A Heart Needs A Beat ♥

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ira_Dunfort

[anarchopuppy]

sometimes being a fan of something means not wanting them to make any more of it

[darlingirly]

3 Times Harry Didn’t Ask Draco Out (& 1 Time He Did)

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 456 | prompt: butt

The first time Harry tried to ask Draco Malfoy out, he got as far as, “So, Malfoy, are you—”

Then Ron appeared, dropped three case files on Harry’s desk, and said, “Good, you’re both here. Please tell me one of you knows where I can find a cursed ferret, I’ve been doing the rounds.”

Draco looked at the files. Harry looked at Ron.

“Not now,” Harry said.

Ron dropped into a chair. “It’s either now or I set fire to the paperwork.”

The second time, Harry cornered Draco in the Ministry lift.

“Malfoy,” he said, shifting his grip on his briefcase, “I was wondering if you’d like to—”

The lift doors opened and Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped in.

Harry immediately changed course and said, “—review the… broom-related… tax fraud?”

Draco stared at him. “Potter, that was six months ago.”

Kingsley looked between them, then very wisely chose shuffling through the paperwork in his hand over whatever this was. 

The third time, Draco was alone outside after work, collar turned up against the cold, smoke from his cigarette curling silver around his fingers.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, walking up, before he could lose his nerve.

Draco looked over. “Potter.”

“I was thinking we—”

“There you are,” Pansy said from behind him, pulling her gloves on. She looked between them and smirked. “Am I interrupting something?”

Draco’s mouth curved. “Only Potter’s latest attempt at a sentence, apparently.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Good night.”

Pansy waved and looped her arm through Draco’s, tugging him away, already complaining about the cold.

Harry watched them go and made a private note to find a way to rid of the entire concept of timing.

A few weeks into this, Hermione had apparently had enough.

They were all crammed into a corner booth at the Leaky, warm with laughter and too many rounds, when Harry glanced at Draco across the table.

“Malfoy, I—well. I was wondering if—”

Everyone else’s conversation died all at once, and their eyes were on him. Harry’s mouth stayed open, uselessly shaped around words that had apparently decided to abandon him.

Across the table, Draco only raised a perfect blond eyebrow, which did not help.

Hermione did not even look up from her drink. “Draco, Harry wants to know if you’ll go out with him,” she butted in. 

Ron and Blaise said, in unison, “Oh, finally.”

Harry turned his head slowly towards Hermione. “Hey, I had that!”

“Did you though?”

Harry was about to retort when Draco’s knee brushed his beneath the table. When Harry looked back at him, Draco was smiling.

“Well, Potter?”

Harry swallowed. “Dinner?”

Draco’s smile softened. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Hermione lifted her glass as everyone at the table erupted into cheers. “You’re welcome.”

[ira-dunfort]

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: butt | wordcount: 314

Butting Heads — Heading Butts

"Can you two idiots, for the love of Merlin, bloody stop butting heads already?" Auror Oaksdale yelled at his newest recruits, throwing hexes at Harry and Malfoy's feet.

"He started it!" Harry snapped, while Malfoy crossed his arms and scoffed.

"I did not," he drawled, lifting his chin. "You provoked me, you cretin."

"I don't care which one of you brats started it!" Their trainer took a rather intimidating step towards them. "You stop it, right now, or there will be disciplinary action."

"Which Potter will get to wiggle out of, as per usual." Malfoy sighed theatrically. "Favouritism at its finest."

"You spoiled wanker. You're jealous, is that it?" Harry asked, glowering at the tall git who wouldn't stop gaining height on him.

"Jealous of you?" Malfoy smirked down his narrow nose at him. "Perish the thought."

Harry growled. He'd had it with Malfoy, who always kept poking him, verbally or physically, as if he couldn't bear to let Harry focus on anything or anyone but him.

"Out with you two!" Auror Oaksdale bellowed, pointing his wand at the gym's opening doors.

"But—" Malfoy tried.

