Remus was sitting by himself on a park bench while Harry played round after round of fetch with Padfoot, who was panting and slobbering and near-exhausted. That was one of the small, strange, unexpected joys of having a kid for Remus. Heād always loved Siriusā seemingly-endless energy, he had, but heād never had the stamina to keep up with him and James as they sprinted about the castle. Watching a child version of their best friend run a nearly thirty-year-old Sirius ragged was hilarious.
Knowing this was exacerbated by Siriusā lack of impulse control while in dog form, Remus had asked Sirius to please, stay human while Harry played today, he knew he couldnāt transform back and forth once they got there and Remus had been hoping to grade some papers this afternoon. If Sirius wore himself out completely, heād spend the afternoon napping and Remus wouldnāt get anything done. Sirius had just grinned at him and gave him a peck on the lips.
āYou were grading all night. Saturday is family time. You need a break,ā heād stated firmly, then shifted into Padfoot and that was that.
And so, Remus was alone at the park until a handsome blonde with big, blue eyes and a square jawline sat next to him and started chatting him up.
āWhich one is yours?ā the handsome stranger asked.
āThe one with the hair. Playing fetch,ā Remus gestured briefly to Harryās characteristically wild mop and the ball he was throwing for the thousandth time. āYours?ā
āMy niece,ā said the stranger, nodding to a blonde girl a couple years younger than Harry who may have dressed herself that morning; she was wearing a fluffy pink skirt over red and green tartan pajama pants with a grey hoodie she seemed to have outgrown without anyone realizing. āHer parents are trying āage-appropriate independence,ā if youāre wondering about the outfit.ā
Remus laughed. āWe went through that with ours, too. I eventually just made sure all of his clothes had a Batman symbol on them somewhere, hoping that would entice him to not wear the full costume every single day.ā
āAnd did it work?ā
āIt did not.ā The stranger threw back his head and laughed.
The two sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the stranger waving at his niece and Remus going back to his book, until the blonde spoke again.
āYou said āweā?ā
Remus glanced up, catching the manās gaze at the same time as a large, slobbery head planted itself firmly in his lap. āHmm?ā Remus absently reach up to scratch behind Padfootās ears
āYou said āwe,ā but youāre here alone. His mum at work?ā Remus could feel a growl growing in Padfootās throat, not audible yet, but a warning all the same.
āOh. Ah, no. Sheās not in the picture,ā Remus said. This man really didnāt need to the whole backstory, and really, if Sirius wanted people to know Remus was attached, he should stay human when it was politely requested.
Siriusā growl increased in volume, enough to draw the manās attention.
āShouldnāt he be on a leash?ā he asked, eyeing the big dogās head warily.
āHeās very well-trained,ā Remus said, receiving a cheeky lick on the hand. āOnce in a while he refuses to listen, but he stays close and he wonāt bite.ā
Padfoot let out an offended little boof.
āHmm. If you say so.ā The man looked at his watch and stood up. āListen, we have to go, I told her parents Iād get her home by two, but Iād really like your number. If you donāt mind?ā
Remus smiled kindly at him, letting him down gently. āThatās very kind, stranger whose name I donāt know, but Iām not interested. Sorry.ā
Padfoot wheezed out a few breaths that might have been a chuckle in a human.
The man laughed. āItās Keith, if that changes your mind.ā
āIt doesnāt, Keith, but Iām flattered all the same.ā
Keith shrugged and turned to walk away, but tripped over the 115 pounds of black dog that were suddenly at his feet. He went tumbling, landing on his hands and knees, grass stains apparent but at least he wasnāt bleeding.
āPadfoot, no,ā Remus scolded. āIām really sorry, Keith, he never does stuff like that.ā
āA cup of coffee would make it up to me,ā Keith replied, ever-hopeful. Remus just shook his head, and the man headed off to collect his niece.
Remus rounded up Harry as well, clipping a lead to Padfootās collar, and they nearly ran home with how he hard was pulling. Once they were inside, Remus sent Harry off to wash up for lunch and Sirius transformed back.
āThat wanker just wouldnāt take no for an answer, would he?ā he griped.
āThe handsome gits never do,ā Remus said fondly.
Hermione *hiding under the invisibility cloak*: You have to start completing all your incomplete work and spend more time in the library studying with your friend Hermione.
Harry: .... who's speaking?
Hermione: It's your conscience. We don't talk a lot these days.
