir?”

Draco had heard his father direct the house elves to punish themselves in various more or less creative ways over the years, but he had never thought much about it. Now, though, as he stood with Dobby before him, the idea of telling him to hurt himself made Draco feel a little queasy. “I don’t want you to,” he said, feeling even worse as the elf looked—if possible—more awed than before. “In fact… I order you not to punish yourself. Just be quiet and don’t wake my parents.” He paused. “Er… you can go now.”

After a moment, during which he opened and closed his mouth several times but did not make a sound, Dobby nodded and popped away.

—

When Harry Potter was seven years old, he ran away from home. His Aunt and Uncle had told him that he had to walk to and from school all week (“And be grateful it isn’t for longer, boy!”) as punishment for wrecking Dudley’s tricycle, even though Harry was pretty sure they’d seen their son do it himself. Harry didn’t argue very hard to defend himself, however. By now, he was used to being blamed for Dudley’s behavior, and he hated riding with Dudley, anyway—most days, his cousin just picked on him for the whole ride. Still, the school was not particularly nearby, and by the time Harry arrived, he was late and his feet were aching and covered in burning, stinging patches of raw skin where his too-large secondhand shoes rubbed against his skin through the holes in his socks. The teacher made him write his name on the board for his lateness, and Dudley and his friends snickered at him as he made his way to his seat while trying not to limp.

When school ended, Harry contemplated taking the local bus home despite what his aunt and uncle said and just getting off a stop or two early so that they would think he’d walked, but he quickly ruled the possibility out—Dudley would tell on him for sure if he tried it. No, he was stuck trudging the whole way home, where he would probably be punished for being late for the second time that day. He hoped they would at least give him something to eat before locking him in his cupboard.

They didn’t.

Harry lay on his cot that night, watching the spiders and dreading repeating the full experience again the next day. And the next. And the next. Tears pricked at his eyes. Harry didn’t cry often—he’d learned a long time ago that it never helped anything—but he couldn’t help it. He was hungry, and his feet and legs hurt, and his Aunt and Uncle hated him and didn’t want him here. He didn’t want to be here, either, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He could try running away, but he wasn’t really sure how. He’d thought about it many times, but he’d always gotten stuck on that part. Everyone in their neighborhood would just march him straight back to the Dursleys if they found him wandering around, and now, with his blistered feet, he wouldn’t be able to get very far even if they didn’t.

Sighing dejectedly, Harry turned on his side, trying to think of happier things so that he might have nice dreams for once. He was nearly asleep when the idea came to him.

—

The next morning, Harry announced that he was leaving for school well before Uncle Vernon departed for work, rightfully assuming that no one would care enough to ask him why he was going so early as long as he did the dishes first.

But he didn’t go to school. Instead, he used the spare key he’d secretly taken from his Aunt’s handbag (along with a few pounds, which he’d tucked carefully into the inner pocket of his worn old rucksack) to unlock Uncle Vernon’s car. After climbing in and shutting and locking the door behind him, he left the key on the floor by the steering wheel to make it look as though it had just been dropped there by accident. He then clambered into the back, feeling around until he found the latch that folded one of the seats down and provided access to the car’s boot. Finally, he slithered through the opening, pulled the seat back up behind himself, and settled in between Uncle Vernon’s golf clubs and some musty-smelling blankets.

A bit more than an hour later, once he was sure his uncle was safely in his office, Harry reversed his trip, moving from the boot to the backseat and then out of the car entirely. Brushing the dust off of himself, he swung his rucksack over his shoulder and made his way out of the quiet concrete car park and onto the loud, bustling streets of London.

After the shock and excitement of realizing that his plan had worked had worn off, however, Harry was faced with the fact that he had no idea what to do next. He walked slowly, his feet still burning with pain, and did his best to stay invisible—he’d had a lot of practice at it with the Dursleys, so it wasn’t too hard—but he wasn’t sure where he should go now. He thought he wouldn’t have too much trouble sleeping on the sidewalk or a bench, somewhere; he had seen grown ups doing it when he’d been out with the Dursleys and heard Aunt Petunia complain about how “unsightly” it was, but he didn’t think it would be much worse than his cupboard. And he had the money he’d nicked, which he could use for food, but he’d been afraid to take too much in case Aunt Petunia noticed it was gone and called the police, so he knew it probably wouldn’t last him very long.