"Out!" he repeated, louder. "Unlike you, the other trainees are willing to learn, and you're distracting them."

"What are we supposed to do?" Harry wanted to know. They couldn't just leave early, right?

"The opposite of butting heads! Figure it out!" A gust of conjured wind pushed the two troublemakers towards the exit.

Harry and Malfoy shuffled out, hearing the whispers among the other trainees start up behind them.

"What is the opposite even supposed to be?" Harry asked Malfoy as they went down the corridor towards the locker room.

Malfoy pursed his lips, then hummed in thought. "Gently heading butts?" he suggested after a moment.

"Gently what?"

And that was how Harry found himself bent over in the Auror showers, getting rimmed within an inch of his life.

[kira-7]

This is a spot from an italian estate agency (we are governed by the right-wing party)

The woman says "Ridiculous..."

If you want to spread it elsewhere, here's the official link

[arctic-hands]

[Video Description: An ad with piano music over it all, showing an elderly woman in her home, knitting, when two younger men walk by her window, which catches her attention. She stares out her window at them as they kiss each other while walking, the old lady staring in disbelief. Cut to the old woman approaching a residence with a broom in hand, staring up at the second floor window where a small rainbow Pride flag is hanging. The old woman stares up at it and mutters "Ridiculo", before getting up on a ladder with her broom to remove the flag. Focus on the flag fluttering to the ground as church bells chime. The scene then cuts to the couple from before, approaching their home with grocery bags in hand before one stops and stares at the second floor, stopping his partner who then drops the groceries as he too stares up. It's then revealed that the small pride flag had been replaced with a gigantic, hand-knit pride flag. It then cuts back to the old woman's home, where a tin of rainbow-colored yarn sits on her table. The hands of the old woman are holding and fondly touching an old black and white photo of two young smiling women, leaning against each other. Cut to the old woman's face as she stares out with a look of happy pride on her face. At the end of the video, the name "Idealista" appears on screen, followed by "buon pride" along with a rainbow. End VD.]

[spaceofentropy]

One correction:

The old lady is not in her home. She is at work. She's meant to be what in Italian is called "la portinaia", aka a cross between a doorwoman and cleaner of a residential building. She's in her small "office" space, at the entrance of the building, from where she can survey the coming and goings of the inhabitants. It's a job that has mostly disappeared, but is culturally very clear to us as having the connotation of "potentially gossipy, one-million-percent judgmental woman who sees everything that goes on in the apartment complex, knows everyone and their secrets, and has Strong Opinions™️".

In this case, thankfully, the Strong Opinion™️ is that those two men are ridiculous with their teeny tiny flag for ants.

[ira-dunfort]

So, that one microfic I wrote? About Harry lying to a historian that he was married to Malfoy? I'm working on expanding that idea. Here, have a snippet:

There stood Draco Malfoy, dressed in pressed white culottes and a white-and-blue striped… Merlin, what was that? A knitted vest? A sleeveless cardigan? Either way, it looked good on him, accentuating the lean lines of his naked shoulders just right. His long white-blond hair spilled down his back. He looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine, or a dream, or somewhere else entirely that didn't involve Harry's dusty, neglected doorstep. Beside him stood a large leather suitcase, clearly expensive, with a wide-brimmed sunhat resting on top like an afterthought.

"Hello, love of my life," Malfoy greeted him, sliding sunglasses down his narrow nose, a cheerful lilt in his voice and a shit-eating grin on his face.

The words took a moment to land. Harry's heart, which had been pumping with rage moments before, now seemed unsure what to do with itself.

Harry stared, quite stunned. "What?"

"Goodness," Malfoy said, tilting his head. "I had expected more enthusiasm upon seeing your dearest husband."

"Malfoy?" Harry tried.

"I kept my name, then? Good to know," Malfoy replied smoothly.

"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded.

"Helping you pack," Malfoy answered, his tone suggesting that it was silly of Harry to even ask.

