Untitled

[lupine-trees]

bone china, birthright

[ boys giving things back. ⋆˙⟡ | for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: survive ]

drarry | word count: ~333 | ♡

_ _ _

Draco hands him the set— teacup, saucer— over a park bench in Stokey.

The cushion charm around it presses to the pads of Harry’s fingers, settles in the cupped palms of his hands.

Soft & sturdy, equal measure.

“You’re sure?” he asks, and if his voice shakes over the final syllable, well. Coincidence.

“What, giving them to you? I don’t know what you imagine I’d do with them otherwise,” Draco answers, the brusque edge of laughter tipping his tone.

He gentles, sensing the parenthesis of Harry’s spine, the way his posture seems to wrap itself around the ceramics— gravitational.

“They were in the kitchen cellar. Among about three hundred other tea sets. I think Mother had some sort of fetish.”

The shock of laughter splits the tension curled between the two of them, old habit.

“Don’t,” Harry says, mouth pulled askew, almost grinning, curls gone kinetic with the shake of his head.

Draco gives, gracious— smiles.

His pointer finger dips forward, soothes a half circle over the lip of the teacup. Harry lets him touch.

“Some of the prettier ones,” Draco says, quiet— the moment calls for it. So he responds.

“I like the ivy,” Harry hums, thumb sliding over the greenery, almost too delicate in his hands.

“Your grandmother had excellent taste,” Draco answers. Then slants his gaze upward, glinting. “It must not carry. You know, non-hereditary.”

The toe of Harry’s trainer finds Draco’s ankle, the dress sock offering little in the way of shield.

“Excuse you,” Draco says, jostling the offending foot, then stilling, stark, at the wobble of the teacup. It stays.

He wobbles; Harry. Has been wobbling. Can’t seem to stop himself. It’s silly, stupid, sort of. The sentiment, the set.

(But it’s something.)

(Surviving.)

“Do you even drink tea, Potter?” Draco asks, like he doesn’t know the answer. Like he hasn’t known a dozen years (a dozen years or so).

Harry spills easily:

He does, in fact, drink tea.

He intends to presently.

And, well— Well. See.

It’s better with company.

⋆˙⟡

[incognitoburritto]

If You Insist

@drarrymicrofic prompt: Survive. WC: 50

“No, Pansy, please don’t make me. I won’t survive when he says no.”

“Stop being dramatic. Just go ask him to dance. You swore you would.” “I can’t, my legs won’t move.”

“Good news for you then, he’s walking this way.” “Hey Malfoy. Dance with me?”

“If you insist, Potter.”

[incognitoburritto]

No time like the present

@microficmay prompt: Past and Present. WC: 238

Harry's past and present collided one Friday afternoon. He had just left the Ministry and rushed into Madam Malkin's to pick up his robes for the gala the following night. There, standing on one of the wooden risers, seamstress at his feet placing pins in the hem of his robes, was Draco Malfoy.

He'd heard Malfoy had returned from France but this was the first time Harry had seen him in nearly a decade, since his trial.

"Hello," Malfoy said. "St Mungo's Gala too?"

"Yes." Harry heard himself say as the past overlaid the present and he wondered if Malfoy was about to say something offensive, as he had done the first time they played out this scene.

"My father is dead, my mother doesn't leave the house, and I'd very much like to take you to dinner to apologise for…well…everything," Draco said, in the posh drawl that had deepened since their childhood into something not unpleasant.

Before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin broke in. "Here are your robes, Mr Potter."

Harry took the bag she handed him and turned back to Malfoy.

"Alright," Harry said.

The look of surprise and relief on Malfoy's face had the corners of Harry's own lips turning up.

"I'll wait here for you to finish." Harry settled onto the padded bench usually occupied by bored parents.

"Tonight?" Malfoy asked, still sounding amazed at the turn of events.

"No time like the present."

[ira-dunfort]

Drarry Microfic: Bond

“Harry, please walk me through this again,” Draco said, after taking a large gulp of tea.

“Why?” Harry asked sheepishly.

“Because I need to hear it a second time and compare your statements, so I can figure out what happened inside your brain that led to this.”

“But you said—”

“Yes. Tell me, word for word, what I said this morning before you left for work.”

Harry swallowed. “You said, ‘Darling, bring the bonding agent on your way home.’”