Harry wandered aimlessly for a while, and his feet grew increasingly sore. He was starting to feel like he might have made a big mistake running away, even though it was terrible at the Dursleys’, when he saw a sign for a library. He stared up at the huge building, not quite able to believe his luck. Harry loved libraries. They were quiet, and the librarians were always kind to him and never told him off for asking questions, and he could read about all sorts of things. Harry was pretty good at reading, because Dudley never noticed if his books were gone as long as Harry hid them well and put them back later. Carefully, he made his way up the wide stone steps, slipped through the open door as a man let himself out, and glanced around. There was a long, tall desk at the front with a dark-skinned lady sitting behind it, and he approached her cautiously.

“Excuse me.” Harry had to stand on his tiptoes a bit to get the lady’s attention, as the top of his head didn’t quite clear the desk’s surface. “Could you tell me where the children’s books are?”

The lady looked down at him in surprise, smiling when she caught his eyes. “Well! Hello there. The children’s section is just that way—” she pointed to her right, “—past that big archway. Do you see it?”

“Yes, thank you!” Harry grinned at her and turned in the direction she’d indicated.

“Shouldn’t you wait for your parents?” the lady asked before he made it more than two steps away. “It’s a big building; I wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

“Oh, my parents aren’t with me; they’re finishing up their shopping.” The lie slipped surprisingly easily from Harry’s lips. “They said I could come and wait here because I got tired.”

The lady eyed him for a moment, seeming to take in his worn, overlarge clothes and messy hair, a hint of worry showing on her face. “Is everything alright? Do you need me to call someone for you, perhaps? My name is Priscilla, by the way.”

Harry tried to make his smile reassuring. “I’m Harry. And I’m fine, but thank you!” He trotted off a bit faster than was comfortable, not wanting to give Priscilla a chance to ask more questions.

He spent a pleasant afternoon curled up looking at comic books. Dudley never let Harry near his comics—he liked them much better than books, since they had explosions and things—so they’d been the first thing Harry had looked for. There was a big pit full of plush pillows in the middle of the children’s room, and no one bothered him after he’d settled in there.

Although it was hours later, it felt like almost no time had passed when a woman announced to the room that the library would be closing in half an hour, bursting the happy bubble in which Harry had spent the day as he remembered why he was here. Reluctantly, he put the plastic-protected comic back on the shelf where he’d found it and made his way to the door, checking to make sure that Priscilla wasn’t watching. He was afraid that she might ask about his parents again if he left alone, and he didn’t know what he would do if she insisted he wait for them.

As he peeked around the corner, Harry’s eyes caught on a very thin man standing close by in a jumper almost as shabby as Harry’s own, who was looking down at a book in his hands. He found himself staring. The man had scars on his face, just like Harry did. Harry had never seen anyone else with scars on their face, and his aunt and uncle always made him cover his with his fringe as much as possible because they said they made him look like a freak. But this man wasn’t covering his, and no one seemed to be looking at him.

Well, except for Harry.

Just as Harry realized that he was probably being very rude, the man looked over and his eyes caught Harry’s. They went wide with shock, and he dropped his book, which hit the carpeted floor with a whump. “Harry?” he whispered. “Harry Potter?”

Harry shrank back, nervous. Strangers came up to him on the street sometimes, acting like they knew him, and while it was odd, they always seemed cheerful and excited, at least until his aunt or uncle chased them off. But this man didn’t look cheerful—he looked like he’d seen a ghost. The man lifted a hand, reaching out toward Harry, but dropped it immediately at Harry’s expression.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He was no longer whispering, but his voice was quiet and hoarse, as though he didn’t talk all that much. He held Harry’s gaze, but kept himself carefully still, like Harry did when he was trying to get a bunny or a stray cat to come near him in the garden.

Harry relaxed a tiny bit when it became clear that the man wasn’t going to try to grab him. Warily, he asked, “Who are you?”

“My name is Remus,” the man told him. “Your parents were friends of mine. That’s why I was so surprised; you look very much like your father did when we were young.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “You knew my parents?”

“I did. Quite well, in fact.”

“Could you tell me about them?” Harry asked eagerly, his unease dissipating entirely. “My aunt and uncle won’t… er.” He stopped himself. If he told this man—Remus—that he wasn’t allowed to ask the Dursleys about his parents, he might decide to follow their rules. “They don’t talk about them much,” Harry said instead.

