“If we go get chocolates, d’ya think the reporters following us will say we’re making a mockery of those lost in the war?”
Harry snorted. “Nah, they’re going to say I’ve got a secret romance, and that I’m snogging someone who will fix my hero trauma with love. Bet I’ll be getting married next week.”
Ron elbowed him and grinned. A block behind them, three — no, four — very conspicuous people tried to eavesdrop inconspicuously.
“Don’t be ridiculous, boys,” Hermione sighed, leaning into the way Ron fingers threaded through her curls. “They’re not that creative. All the articles will be something about me letting my weight slip.”
They had turned off Diagon and down Brightcrow Alley, full of shops newly built on the rubble of a major attack during the war. Harry hadn’t been there when it had happened — he and Ron and Hermione were in a tent somewhere pretending they had a clue to what they were doing. But everyone had adamantly rebuilt everything in the last two months, using the spiffiest spells to make things shiny and solid and safe, so that the whole Wizarding world could pretend they were all okay. Harry couldn’t really begrudge them, so he let himself go out for day trips in Diagon while the really daring journalists ducked in and out of view. It was fine. Harry was fine pretending along with everyone else.
Pretending it hadn’t been two months since he had died and then stopped being dead.
“Right then,” said Ron. “Shall we make it a bet? We’ll go get chocolates, and whoever gets an article written about them wins five Galleons.”
“I say Ron and I should get ten if they write about us,” Hermione cut in. “Sorry, Harry, but you’ve got an unfair advantage.”
Harry knew he’d regret it but he shrugged and said, “I’ll take that bet, just to see what you two will do to drag all the attention from me. C’mon, there’s the new place, Selwyn’s.”
They got close to the big blue and pink shop on the corner, on exhibit beneath a sparkling sign: Selwyn’s Sweets and Chocolatiers. Hermione was pestering Ron into taking History of Magic when they go back for Eighth Year in the fall, but Harry stopped listening when he saw who was standing outside the shop.
Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy was there, staring down a scandalized shop keeper.
“Please,” he could hear Draco’s voice as they got closer, steady, but tight. Strained. “I will cause no trouble. I would just like to purchase a box of caramel truffles for my mother.”
“Your existence at my shop door is causing me trouble,” the owner, Selwyn probably, snapped. “You know exactly what you’re doing, tainting my shop with your Death Eater presence, whatever you claim about sweets for your mother. Merlin, the sooner the Malfoy name gets purged from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the better.”
All three of them were close enough now to see how Draco was standing, like a coiled spring, like a weather-worn statue. “Please. Just let me buy one box of chocolates. You can’t discriminate against me because of my blood status. There have been laws passed against it.”
It was Hermione who got those laws passed. In June, less than a week after the trials — the ones where both Harry and Luna testified on Draco’s behalf.
The public loved the idea of non-discrimination laws after everything that happened in the war, but it wasn’t until later, in private, that Hermione told him how she really wanted the laws in place more to help people like Draco than people like her. Harry didn’t really get what she meant.
Until now.
“Who said I was discriminating?” Selwyn sneered. “Didn’t you know? It’s Couples Day at my shop. Only loving couples are allowed in to look at the wares. It’s a shame that you’re here alone. And, giving your stunning marriageability, I fear you may never be able to enter the shop… on Couples Day.”
Harry didn’t know why he acted. Even though, deep down, he knew exactly why.
“Hello, love,” he said, stepping forward and wrapping an arm around Draco’s shoulder. “Sorry we’re so late. Hermione got distracted by some books at Flourish and Blotts. Hope there’s still time for our date?”
I’m rereading Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone and it kinda hit me, the Centaurs knew that Harry would die. Firenze saves Harry and all the others get angry, saying they are not to set themselves against the heavens and points out “have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets”. Firenze tells Harry before he leaves that he hopes they have read the planets wrong. Firenze, Bane and Ronan knew Harry Potter would die in that forest by the hand of Voldemort, only not when. So when Harry shows up in the forest and is nearly killed by Quirell and Voldemort that inhabits his body, Bane and Ronan believed this is what the planets meant. Firenze saving him goes against that. They were not angry he helped Harry but because they believe Firenze interfered what was foretold. Even Firenze refuses to tell Harry why they are angry, because he can’t bring himself to tell an 11 year old “you are supposed to die in here”. Of course, what no one knows is that the centaurs will be right. Harry will die in there by the hand of Voldemort, only that it will happen 6 years later.
hey could you help me find a fic please? Draco had a really low down job in the ministry working with the weather charms and when his boss died, the weather became tied with dracos mood. he also was able to walk around without people noticing him. Harry worked in the department of magical creatures and had a snake that he talked to. Ron tried to arrest Draco for messing with the weather, eventually making Draco freak out and start a storm. thanks!!!