“So you did hear me, and you managed to remember it, too. Well done.” Draco took a deep breath. “So why is he here?” he asked, his voice rising in pitch as he pointed at the elderly man in purple robes, who smiled gently at them from a kitchen chair.

“He’s the bonding agent.”

“Hello,” the man offered.

“Ah, ah, ah. You stay out of this,” Draco tutted, before taking Harry’s hands in his. His expression softened in a way that somehow made Harry feel worse. “You sweet thing, explain to me why you brought a Ministry officiant into our house.”

“He’s the bonding agent,” Harry repeated. “I asked Pansy what you could have meant by that, and she sent me to his office.”

“You didn’t question her? You immediately believed that was what I’d asked for?”

“Well, you love me?” Harry tried, heat creeping up his neck and firmly settling in his cheeks.

“Quite.” Draco smiled at him, honest and fond enough that Harry’s stomach gave a smitten little swoop. “Did you ask anyone else?”

“Well, yes. I asked Ron if Pansy was setting me up, because she’d been cackling, and Ron said, ‘She’d never, mate.’”

Draco closed his eyes.

“Should I leave?” the officiant asked carefully.

“Shush,” Draco hissed at him, then turned back to Harry. “Ronald was being sarcastic, and Pansy did, in fact, set you up.”

“Oh.”

“I was asking for a bottle of this, darling.” Draco pointed at the empty container of Apothecary's Premium Bonding Agent 460MT sitting on their kitchen table.

Harry looked at it. Then at the officiant. Then back at Draco.

“Oh,” he said again, because it seemed to cover a lot of ground.

“Gentlemen,” the officiant said, rising slowly from his chair, “if I’m not needed, this is well past my usual hours, and I’d—”He stopped when Draco pinned him in place with a glittering look.

“I’d much prefer it if you stayed a moment longer,” Draco said, still holding Harry’s hands, “and married me to this impossible man, who may, entirely by accident, have had a stroke of genius.”

—written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt "bond", 424 words

[darlingirly]

A Very Veela Problem

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 298 | prompt: bond

Harry had only had two pints, which wasn’t nearly enough to explain why he was openly staring at Draco Malfoy after weeks of trying his absolute hardest not to do exactly that at work. 

He blamed the Veela thing. Honestly, it was unfair. The long white hair spilling over Draco’s shoulders. The pale skin that seemed to shine at his throat where his collar sat open. The sharp line of his jaw. The—

“Mate,” Ron said, following Harry’s gaze. “Do you want to relax a bit? You’ve been making googly eyes at Malfoy half the night.”

Harry flushed. “What? Everyone thinks Malfoy’s fit. He’s part-Veela.”

The table went quiet.

Draco, who had been bickering with Pansy over something, looked over very slowly. “Pardon?”

Harry gestured helplessly at all of him. “Come on. The shining hair. The glimmering skin—”

“Potter.”

“—the mouth, obviously—”

“Potter!”

“What?”

“I take suppressants.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“For the allure,” Draco said. “I have since eighth year, when I started presenting. No one here is magically compelled to find me attractive.”

Ron choked on his beer and Pansy made a small, delighted sound. Blaise sighed and handed her three Galleons.

“Oh,” Harry said.

Hermione leaned forward, eyes bright. “Actually, if Harry is perceiving Draco’s Veela traits without being influenced by allure, that might suggest a mating bond—”

Draco went completely red and looked away.

“—and judging by that reaction,” Hermione finished, crossing her arms, “Draco seems to have known.”

“Fine, I knew,” Draco snapped. “But I didn’t say anything because Potter is not obligated to—”

“I don’t feel obligated,” Harry interrupted, heart hammering. “I think I’m just… er, well, interested.”

Draco’s mouth parted.

Harry looked at Draco’s flushed cheeks and his beautiful, vaguely worried face.

Draco swallowed. “In what?”

“Dinner?” Harry said. “For a start.”

[nsasquith]

For @drarrymicrofic prompt: “Bond” wc 888

At first, it was the same brand of coffee.

Autumn — Staff Room

“All gone…” Harry laments, speaking to no one in particular as he peers into the empty coffee jar.

“Ah, Merlin’s ball sack,” comes Malfoy’s voice over his shoulder. “That other stuff is rubbish.”

Harry turns to him. “Er, yeah. Suppose you’re right.”

Malfoy looks just as horrified by their agreement as Harry feels.

Then it was the same type of quill nib.