Remus frowned, and then he glanced around behind Harry. “Is Petunia here somewhere?”

“Er.” It wasn’t as easy to lie to Remus as to Priscilla, Harry found. Although the fact that Remus knew Aunt Petunia’s name seemed to prove that he was telling the truth, which was reassuring. Still, Harry shrugged and looked down.

“You’re on your own?”

Harry shrugged again. He could feel Remus’s eyes on him, and he knew he was seeing the shabby clothes and ratty bag, just like Priscilla had. Suddenly, Harry felt like crying, and he wasn’t really sure why.

“Where are you supposed to meet her? Or are you meeting your uncle?” Remus asked, and his voice sounded almost angry, making Harry wince. “Why don’t I wait with you?”

Harry’s head shot up. “No!”

Remus looked angry now, and a bit dangerous, and Harry stepped backward, clutching at the strap of his rucksack. “Harry, where are your aunt and uncle?”

“I— they’re—” he stared at Remus helplessly, and then the tears he’d been trying to hold back began to fall. “Please don’t make me go back.”

Immediately, Remus’s expression changed to one of worry and he knelt down on one knee next to Harry, putting his hands on his shoulders. Harry flinched, but Remus made no move to do anything else—to push him or pull him or squeeze his arm like Uncle Vernon sometimes would to make him be quiet in front of other people—so he didn’t pull away.

“Harry. Oh, Harry. What happened?”

And for some reason that he didn’t quite understand himself, Harry told him.

Harry felt like he was babbling for ages, with Remus just patiently listening, but when he got to the part about his painful feet, Remus hissed out a breath and, after a few moments where he seemed to be fighting with himself, he offered to take Harry back to his flat to look at them. “Usually, I would tell you not to go anywhere with a stranger, but I’m not really sure what else to do right now,” he admitted to Harry.

Harry, sniffling, nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

“Would it be okay if I carried you?” Remus asked him softly. “I don’t want to make you walk anymore if you don’t have to.” Harry nodded again, and Remus scooped him up easily. Harry couldn’t remember the last time someone had picked him up. It felt strange, but nice. “Alright,” Remus said, settling Harry against his hip. “Let’s find someplace quiet for me to Apparate from, shall we?”

“What’s Apparate?” Harry asked, rubbing at his damp eyes.

Remus looked taken aback for a moment before shaking his head. “I suppose you wouldn’t know, would you? Living with Muggles all this time. Right. Why don’t I show you?”

He’d been walking them to an empty row of big, intimidating-looking books with matching covers as he talked, and after looking back and forth to make sure no one was around, he turned on the spot. Harry’s stomach felt funny and everything went dark and weird and Harry wanted to yell, but he couldn’t, and then it all stopped and they were suddenly standing in a tiny, shabby but clean flat.

And that was how Harry Potter first learned about magic.

He learned quite a bit more over the following days, as Remus spent a good deal of time with his head in his fireplace or arguing with people whose faces appeared in the fire. Remus tried to keep his conversations quiet enough that Harry wouldn’t hear. He also gave Harry some magical books to look at, which Harry knew was probably just to distract him, but he didn’t mind very much. The pictures in some of them moved about like the pages were little tellies, much to Harry’s shock and delight, and some of them even read themselves to him out loud. Still, he overheard enough of the fire calls (as Remus called them) to gather that there were people who very much wanted to send Harry back to the Dursleys and others that were working very hard to make sure that that didn’t happen—including Remus himself.

After two days, during which Harry slept on Remus’s ancient sofa (that Harry assured Remus was a thousand times more comfortable than his cupboard, which made Remus’s face do something funny before he immediately threw some of the weird powder that turned the flames green into his fireplace, put his head in, and began to yell at someone), Remus told him, with an exhausted smile, that—if he wanted to—Harry could stay and live with him for the time being. “It might not be forever,” he cautioned. “There are some people who think that you would do better with a family or someone who has a bigger space and more resources, but we can see if we can make it work.”

“I can stay?” Harry asked, not quite able to believe his own ears. “Really?” He liked it here with Remus more than anywhere he’d ever been. Remus was kind to him and fed him at every meal and would sometimes put a hand on his shoulder or back or ruffle his hair in a way that no one ever had before. Harry, for once, felt safe and welcome.

“Really,” Remus promised. Harry, grinning so wide his face hurt, hugged him.