He walked straight past him, towards the staircase, brushing past him without waiting for an invitation, close enough that Harry caught a faint whiff of something clean and expensive—cologne, maybe, or expensive soap. It was absurdly out of place in the musty gloom of Grimmauld Place's entrance hall.

"Pack?" Harry turned to follow him with his gaze. "Hey—how are you able to get into the house?"

"We're married, darling," Malfoy called over his shoulder.

"We—no?" Harry spluttered.

"Well, it's printed," Malfoy explained, as if to a child, "and therefore has entered the realm of common knowledge among the plebeian populace."

"It was a joke!" Harry protested, mind reeling.

"Leave the jokes to your funnier other half," Draco called down from the banister. "Now, where would our bedroom be?"

"Master Harry's bedroom is right this way, Master Draco," said a cracked voice from above.

Harry's head snapped up. "Kreacher, what the fuck!"

[ira-dunfort]

Drarry Microfic: incline

It was half eleven when Harry, who had gone to bed early, reappeared in the sitting room.

Draco looked up from the thick alchemy textbook he was working through for his studies. Harry might be hungry again and in need of a midnight snack; the Auror training drills seemed to do that to him. But then Harry passed straight through the room, apparently unhappy with whatever was left in the kitchen, and headed for the front door.

“Darling?” Draco called.

“Going out for a bit.”

“Ah,” Draco said, setting his bookmark between the pages and closing his book. “And why would that be?”

“Nuggies,” Harry replied, sticking his dishevelled head back into the sitting room.

“And who would that be?”

Harry did not answer. Instead, he first gasped, then threw Draco his jacket.

— — —

Draco was not comfortable on the plastic chair of this… establishment, which seemed to establish noise, grease, and salt in equal parts.

Across the table, Harry was lamenting that his fried, pressed chicken nuggets smelled gross, but he kept eating them anyway, cringing and groaning, dipping them into various tiny sauce packets in an attempt to find the one that caused the least revolt in his stomach.

“Harry,” Draco tried again, “would you be inclined to tell me what is up with you?”

“You almost got that right,” Harry mumbled around a mouthful of nugget.

“Elaborate,” Draco demanded with a roll of his hand, then caved to his morbid curiosity and took a nibble out of what Mr McDonald claimed to be meat.

“Something isn’t up with me. Just up me. Or someone, rather.”

“Darling,” Draco sighed, taken aback by the texture of the food, yet courageously taking a more deliberate bite, “try again.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Oh.”

Draco put the nugget back onto Harry’s side of the food tray.

“With a picky eater, too,” Harry said casually, as though this were perfectly normal and not another little miracle. “Must be, because it’s yours.”

“Picky for this?” Draco asked, feeling himself begin to tremble—Harry was pregnant!—and stared down at the cardboard boxes Harry was eating out of.

“Perfect balance between the two of us, love.”

“Please do not misinterpret my question. I love you, and I am thrilled, but…” Draco’s brow furrowed, and Harry continued contently eating. They were having a baby! “How are you so calm?”

“Already died once,” Harry said with a shrug, his feet bracketing Draco’s under the table. “It’s only fair that I get to give birth once, too.”

“Perfect balance,” Draco squeaked.

— written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt "incline"

[aegisreadsanything]

@drarrymicrofic | Prompt: Incline | WC: 185

Maybe It’s Time

Harry looked at Malfoy across the crowded office. He was talking to Proudfoot, grey eyes focused as he explained what he was thinking to the older Auror.

Whatever it was, Harry was inclined to disagree. It was only a matter of principle, it was Malfoy after all. It didn’t matter that the git was the most stunning man Harry had ever seen. Or that his grey eyes looked like starlight when he laughed. Or that his hair looked as soft as the silkiest fabrics.

“See something you like, Potter?” came an amused drawl from right in front of him.

Harry jumped. When had he gotten this close? Had he been staring at the pointy git all this time?

“Er…” he replied eloquently, causing Malfoy to chuckle.

Harry blushed, mortified, and then did something incredibly rash and possibly very stupid. “Go out with me. Friday at 8pm, I’ll buy you dinner.”