Winter — Library

“I know I’ve got one in here,” Harry mutters, rummaging through his briefcase.

“Alright, Potter?” Malfoy asks, peering up from his side of the table.

“Favourite quill nib broke, and I can’t find any spares,” Harry replies.

Two seconds later, Harry feels the sharp tap of metal bouncing off his head and then onto the desk.

A spare quill nib.

“They’re my favourite too,” Malfoy says, as if that is a perfectly acceptable reason for throwing a nib at him.

Harry nods at Malfoy. “Ah, thanks.”

Malfoy gives a small, shy nod back.

After that, it was the same book.

Spring — Hogwarts Grounds

“Hermione tells me I need to read more,” Harry says. “And I do, only it’s fiction. Which apparently isn’t enlightening enough.”

Malfoy chuckles lightly. “I won’t disagree with Granger, but I do love a good novel. What are you reading?”

They come to a stop by the Black Lake, and Harry is suddenly thrown by how the morning sun dances across the water, bright and pale as Malfoy’s hair.

“Potter?”

Harry blinks. “Oh, sorry—I’ve just finished reading the third instalment of The Rising of the Coast, and it was—”

“Third?” Malfoy cuts in with a frown. “That’s not out until the end of the year.”

“You’ve read The Rising of the Coast?”

“Have I read The Rising of the Coast?” Malfoy repeats incredulously. “How have you got the latest instalment?”

Heat blooms across Harry’s cheeks. “Erm… the publisher sent me a copy of the manuscript.”

Malfoy looks pained to say it. “Lucky sod. I can’t wait to read that.”

“Well…” Harry starts cautiously. “It’s in my quarters, if you want to borrow it?”

A ghost of a smile touches Malfoy’s mouth. “I suppose I might.”

Then came the same realisation.

Summer — Malfoy’s Classroom

“You’ve got three jars of lizard livers,” Harry says. “Though I think you should only write down two. This third one looks off.”

“Pass it here?” Malfoy asks.

He takes the jar, pops the lid, gives it a cursory sniff, gips, then Vanishes it sharply with his wand.

“Remind me not to let students help themselves next year. None of them ever put things back properly.”

It’s the end of the school year, and Harry is helping Malfoy count stock in his Potions supply cupboard. From where he’s squatting on the floor, attention now meant to be on the number of lizard tongue jars, he looks up at Malfoy instead.

Malfoy is scratching away at his clipboard, all heavy focus and sharp jawline, silver eyes glimmering under the low amber light of the single lantern as he counts empty vials.

It hits Harry then that he has two months without this.

And he doesn’t like that.

Not one little bit.

“Any plans for the holidays?” Harry asks, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels.

Malfoy shakes his head. “Nope. You?”

“Taking you out on a date.”

Malfoy looks at him, and the arch of his brow does nothing to hide the pink blush spreading across his cheeks.

“You asking me out from the floor of a Potions supply cupboard?”

“Erm… yes?”

Malfoy considers it for a moment, then grins.

“Alright. Wear a tie.”

Finally came the same future.

Autumn — Harry’s Quarters

“Get off me, you—Draco, stop it!” Harry laughs, making no real effort to stop Draco from attacking his neck with kisses.

“It’s your fault,” Draco groans as he finally pulls away. “You’re too fit.”

“We’re going to be late.”

Harry drags himself out of bed, avoiding Draco’s half-hearted attempts to pull him back in. He starts to dress, unable to stop himself from looking at Draco now that he can.

He can look at Draco all he wants, and Draco can look at him too, and they do that a lot these days.

Look and touch and kiss and spend an exorbitant number of hours between the sheets together.

“Let’s skip dinner,” Draco says, propping himself up on one arm. Moonlight cuts through the window, drowning him in white, making him look even more ethereal than he already is. “Let’s go down to the kitchens later and bring food back.”

“We need to show our faces in the Great Hall at some point, you know. People are starting to talk,” Harry says.

However, the thought of spending another night in bed with his boyfriend does sound appealing.

“Let them talk, Harry. We’ve nothing to hide. Right?”

Underneath the question is a faint thread of unmissable worry.

Half-dressed, Harry kneels on the edge of the bed and leans over Draco. He kisses him once, slowly.

“I’m not hiding you from anyone, Draco. It would be terribly inconvenient to do that for the rest of my life.”