—

Draco found writing letters with Dora both exciting and confusing. She seemed very smart and impressive to Draco, and she talked to him like he wasn’t a stupid child. She was in her 4th year at Hogwarts, he found out, and wanted to be an Auror when she grew up, which Draco thought was very cool. But some of the things she said made him feel strange and uncomfortable. For instance, when she finally explained why their mothers didn’t get on, he found out it was because her father was a Muggle, which meant she was a half-blood. His father always told Draco that half-bloods—mudbloods, he called them, but Dora had told Draco that wasn’t a nice word to use—weren’t real wizards and that Muggles were dangerous. But Dora’s father sounded kind and funny when she told stories about him, and Dora was brilliant. She even sent Draco some Muggle comic books, which Draco thought were even better than Martin Miggs, and which he hid carefully under his mattress for safekeeping.

The more Draco and Dora wrote, the more he wondered about all the things his father told him. Some of it just seemed… wrong. Draco had always believed that his father knew everything, but the things he said didn’t seem to fit with the things he was learning from his cousin. He decided that he needed to know more. When he tentatively asked Dora if there were other Muggle things that he could read, she sent him books from when she was younger that her parents had kept—one at a time, so that he could read them and send them back and not have to worry about finding places to hide them. They were fascinating and forbidden, and Draco soon found himself wanting quite badly to go see some of the things he read about himself.

Eventually, shortly after Draco turned eight, he asked Dora if she could take him out into the Muggle world for a visit. She was clearly pleased that he’d asked, but said that she didn’t know how they could do it without his parents finding out. Draco, however, was not a future Slytherin (or so he presumed) for nothing. The next time he was invited to Pansy Parkinson’s house, he told his mother that Pansy’s parents would bring him back to the Manor after. Then, he told Pansy’s mother that one of his tutors was going to pick him up. After that, all Dora had to do was make herself look like a dour, drab, nondescript “tutor” and collect him from the Parkinson’s home several hours before his own parents would expect him to be back.

Dora decided that an easy first trip for Draco would be to take him to Muggle London (“there’s tons of people around, so no one will notice if we don’t quite fit in”). They could walk around for a while, have a bite to eat, and then spend some time at a library so that Draco could choose a few books of his own to borrow.

—

Once Harry had been enrolled in the local primary school, he and Remus settled into a routine fairly quickly. Remus worked in a Muggle shop, and he generally had to work several hours past when Harry’s school let out, so Harry became a regular at the library where they had met. There was an after-school program on some days where Harry could do crafts and things with other kids, but many days, he just curled up in the big pit of cushions he’d discovered on his first visit here to read.

He was doing just that one Tuesday almost a year after his grand escape, a plastic-bound comic book resting against his bent legs, when he heard a posh but hesitant voice above him say, “Excuse me, are you reading Batman?”

Looking up, Harry saw a tall, rather pointy looking boy with very blond hair and very pale skin looking down at him. The boy glanced over at an older girl standing nearby, and Harry, following his gaze, saw the girl give him a wide smile and a big thumbs up. Harry looked back at the boy, whose cheeks were now a bit pink. “Er, yeah,” Harry finally answered. The boy stood awkwardly for a moment, and Harry, unsure how to proceed, asked him, somewhat uncertainly, “Do you want to see?”

The boy looked relieved. “Yes, please.” He sat down next to Harry, folding his legs neatly and keeping his back very straight, but smiling shyly when he met Harry’s eyes. He held out his hand. “I’m Draco.”

Harry took his hand and, feeling very grown up, shook it. “Hello, Draco. I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

Draco’s eyes went wide. “I’ve heard of you! You’re a wizard!” He sounded almost accusing.

“Er, yeah, but I only found out last year,” Harry said, feeling oddly embarrassed. “I always lived with normal— er, with Muggles before that.” Then he thought of something. “Wait, are you a wizard?”

“Yes.” Draco bit his lip. “But I like Muggle things a lot. I… don’t think it matters much, really, do you?” He looked a bit scared, like he was afraid he would get in trouble for saying so, but Harry just shrugged.

“Not so much. I think magic is brilliant, but I still like Muggle things, too. I like Batman because he doesn’t have any parents, just like me. And he fights crime and does all sorts of cool hero things, and he doesn’t even need magic.”

“I think it would be fun to be a hero,” Draco told him, whispering like it was a secret.