I haven’t read this fic so I hope my lovely followers can help you :)
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ETA: Thank you for your help, @kaimeant ♥
Weather With You by @quicksilvermaid [M, 29k]
▶ Flood. Heatwave. Cyclone. Epic storm ready to rip London apart? Something strange is happening to the weather inside the Ministry of Magic...
Featuring magical creatures, Harry wearing minimal clothes, a snarky snake, and Draco Malfoy who is definitely Up To Something.
★ HP Drizzle Fest 2019
Hey! Can you help me find a fic? I remember it's a fic where Harry saw Draco at a club and they become roomates for a few years. There's the word "Year" in the title and I can't remember the name. The ending was set at New Year I think. Thanks a bunch! ❤❤❤
hey nonnie! I think it could be this one:
This Year’s Love by trishjames (E; 84k)
Summary: This year’s love had better last, heaven knows it’s high time when you try to make lovers from friends. But Harry Potter realises time and time again that it’s simply not possible for him. And then along comes Draco Malfoy— the ultimate foe on the mend. Whatever will become of them? A story about love.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I hope I was of help! 😊
Hello! I was searching for this fic but I couldn’t remember the name, Harry woke up in dracos dorm room (I think) and he was naked and there was smut. Thank you so much in advance! 💖💖
Hi nonnie~ I haven’t read this fic so I hope my lovely followers can help you :)
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ETA: Thank you for your help, @veryfangurl @maesterchill ♥
Who Shagged Harry Potter? by @faith2wood [E, 6k]
▶ One beautiful sunny Sunday the Slytherins wake up after a raunchy night only to discover a very naked Harry Potter sleeping in their dormitory. Naturally, they ask themselves a logical question: Who the hell shagged him? ~ 2012.04
Sorry you're feeling rubbish – I really hope you're okay and that you feel better soon. Here are a few drabble prompt ideas - drarry or any other pairing, no obligation at all to write any of them: - Lazy morning in bed with loud rain outside - Sharing a shower (can be sexy or silly!) - Character A tries to teach Character B the impossibly convoluted game that is Gobstones (bonus points for ridiculous rules)
Hello! Thank you so much for the ask and prompts! I’m indeed better, thank you <3
OK so I wanted to write the ‘lazy morning in bed’ scenario and set in the universe of one of my drabbles where Draco is mute. It’s here: Finding The Words
But what happened was that I ended up with one thousand words that only include a fleeting mention of staying in bed. I do quite like the result, though; I hope you do too.
1050 words, Teen-rated, prequel to Finding The Words , no warnings I can think of.
***
The first time Harry stays over, they have a fight.
It starts as nothing serious: a playful disagreement about Quidditch teams over dinner. Draco signs slowly, his heart warm at the sight of Harry’s concentrated expression: his dedication to learning sign language just for Draco. They’ve been seeing each other for just under month by then, and Draco feels more smitten than he’d thought possible.
The disagreement leads to a less playful dispute over the skills of Muggleborn players when they retire to the living room with a tumbler of whisky, when Draco has switched to the ‘words in the air’ spell. He casts with jerky movements, flinging the glowing words in the dim living room, just as Harry’s counterarguments spill out of him faster. The whisky burns Draco’s throat but doesn’t melt the stiffness in his spine. His fingers on the cut-glass tumbler are like claws.
And then, somehow, inexplicably, in that weird, twisted way that no one can account for, the argument moves to a topic that has nothing to do with Quidditch or Muggleborns: Draco hasn’t told his friends about them. He’s keeping their relationship a secret.
‘It’s been a month,’ Harry states, bitterness creeping in his voice. Draco wants to correct him: their one-month anniversary is on Tuesday, he’s made plans, it’ll be a surprise— But he offers nothing, because Harry’s right.
Harry gets up and stalks to the art-deco trolley that serves as Draco’s bar, pours himself a second, generous measure of whisky. He remains facing the wall and says, voice low, ‘We meet in bars that none of our friends go to. You dropped my hand when we ran into Zabini the other day on the street. You invite me to stay the one night your housemates are out of town. It’s like you’re—you’re ashamed of me.’
NO! Draco spells, the letters trembling with the force of his casting.