He feels the curve of Draco’s lips against his own.

This is what a bond really is. A hundred small moments, quietly choosing the same thing.

[angeldog5]

i don't want to beg

400ish words | prompt: bond | @drarrymicrofic

Draco opens his door to Potter on a Monday morning. 

Potter is thicker than Draco thought he'd ever be. In five years, he's grown into himself, heavy and strong. The ocean wind ruffles his hair. 

"No," Draco says, closing the door. 

Potter puts his foot in the jamb. 

"Malfoy—"

"No—I said no."

"Do you want to die, Draco?" Potter's voice shakes in the struggle: Potter's got his hand around the edge of the door and Draco's got his shoulder against the back. "That's it, isn't it? You want to die."

"Go away."

"Why didn't you tell me!" 

Draco snarls as Potter bullies his way into his roof apartment, broad shoulders rustling the sketches taped to the walls.

"I've been looking for you everywhere." Potter is dressed like a wizard, which is strange. Everything fits, which is stranger. He sounds desperate, and Draco wonders what his life is like now. "There's no more time left." 

Under Potter’s gaze, Draco feels naked, so violently seen. It's always been like this. Potter rips everything out of him with just a look, and doesn't even realize.

"I deserve better," Draco whispers. 

Potter is shocked, then angry. "You would rather die than bond to someone…what? Too stupid? Too common? Too—"

"I don't want to beg you to love me! I don't want to force you to, and I don't want to beg. And if we complete the bond it will be both. Please don't make me do both. I don't—I don't deserve it. I deserve someone who actually, who really—" 

Potter kisses him. Draco makes a high sound, arms twining around Potter's shoulders. He jumps at the same time Potter moves his hands to catch him. Draco's ankles hook in the small of Potter's back. 

"I don't want to," Draco says between kisses. "Don't let me be the thing that traps you."

Potter rests his forehead against Draco's. "Stop," he says. "Just stop." 

Draco is tired. He feels a little less alive each day. He doesn't believe Harry will ever love him, but Harry's hands are warm and their lips fit together like they were made to, and the one time they'd shagged they'd both held each other after and sobbed. Draco's been running a long time. Harry chased him. Harry found him. 

Quietly, Draco says, "Alright."

Harry's face crumples into ugly tears. He squeezes Draco so tight it's painful. They're both crying like the first time they fucked and accidentally formed half a soul bond. Draco runs his fingers through Harry's salt-sprayed hair. He breathes against Harry's cheek. He gives in. 

[incognitoburritto]

Awkward Timing

@microficmay prompt: Cauterize. WC: 246

At first there was nothing more than the strangely appealing scent of seared flesh, then the pain hit, white hot and blinding in its intensity. His body overrode his brain and he flinched away from the source of the agony.

"Hold still." Draco's voice was thick with tears and anxiety. "I have to get it cauterized so that you have a hope of making it to the hospital alive."

"Could just let me die." Harry forced the words out through a throat grown tight with repressed screams.

"Not a chance." Draco sounded resolute, sure of himself even under these circumstances.

Harry focused on the drops of sweat beading on Draco's forehead, on the expression of intense concentration on his face as he moved his wand over the gaping wound in Harry's upper thigh where the shrapnel from the rogue Bombarda had sliced through his flesh.

"Go out with me Friday night. Dinner." Harry felt darkness start to close in at the edges of his vision and grasped at Draco's shoulder to stay grounded.

"You're seriously asking me out? Now?!" Draco's eyes flicked to his for an instant before he focused back on his work.

"This is the last time I'm going to almost die without at least trying this." His voice sounded faraway to his own ears; he was losing the battle with consciousness. He barely heard Draco's answer before the sensation of side-along Apparition pulled him completely under. "You ridiculous man, of course I'll go out with you."

[incognitoburritto]

Last Kiss

@microficmay prompt: Weave. WC: 131

If you are unusually fortunate, you know it's the last kiss. The last time your lips will feel the press of theirs, at once ubiquitous and unique. 

Ordinarily though, you will be left to search your mind, casting around to recall the exact moment you parted for the last time. 

Sort through a thousand last words that could have been said. Words less mundane than, "Have a good day." 

You will weave stories of the infinite ways that things could have changed. Ways that wouldn't leave you alone in this hallway, anonymous hand on your shoulder, devastation delivered dryly. 

"I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, there is nothing more that we could do; the curse damage was too extensive." 