“Me too.” Harry smiled at him. “I’m at a really good bit. Do you want to share?”

Draco nodded, and Harry scooted the book over so that he could see it better. “Look, he’s just about to jump off this building and catch the bad guy!”

“Wicked,” Draco breathed, leaning in. Tilting their heads together, sleek blond hair against messy black, the two boys began to read.

The end.

#my writing #draco malfoy #harry potter #drarry #drarry fanfic #wheel of drarry #drarry microfic

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vivantesopales · 2 years

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do not go gentle into that good night

—

Where is the end, is Now upstream from the end?

Cycles are inherently causal, or so you’ve heard, from the rain, from the flowers and the butterflies that breathe life into storms.

But why does the sea deny you when it was gravity that pulled you down that river? Why can’t living just be living, instead of a long meander towards the beginning?

Living should be easier, you think, when dying is so damn hard.

—

☕️ This is a gift art for @m0srael , who is an actual writing god if I’ve ever met one.

🐑 Message left on AO3 because formatting is a nightmare here.

#opal does things #drarry art #hp fanart #drarry #belatedly #wheel of drarry #have been struggling to finish my wod fic for so long even though i love it so so much #it's just that coming home every day groggy and irritated makes it impossible for me to write anything with a coherent plotline #and with some stupid mental health thing going on i don't think i will be able to #in the near future either #and i am so sorry #but please allow me to express my love and appreciation for you through another form of art!#i hope this makes up for it a little #love opal xx

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maesterchill · 2 years

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Thunder Moon (E, 3.6k)

A gift for @hogwartsfirebolt for the Wheel of Drarry Mini-Exchange on the @drarrymicrofic server. Estrella! Such an honour to write for you! I hope you enjoy this bit of dark wolfy Harry. Thank you to @tackytigerfic for the keen eye.

Warnings/tags: Angst, Smut, Blood and injury, Established relationship, Morally grey Harry Potter, Werewolf Harry Potter.

Just like the first rumbling growls of thunder in the skies, a 'thunder moon' is a harbinger of storms and turmoil. During this rare night in July, many wix notice an increased difficulty balancing heart and head, instinct and morality, and even their own desires versus the wishes of their loved ones.

For those who have been bitten and turned, like Harry Potter, this struggle is magnified tenfold.

When his mate is attacked, will Harry be able to face down the monsters in the shadows, and inside himself... for the man he loves?

Read on AO3

#drarry #drarry fic #wheel of drarry #werewolf harry #maesterchill writes

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oknowkiss · 2 years

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fic post: the long ways

for @drarrymicrofic‘s wheel of drarry exchange!

PAIRING(S): DRARRY, HARRY/OMC, BACKGROUND DRASTORIA RATING: M WORDCOUNT: 10.2K

Read on AO3 here!

TAGS: 5+1 Fic, Drarry in their 30s, Harry in the Muggle World, That annoying thing where you keep running into your nemesis every few years but every time they’re hotter and more interesting, you know that classic thing, Draco Malfoy is a Good Dad, Wakes, Emotional Hair Braiding, Drinking in Bars on Rainy Nights, Thru-Hiking, Inns, Harry POV WARNINGS: Canon Compliant Minor Character Death (Astoria), Vomiting (not sexy), some questionable Emotional Infidelity (more details in the author note, no physical infidelity)

SUMMARY: Five times Harry thought he was seeing Draco for the last time, and one time he didn’t.

OR: what it’s like to fall in love, slowly and without realizing it, over the course of 20 years.

thanks so much to @thebooktopus for your genius beta, and for powering through the demon hellhound that is google sheets in the process. you’re amazing.

Tink, i’m not sure if you have a tumblr (i can’t find you on here!) but if you do, please let me know and i’ll add you to this post. :)

everyone else, let’s all laugh at how @hogwartsfirebolt was like “50 word minimum” for the exchange and i said “okay so what i’m hearing is 10k.” i have no chill, what else is new! anyway, i hope you all enjoy. my first 5+1 fic! okay byeeeee

#my fic #my fic posts #drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #harry x draco #draco x harry #drarry fic #harry/draco #drastoria #drarry microfic #wheel of drarry

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shealynn88 · 2 years

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Title: The Mating Habits of Snidgets Rating: Teen Word count: 3500 Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Summary: Harry is the kid that has nothing. Draco is the prat that has everything. When they face off across the Pitch, everything else falls away. Warnings and tags: Quidditch, School Rivalry AU, Professional Quidditch, Nail Polish, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, side of Hagrid being excited about creatures, Enemies to Lovers A/N: thanks to @makeitp1nk and @wolfpants for helping make it the best it could be! And thanks to @thebooktopus for being a fantastic prompter, human, writer, etc--I hope you enjoy!