Harry turns and looks at the word, hovering golden in the firelight. ‘No? Then, why?’
Draco stands up. He signs, too fast, and Harry can’t make it out. Draco shuts his eyes briefly, takes a deep breath. He casts the spell again: I’m afraid that the more people know about us, the more they’ll jinx it.
When Harry makes to talk, Draco stops him with a gesture and continues. Now that the floodgates are open, everything he’s been suppressing comes pouring out: I keep fearing one day you’ll leave and never come back. That this is going well because it’s just us and no one else. That things will change between us. I’m afraid of so many things, but mostly of losing you. Because…
Harry’s speechless. The firelight glints off his glasses, keeping his eyes obscured. Draco spells his last few words, his hands trembling: Because I won’t be able to bear it.
He stops then, his arms dropping limp by his side, feeling flayed and naked and raw. He waits. Outside car tyres hiss along the wet streets. Inside, the fire crackles and Draco’s heart thumps hard. He gazes down at the ivy green carpet.
Harry sets his glass on the mantle and approaches Draco. He’s close enough that Draco can smell the woods and leather scent of him. ‘Draco…’ he starts and waits for a beat—a beat that stretches Draco’s nerves to breaking point.
‘I love you.’
Draco snaps his eyes up.
‘I love you,’ Harry says again. ‘I should’ve told you before. This—us—is serious for me. Sure, things will change—but there’s nothing we can’t face together, is there? Because I’m not going away, not as long as you’ll have me.’
His words fall on Draco like summer rain, melting away the ice that had gripped his heart, the stiffness in his bones. Draco feels a smile spreading on his face, warmth radiating from his chest. He signs, say it again.
‘I love you.’ Harry now has his arms around him, whispers the words in his ear.
Draco pulls back to sign: again.
Harry chuckles. ‘I love you, you mischievous tosser.’ He brushes his lips against Draco’s. ‘And I’ll tell you as often as you want.’
*
Draco keeps Harry there all night and the whole of Sunday. In the morning, Draco sits on the counter and munches on toast, Harry standing beside him, making tea. His kisses taste like strawberry jam. They make a half-hearted attempt to be productive, to read the paper in the living room or write letters, to listen to the news on the wireless, but they soon find their way upstairs again, sweating and moving together, a dance of naked skin. They spend the day in tangled sheets, in each other’s arms, in the first flush of love. Draco’s heart can’t possibly contain this happiness. Yesterday’s drizzle has turned into pouring rain; it lashes against the panes of the windows, the chilly wind rustling through the bare tree branches. But inside it’s warm.
When Draco wakes up, it’s evening, the room dark. The streetlight limns the silhouettes of furniture in yellow; the tree branches cast moving shadows on his bedroom wall. The bed is empty.
Wrapping himself in his thick, monogrammed dressing gown, barefoot, Draco pads downstairs. Voices float from the kitchen. He stops by the door.
Harry—wearing his jeans and a T-shirt of Draco’s—is chatting with Pansy and Daphne around the wooden table, all three holding mugs of tea. The girls’ luggage is on the floor, dusted with Floo powder.
‘Draco!’ Daphne spots him first. They both turn to him, expressions identical with fervent interest—and very eloquent. When Harry leaves, the expressions promise, they’ll sit Draco down and grill him for every single detail. Draco finds that the thought doesn’t bother him.
He smiles, signs hello. Sits down.
‘So,’ Pansy starts, voice inflected, ‘we met Harry.’ She gives Draco a significant look.
You know Harry from school, Draco signs.
Pansy narrows her eyes. ‘I meant we met him in our kitchen. We thought he was a burglar! We’d have Stunned him, but no burglars would be breaking in topless.’ Pansy says the word with relish and Harry, endearingly, blushes.
You’ll be seeing him a lot more from now on. Draco catches Harry’s eyes. He’s my boyfriend.
Daphne claps her hands, delighted, Pansy rolls her eyes in an affectionate omg-you’re-such-a-sop way, and Harry grins like it’s Christmas morning. Draco leans back, watching his friends chat with Harry, a fluttering new tendril rising inside him: hope.
It’ll be all right.
***
My lovely readers, if there are any errors (I’m a non-native speaker of English and prepositions are tricky) do let me know! I don’t mind!
my friend is studying for the mcat and was just trying to explain to me about heat transfer and she said ‘you know, like the reason you get cold when you go outside on a freezing day is that your tiny human body is trying to warm up the entire universe’ and i think that’s the best thing i have ever heard
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