The last kiss will be on cold skin, if you can find the courage.

[incognitoburritto]

Mutual Protection

@microficmay prompt: Inflection. WC: 473

"No."

Malfoy stared straight ahead, eyes on a spot somewhere over Harry's left shoulder. Every question was answered as briefly as possible, his voice flat with no inflection at all. He could have been Imperiused for all the emotion he was showing. It was pissing Harry off.

"Where were you on the night of September 7th between the hours of 10 and 11 pm?"

"Home."

"Do you have someone who can confirm that?"

"No."

"Have you been brewing and/or dealing in illegal potions?"

"No."

"Why then did the Aurors find illegal potions ingredients in your flat?"

"I don't know."

Harry pushed away from the table, using all of his remaining patience to keep from tipping it over. His hands balled into fists at his side as he struggled to breathe normally.

"Clear the room."

No one moved.

"I said. Clear the room." Harry didn't raise his voice; in fact it dropped to barely above a whisper. The icy command, however, was clear and everyone jumped to obey.

"Director Potter, sir," Emerson started, "protocol says there are to be at least two members of the DMLE in all interrog—"

The young man broke off as Harry turned his frosty gaze on him.

"Yes, sir." Emerson nodded and left the room, leaving Harry alone with Malfoy. Harry lifted his wand and disabled every listening spell and device as well as blocking the two-way mirror into the observation room. Finally he blanketed the room in privacy spells before taking the two steps towards where Malfoy sat, unmoving, hands folded neatly on the table top.

Harry placed one hand on the table and leaned down into Malfoy's face. "What the fuck, Malfoy?" Harry searched his face. "You're pushing the boundaries of what I can protect you from."

Only then did the other man display any reaction; his lip curled into a sneer and he flicked his eyes up and down Harry.

"I don't need saving, Potter."

"Clearly, you do."

"You're just worried this will put an end to our little…arrangement."

Harry caught Draco's jaw in one rough hand. "What if I am?"

Malfoy snorted derisively. "Careful, Potter, one might think you care about something other than your next fix."

"What if I do?" Harry said, leaning closer still. At this point he was so close that Malfoy's pale, pointy features had gone blurry.

"Then you'd be a fool." A muscle twitched in Draco's jaw, the only sign he was affected by Harry's proximity.

Harry drew in a deep breath, filling his senses with Draco before drawing back and striding to the door. He dropped all the spells before wrenching the door open and shouting to the nearest junior Auror. "He's free to go."

He turned and shot one last look at Malfoy, who was staring back at him. "We're not done."

Malfoy inclined his head minutely.

[mimouche4]

Legilimens

For @drarrymicrofic - Prompt: Spell - 1115 words

Anything over 1k should not be considered a microfic. This is ridiculous. I know! But I got carried away. Sorry!

“Legilimens,” Harry whispers for what must be the tenth time today.

Draco stiffens, jaw clenched. There’s a hard stone the size of England sitting in the pit of his stomach, a stone he’d very much like to extract and fling right at Robards’s stupid head.

It would be entirely deserved and not the least bit excessive, Draco thinks.

After all, that’s all the prick deserves for deciding on a whim that all Auror partners should learn the art of bloody Legilimency, with daily training sessions on top of that.

Robards dropped the horrific news at the weekly department meeting three weeks ago: “Being able to  maintain a mental connection with your partner on the field can be extremely valuable. You need to learn to link your minds. It’s a skill every auror is expected to master. It could literally save your life.”

Draco thinks he’d rather died, if he had the choice. That would be a far better option than letting Potter wander free in his mind, with full access to ... well, everything.

If Draco were normal about Potter, he reckons he’d be fine with the whole Legilimency thing—not thrilled, but okay ... fine.

If he had a normal crush, he could probably gather all his inconvenient feelings and shove them into some dark corner of his mind, lock them behind a door, or burry them in a bloody drawer or something—surely there was a place like that where you could dump all the things you’d rather die than have discovered, such as your extremely powerful and unrequited crush on your Auror partner for example.  

But here is the thing:  Draco Malfoy is not normal about Harry Potter, nor are his feelings, and if Potter were to step foot in Draco’s mind, he’d be hit by the enormity of it. No drawers would ever be big enough. Potter would be horrified, and Draco would die of mortification.

“Try to relax this time,” Harry says stupidly.