Excerpt: Harry can’t improve on his equipment, so he does other things—he studies the way the Snitch moves and finds that it has flight pattern tendencies. He drills rolls and obstacle courses, plunging from a height. The Deadman’s Leap, Bonetti’s Fake. And he gets better. Draco still beats him to the Snitch half the time, but there are six other Seekers—first line and backups, from each of the Hogwarts houses, and none of them come close. It’s always Draco. Harry can’t seem to get away from him. Read it on Ao3

#harry potter fandom #drarry #wheel of drarry #sheawritesfic

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drarrymicrofic · 4 months

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This holiday season, the Microfic Discord Server hosted a special Secret Santa version of our classic Wheel of Drarry gift exchange! Starting today and going until Christmas eve, we will be posting three of these anonymous gift fics per day! If you'd like to join the next round of our Wheel of Drarry exchange, dm us for a link to join the discord! 18+ only!

🎁 Christmas has come early for @thehoneybeet!

Title: The Isle of Ogygia Wordcount: 13k Rating: E Warnings/Content: morally gray characters, unbalanced power dynamics

Summary: There is an island, far out in the sea.

All Secret Santa fics are available for reading now in the Ao3 Collection!

🎄 Your Festive Microfic Mods

#WoD Secret Santa #Wheel of Drarry #Drarry Microfic #Drarry Fanfiction #Drarry

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moonstruckwytch · 2 years

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★ wheel of drarry exchange ★

what's inside the hadwen house?

★T | 1.2k ★

summary: exploring haunted houses with your boyfriend is a lot more stressful when he's insistent on terrorizing the ghosts.

@makeitp1nk asked me for some nantucket shenanigans, so i wrote the boys hunting ghosts in one of the island's many deeply haunted historic properties. this fic would never have happened without the support of the best cheer team in the world, @secretartlair and @leavingtianchuang, and without the speedy and wonderful beta work by @crazybutgood! thank you all, i adore you <3

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m0srael · 2 years

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Nick of Time [1.1k | M]

Summary: Draco Malfoy is ready to sacrifice everything for the man he loves. Will he find what he's looking for in the nick of time? A gift for @maesterchill, who asked for 'angsty accidental bonding stuff', as a part of the recent round of @drarrymicrofic's Wheel of Drarry exchange. Thank you for the idea and the opportunity to gift something to you, you incredible, talented person!! Thanks, @softlystarstruck for making this 100% better! This fic is inspired by this special version of Bon Iver's cover of I Can't Make You Love Me by Bonnie Raitt. Listen before, or listen along as you read 😊. Read on Ao3

It must be the alcohol.

He’s exceptionally… aggressive tonight. He didn’t even wait for the loo door to close before he shoved me into a wall and started working on my trousers. It’s not really a secret what we do when we slink off together anymore, though.

It’s not like I have any dignity left to lose.

I still remember the first time we did this after that stupid fucking sting operation went sideways and we got in this mess. He was so hesitant like he was afraid to touch me. I guess the worst pain imaginable will compel a man to finally put his hands on the last person on earth he wants to touch.

The last person he wants to fuck.

A quick and dirty shag in a disgusting pub bathroom isn’t exactly what I imagined as a young boy reading stories with Mother about soulmates and magical bonds. Though, I suppose the protagonists of those stories were gallant knights and beautiful princesses, pure of heart and noble of deed.

Merlin knows that isn’t me.

God, I’d be happy for him just to breathe on me willingly. His eyes are so beautiful when they’re all glassy like this, and his mouth tastes sweet, like…

Like pumpkin juice…

It’s a dangerous game that I play with myself.

If I close my eyes and push away all of my intrusive thoughts I can pretend, just for a moment, that he’s holding me close like this because he actually wants me.

I can locate the feeling in the very center of my body, the power that keeps us hurtling back toward one another like heavenly bodies trapped on a collision course, caught in one another’s gravitational pull. I can pretend that the feeling is love, and not crude obligation.