He had the pleasure to see those wonderful grey eyes widen in surprise before Malfoy quickly collected himself.

“I’ll allow it,” he drawled. “Make it fancy.”

Harry beamed. Maybe it wasn’t so stupid after all.

[coppercatbird]

Lift off

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: incline | wc: 25

One tilt of Harry’s chin is all it takes.

Eyelids flicker. Lips part. Then, his jaw lifts.

It’s a question. Draco answers it.

Everything changes.

[slyssnakes]

domestic

[darlingirly]

How to Survive a Ministry Gala

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 173 | prompt: incline

Across the very, very, very boring Ministry gala stood the object of Harry’s undivided attention: Draco Malfoy.

“You don’t have to glare at the pointy git all night,” Ron said.

“What?”

“Ron’s right, you know,” Hermione added. “You might have a better time if you tried forgetting Malfoy exists.”

Harry was only half-listening. Across the room, Malfoy inclined his head in their private way, ever so slightly, towards the left.

Harry coughed. “Er. Yeah. I think what I actually need is some… air.”

Ron clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit. Come back with a fresh mindset and less Malfoy.” Hermione nodded her agreement. 

Harry slipped through the crowd and out into the empty corridor. Moments later, Malfoy followed.

“You look bloody hot in those robes,” Harry said.

“Yes, they are rather thick, and it is quite stuffy in there.”

“The other hot, you git.”

Malfoy’s mouth curved. “Mm. Come here, then.”

A moment later, Malfoy had him pressed against the wall, and the gala became very, very, very easy to forget.

[sunk1ra]

ruin @drarrymicrofic [492 words]

“Why the fuck are you following me?” Malfoy says, his voice harsh and cold. In Harry’s defense, he wasn’t following him. He was simply… in the same hallway. Every day. At the same time.

It wasn’t Harry’s fault that Malfoy had grown up to be one hell of a man. Malfoy was a renowned senior-level Healer, with his powers highly sought after. His grey Healer robes bore numerous insignias that Harry probably couldn’t even pronounce. As Head Auror, Harry spoke with him quite often about cases, but never beyond that. 

Harry always thought Malfoy would grow up to be cold and pointy, like an oversized version of his 13-year-old self. But instead, he had the beauty and elegance of his mother with the sharpness of his father. His long, silvery hair easily fell past his shoulders, his grey eyes like pools you could fall into if you stared long enough. Harry was very sure he wasn’t the only one who had noticed the striking beauty of Draco Malfoy, judging by the lingering glances the man often got.

“I’m not following you,”

“Oh, really? You just happened to have the same schedule as me every day for the past fucking month?” Malfoy steps closer.

“Er…”

“I don’t know what you suspect me of doing, but I will not hesitate to report your use of your Head Auror position to conduct some sort of unauthorized surveillance,” Malfoy says, his tone biting. 

Harry falters. “Wait, what-”

“I’m not naive. What do you think I’m up to now? Using dark magic on my patients? Stealing Ministry files? I’m not the boy I was back at school, and whatever ludicrous stalking you’re up to is a waste of your time and mine. I would never do anything to ruin my career, and that includes allowing your meddling.”

“Dinner.” Harry blurts out, watching Malfoy’s coldness slowly turn into confusion. “Have you eaten dinner?”

“No,” Malfoy says, slowly. “I haven’t,” Malfoy is now looking at Harry the same way a healer looks at a Janus Thickney Ward patient. Harry isn’t sure if that’s an improvement or not.

“I haven’t either. I was wondering if you want to do that. With me. Tonight. For dinner eating purposes.” Harry sees Malfoy’s eyes darken, and he immediately backpedals. “Or not. Not works perfectly fine, too.” 

“Did someone put you up to this?” Malfoy asks, eyes narrowed.

“No! No, I just- I wanted to spend some time with you. And get to, er, know you.” Harry finishes, a bit pathetically. 