I want an 8th year fic where Harry is a really bad kisser. like. REALLY bad. Like, no coordination, spit all over the place, no-idea-where-heās-going-with-this bad.Ā And it makes sense because heās never quite had the emotional education that makes him super attuned to other peopleās needs? anYWAY when he and ginny break up they have a bit of a row and she wants to throw something at him just to THROW SOMETHING AT HIM because itās hard to accuse the actual puppy dog who saved the goddamn world of anything ā ESPECIALLY WHEN HEāS SO WEEPY ā and so she just says it. She just says it, You are a bad kisser, Harry. You are a very, very, very, very bad kisser.Ā
AND at first of course Harry is like how dARE YOU, and no YOU are, but then it gets stuck in his head and he starts asking around. First of all, do people even like kissing? It is a thing people like? Itās always felt kind of off and gross to him and cut to Hermione talking a million miles an hour, confiscating an empty classroom to draw out a full chart on a blackboard about the benefits/social history/beauty of make outs ā IF you want them. Harry nods furiously and is taking notes.Ā
From there the research expands into a full-scale survey amongst the 7th and 8th years about the best snogger on Hogwarts grounds [on a scale from 0 to 10, 0 beingĀ ālike being slapped about by the giant squidā and 10 beingĀ ālike a veela caressing the inside of your mouth but also youāre in fireā]. Entirely unexpectedly, WHAT A SURPRISE TO EVERYONE INVOLVED, Draco Ambrosius Giselda Anne Paulus Fucking Malfoy (named after all of his auntieās favourite corgies) ends up the UNANIMOUS nr 1. Harry and Hermione, main conductors of said research, are appalled. Especially when subject #18 (Hannah Abbott) goes all glassy-eyed staring at the survey parchment and whispersĀ āthat mouth thoā, seemingly to herself.Ā
Cut to Harry and Hermione holed up in the classroom with pictures of everyone from 7th & 8th year hanging on the walls with bits of red thread connecting them. Malfoyās is in the middle, circled several times and surrounded by question marks. Harry looks frazzled, tie undone, and heās reading through the case again.Ā āIt canāt be!ā he says, incredulous, while Hermione laughs a little crazed and disbelieving.Ā āIt has to be,ā she says, shaking her head.Ā āBy Jobe, it has to be.āĀ
This is a drarry fic not inspired by the Rita Ora song but its title I suppose. Very brief, slightly oblique mentions of self harm and suicidal tendencies.
.........
7th year Harry Potter was a little more broken than heād imagined. His brain ached constantly, sometimes outdoing his heart. Every now and then, the image of a blanked Kings Cross station swirled through the cracks in his skull and tore at his wrists.
But he couldnāt tell anyone.
How do you turn to your best friends and say: I died and this is how it felt. Truth was, he didnāt even know. So instead of talking, Harry became quiet and withdrawn. At 2 or 3 or 4am he would creep out into the Hogwarts corridors and up towards the Observatory, hoping that proximity to the stars would somehow set him alight.
He didnāt do this every night though.
7th year Draco Malfoy knew that things would be hard. He could hardly look into the eyes of the bereaved for fear he would see his fatherās cruelty reflected back at him. Sometimes he just sat and cried, silently, slim shoulders shaking with rage at his birthright and grief at the horrors it had caused.
He didnāt sleep.
Because everytime Draco closed his eyes, he saw that room burning and burning, lived again the screams of the friend he had to abandon. Or he saw those scars that snaked along Hermioneās arm, the vicious curls of pain on Ronās chest, the benevolent stare of Dumbledore even as he condemned him. He didnāt speak or sleep, just existed as a ghost does. At 2 or 3 or 4am he would creep into the Hogwarts corridors and up towards the Observatory, teetering at the edge of death just to remind himself he was alive.
When Harry dragged himself up to the Observatory this night, he heard the sound of tears. A figure, leaning out, shoulders shaking. He ran up and pulled them backwards, nameless and faceless but not another pair of dying eyes please, please.
Draco felt his arm being pulled back urgently, whipping his slender frame round and into the shoulder of a boy who smelt like burning embers. He slowly lifted his head to meet those eyes, the ones he had fixated on for so long. In them, he didnāt see the hatred or sadness of so many others, he saw concern and compassion. Did Harry... care?
āYou alright?ā Harry whispered, stepping back gently but not letting go of Dracoās hand. Something about that soft pale skin felt like a solace.
āI believe, Potter, that that is the most stupid question you have ever asked,ā was the tentative reply, followed by a tiny laugh on both parts.
Harry stared into the eyes of Draco and found not cold but warmth. He saw someone, finally, as fucked up as him. In those gorgeous eyes lay pain and fire and understanding and god for some reason all Harry could think about was kissing him.
So he did.
It was slow, gentle, tender, more of an embrace or a reassurance. As the scattered stars flamed, Draco and Harry fell into each otherās pain, lips connecting hearts and nightmares. It deepened, subtly, both finding urgency in the recognition of true despair, lips and hands moving frantically as tongues met. They put everything into that kiss, every pain and torture they had pouring into the otherās warm touch. The unrealised yearning of 7 years, the pressure of greatness and the worry of not living up to it. Two sides of the same coin crumpled to the floor, Draco in Harryās arms or Harry in Dracoās they couldnāt quite work out but they were a mess and that was finally okay.
And theyāre not saying that kiss saved them. Because Harryās eyes still closed to Kings Cross and Dracoās to the Room of Requirement, and both cried, if anything, more than ever.
But Harry went to the Observatory at 2 or 3 or 4am not to be singed by stars but to bury his head in the nook of an understanding shoulder. And Draco went to the observatory at 2 or 3 or 4am not to fall over the edge but into kind and protective arms.
They were not perfect. The problems were still there. But on those nights, surrounded by nighttime sheen, they could atleast be lonely together.
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