The tightening in my belly every time he trails a finger down my spine, the goosebumps parading down my left forearm when he places a gentle kiss there. It’s real, in moments like this, when the air is still and the room is quiet and it’s like we’re the only two people in the universe.

He asks me to stay every time, because he’s good like that, but then he rolls away from me and the void between us feels like it might swallow me whole. So I leave.

Because the reality is he’s holding me like this because he has to, because if he didn’t the pain would devour us both alive.

Sometimes…

Sometimes.

We have time. There’s no urgent appointment or family emergency, no back alleyway or friend’s bathroom.

Sometimes it’s just him and me and the inexorable tie that binds us.

A Death Eater, The Chosen One, and a bonding curse fall into bed together…

Those are the worst times.

When we’re just standing there, staring at each other, the space between us too much and not enough. I know, and I know that he knows, that we have a choice to make. Get down to it as usual–clothes off, limbs arranged, efficient but never careless. Satisfying enough to keep the pain away for however long, or–

Sometimes it’s different.

The pain ebbs away like the tide and the pleasure that flows into the vacuum, molasses slow and honey sweet, builds and builds until the both of us are shaking and breathless. Our lips haven’t even touched and we’re still fully clothed and he’s begging. Mouth full of breathy little pleases that he tries to swallow down; hands, hips, heaving chest arching against mine.

And I’m fighting every urge in my traitorous heart to give him everything I have. Every single part of me. Because tomorrow, when the life-or-death fire in our cores has been doused, he won’t want it.

Sometimes he thumbs the tears off of my face and he whispers impossible words into my skin to bracket the goodbye kisses.

If I don’t look into his stupid, beautiful green eyes, I think I can do this.

The ache in my core has been growing over the last couple of days–If I tell him now, before it becomes unbearable, maybe I can explain before it becomes too much and we lose control of ourselves. Again.

“I’m..” Shit. No. Close your eyes, Draco. “I’m going to take the potion the healers gave us.”

Did he just sigh? The condescending bastard.

“We’ve talked about this.”

“No, we did not talk about this, Potter. You expressly forbade any conversation on the topic, actually.”

He rolls his eyes and God. He’s so tired of this. Of me.

“Because I’m not going to let you–”

“You don’t let me do anything! I have a bloody choice, too!”

Fuck. Calm down. My heart is racing, and he’s breathing hard, a frown twisting his lovely face. This wasn’t supposed to be an argument.

When is it not an argument with him?

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It’s your choice. Are you sure this is what you want?”

No, don’t laugh, it makes me sound unhinged. Only, I think I am unhinged. He has thoroughly and completely unhinged me.

But how can he seriously ask me if I’m sure?! Am I sure that I want to release him from the burden of this curse? Am I sure that the knowledge that he is free and happy and able to live his life with the person he chooses is worth losing most of my magical core forever?

“I’m sure.”

He’s shaking his head. Why is he shaking his head? Why is he–

“I just…want to be clear.”

He’s…so close. Fuck.

“You’re certain that the idea of being with me is so repulsive to you that you would sacrifice your magic?”

Repulsive? The word is nothing but sound to me when he’s this close and he’s looking at me like that…and I can’t even think…

“What? I–no, no–”

“Draco. You’re telling me–you are literally saying–that you would rather willingly harm yourself than…than just be with me.”

And how could there be tears on his face when I’m the one who feels like weeping? I can’t touch–shouldn’t touch–but I have to reach out and brush my heartbreak from his face with my fingers. He doesn’t deserve to be stained by it.

“Why are you crying?”

“Can I try again?”

I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“Can I try to show you how I feel? One more time. Please? And if you still want…fuck, I can’t even say it…”

“Can you…tell me instead?” Breathe, Draco. “I need you to say it. Please.”

He’s so close.

God, even now that hesitant smile makes me ache. If this is the last I get of him, at least I’ll have this to keep.

“The only pain I couldn’t withstand–”

Oh.

“--is not having all of you, whole, for as long as I can.”

The soft press of his warm lips, as I meet him halfway, feels like a shove back from the precipice, like an exhilarated plunge, hand in hand, into sun-heated water.

Read on Ao3

#wheel of drarry mini exchange #wheel of drarry #drarry #drarry fic #drarry fanfiction #drarrymicrofic #drarry microfic #drarry fanfic

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