“You’ve been illegally stalking me, so you could ask me out for dinner?” Malfoy asks him, looking at him like he’s announced he’s the new Voldemort. 

“For fuck’s sake I wasn’t stalking- you know what, yes,” Harry says, defeated.

“That is… very unexpected,” Malfoy says, looking at him oddly.

“You look good in healer’s robes,” Harry says weakly. 

Malfoy’s smile is downright lethal. “I look better out of them.”

Ah, shit.

He's ruined.

ao3 collection

[sunk1ra]

tremble @drarrymicrofic [508 words]

Harry’s late to Advanced Potions. Again. He opens the door, and the room is loud enough with whatever they’re making that no one notices him coming in. He mumbles some apology to Slughorn and sits with Ron and Hermione. 

“Oh, look at that, you showed up,” Hermione says, stirring something in the cauldron. Ron is leaning his head against the desk and looks like he’s about to fall asleep, clearly not paying attention, like he usually has been for the past few weeks of their Eighth Year. The room is filled with the wispy smoke of everyone’s potions.

Harry rolls his eyes at Hermione’s tone. “I slept in.”

Ron begrudgingly gets up to get some of the ingredients, and Hermione lists them from the supply closet. It looks like they’re all doing potions with their tablemates, so Harry sits down and tries to decipher whatever the fuck the instructions were in the textbook.

Harry inhales and nearly has a coughing fit at how strong the smell in the room is. A shit ton of cologne, like someone must’ve spilled a whole bottle right by their table. It’s the expensive kind too, with how it reeks; Harry’d know, it’s exactly how Malfoy wears it.

Harry clears his throat. “What the fuck? I thought Malfoy wasn’t in this class. How much fucking cologne can a person put on?” He asks, wrinkling his nose in mild disgust.

“He’s not? I’m fairly sure he’d be taking Alchemical Potions instead of this class for his Healing NEWTS.” Hermione says conversationally, not fully listening. 

But she seems to suddenly process what he said, because she abruptly stops stirring. She turns to face him. The shift in her expression is so quick that Harry nearly has a fight-or-flight response. 

“It smells like Malfoy in here, you said?” She asks, deathly slow. Harry didn’t know where this was going. He feels mildly scared.

“Uh… yeah? Like his bougie ass cologne.” Harry says. She continues to stare at him like he’s grown three heads. 

Then Hermione says quite possibly the worst sentence he has ever heard in his entire life.

“Harry. We’re making amortentia.” 

Oh. 

Fuck.

Shit. Fucking fuck FUCK. 

“Oh my god, I’d suspected-” Hermione says, running a hand over her face “I should’ve known.” She says into her hands.

“Hermione, it’s not-” He says, mildly frantic, knocking something over. He did not fancy Malfoy.

“Hey guys, I got the stuff.” Ron suddenly says, unceremoniously dumping everything onto the table. 

“You two, uh, good?”

Great. They were great!

“Yep!” Harry says, smiling so hard his face hurts.

Ron looks at him with a mildly concerned expression. “...alright then.”

He grabs some root-looking-things and starts cutting them, hands trembling slightly as he avoids Hermione’s gaze.

“How long have you suspected?” Harry asks quietly when Ron steps away.

Hermione sighs. “Since fourth year.”

Harry nearly cuts off his thumb.

“FOURTH YEAR?” He whisper-yells. “I only found out, like, now!”

“Well, it’s a good thing we see him next period then, isn’t it?” She asks, a bit dryly.

Great. 

[summergirl2408]

Lowkey so funny when you randomly see something that makes you immediately go 'WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT'S NOT A UNIVERSAL EXPERIENCE ???'

On another note: 'WHAT DO YOU MEAN STUDENTS OUTSIDE OF GERMANY DON'T GET A SCHULTÜTE ON THEIR FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL ???'

[lilaclupin]

For the curious non-Germans, Schultüten (school cones, although Tüte usually means bag) are paper or plastic cones given to students on their first day of primary school. They're usually filled with candy and school supplies like pencils, fun erasers, etc. I think usually parents craft them themselves, but you can also buy pre-made ones at the store. They come in all sorts of fun and colourful designs!

Every child looks forward to getting their Schultüte. And it's so adorable seeing little kids walk around proudly with cones sometimes hslf their size on the first day of school. According to Wikipedia, the tradition has been going on since the 19th century :)

(Germans in the notes, pls tell me what your Schultüte design was)

[darkomillefeuille]

[kuchisabishiiiiii]

a lil beefy harry because i felt like it 🙃

i need to practice rendering things that aren't faces lol you don't want to know how long this arm took me lol 😭

[depsidase]

[darlingirly]

EXCLUSIVE: The Boy Who Lived… with Malfoy? Potter’s Double Life Exposed!

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 550 | prompt: hesitate

“Well,” Harry said, the second Draco’s front door slammed behind them, “that went a bit shit.”

Draco turned on him slowly. “I thought it was salvageable until she asked whether you’d ever pictured me naked.”

“I said no!” 

“You said no comment! Seriously, Potter, you were distracted the whole time.”

Harry blinked. “That was because I was picturing you naked.”

Draco stared at him.

“What?” Harry asked. “I’m only human.”

Draco made a strangled noise and swept towards the drinks cabinet. “I need something strong enough to erase the last forty minutes of my life. Possibly the last twenty years.”

“Bit dramatic.”

“Skeeter asked whether we were lovers, Potter.”

“She asks everyone that.” Harry dropped onto Draco’s sofa, sprawling deliberately, all messy hair and open shirt at the collar. “Also, you didn’t exactly help.”

Draco paused with the whisky bottle in hand. “Me?”

“Yes, you. All that sneering and ‘Mr Potter and I have a complicated history’ rubbish.”

“It is complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated.”

Draco poured too much whisky into one glass. “You are the one that hesitated first when she asked what we were to each other. Is friends not in your vocabulary?”

“Are we friends?” Harry asked, looking up at him beneath his lashes. “Because I thought you’d prefer me to say fuck buddies.”

“We are not—”

“What am I doing in your flat, then?”

Harry stood. Draco hated how casually he did it. He stopped too close.

“What am I doing here, Draco?”

Draco lifted his chin. “Being irritating.”

Harry stepped closer. “Try again.”

“Being impossible.”

“Warmer.”

Draco swallowed. “Being presumptuous.”

Harry’s smile was wicked. “You’re going to fuck me, are you not?”

Draco set the whisky down very carefully, face going hot. “For someone who froze in front of Rita Skeeter, you’ve found your tongue remarkably quickly.”

Harry’s gaze dropped to Draco’s mouth. “Could find yours too.”

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

“We are friends,” Draco said.

Harry laughed. “Right. Brilliant. Friends.”

“Harry—”

“No, it’s good. Really. Let me call Ron and ask whether he wants to shove me against a wall.”

Draco caught Harry by the front of his shirt and pushed him back against the nearest wall. Harry went willingly, annoyingly smug for half a second, until Draco pressed in and watched the smugness fade away.

“What do you want me to say?” Draco asked. “Since apparently you’ve decided directness is tonight’s theme.”

Harry’s breath caught as Draco leaned nearer, though not kissing him yet. 

“I want you to say I’m not your friend,” Harry said, voice low, “I want you to say you were furious because I hesitated. Because you thought I was ashamed of you. Which I’m not.”

“You looked like you were.”

“I looked terrified because for one second I thought you might not want me to say it first.”

“Say what?”

“That you’re mine. That I’m yours. That Skeeter can print whatever headline she likes, so long as she spells boyfriend correctly.”

Draco forgot how to breathe, but not how to snark, because he said, “Boyfriend is a rather juvenile term.”

Harry’s smile returned. “What would you prefer? Lover? Partner?”

Draco made a face. “Fine,” he said, fingers still twisted in Harry’s shirt. “You’re my boyfriend.”

Harry’s green eyes went soft. “Yeah?”

“Yes, Potter. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Harry kissed him.