“I’m relaxed,” Draco replies, fingers tightening around the armrest of his chair.

Harry shoots him an unconvinced look, then voice softer, “Okay ... I’m going in.”

Draco braces himself then feels Harry pushing softly at the edge of his thoughts. It’s warm and lovely and Draco hates it. He stiffens and does what he needs to do to protect his heart.

“Malfoy!” Harry sighs, irritated.

“What?” Draco says innocently, pretending he has no clue what Harry is about to say.

“Your walls! They’re up again. Put them down.”

“They’re not up.”

“They are! I can’t get through your mind and make the connection if your walls are up.”

Draco feels Harry pushing harder, trying to force his way in. Draco resists, pushes back, but the bloody wanker is powerful, Draco knows he only has so much time before his walls inevitably start to crumble. He can already feel the cracks.

“Jesus, Malfoy, you’ve built a bloody fortress in there. What the hell?”

Draco rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “Have you considered you can’t manage to get through because you’re pants at Legilimency and not because of my non-existent walls?”

Harry gives him a pointed look. He shifts his grip on his wand, then says, eyes looking away, ”It worked with Justin.”

Draco’s stomach lurches. “You practiced with Justin?”

Harry has at least the decency to look slightly guilty. “Well, I had to know if I was the problem." He rubs the back of his neck. “Justin suggested it when I told him we were struggling.”

Of course he did. That sneaky little fucker. Of course that rate-face, slimy piece of shit was going to jump at the opportunity to prove he’ be a better partner than Draco. Of fucking course. Draco can’t stand him. He fucking can’t stan--

“You’re mad,” Harry says, surprised.

“What?”

“You’re mad. I can feel it,” Harry  says.

Draco’s blood suddenly runs cold because if Harry can feel it, that only means one thing: he’s managed to get through, though Draco has no clue how, his walls, though shaky, definitely still hold.

Unless … Fuck! The bloody cracks. His anger must have slipped through them.     

“Actually, that’s not quite it.” Harry frowns in concentration while Draco desperately tries to locate the cracks so he can seal them before the whole thing collapses and all hell breaks loose. “You...” Harry’s eyes widened. “You’re jealous.”

Draco coughs, splutters, he almost chokes.

“Jealous? Of rate-face Justin?” He squeaks. “Why the fuck would I be jealous?”

Harry’s lip twitches, one smug eyebrow raised as if to say, You tell me.

“I don’t give a rat’s arse who you practice with, Potter. If you want to waste your time poking around Justin’s stupid head, be my guest. Though, I don’t know what you could possibly find in there, it’s probably just a big fucking empty hole, the guy’s got exactly one braincell,” he taunts.

Harry huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Right.”

“Actually, come to think of it, you should ask Robards for a change of partner. You’d make a cracking team.” Draco aims for biting but his voice comes out thin, and vulnerable.

Harry hums. His eyes soften, and Draco, horrified, feels the cracks getting deeper and deeper.

“And why would I do that?” Harry says, shooting him one of his infuriating lopsided smile, the one Draco can’t resist, the one that sends his heart bloody racing.  

Draco’s walls tremble. They fucking shake.

Then, softer. “Why would I? When I have you.”

With a deafening sound, the cracks split open.

Draco freezes, heartbeat hammering in his ears, he tries to stop the disaster, but it’s too late. Hopeless. The wall shatters into a million pieces, and suddenly, everything is flooded.  

Harry gasps.

Draco holds his breath, mortified. He stares at the floor, hands shaking. That’s it. His life is over. He will have to resign, go into exile somewhere far way... like Siberia.

“Draco,” Harry whispers as he picks Draco’s wand off the desk beside them and holds it out to him. “Cast the spell on me.”

“What?” Draco croaks.

“Legilimens. Cast it on me.”

Draco looks up, heart pounding. He has no idea what Harry’s on about, but complies anyway. He grabs his wand, points it at Harry’s head, then whispers, voice trembling. “Legilimens.”

In an instant, he’s in Harry’s mind. There’s no walls. Everything is warm and lovely and inviting and ...

Oh.

Draco’s heart stops.  

Oh.

Harry bites his lip, smiling shily at Draco from under his fringe.

“You,” Draco stutters. “You...”

“Yes,” Harry says, his smile huge as he rises, catches Draco by the shirt, and kisses him.

Draco closes his eyes, kisses him back.

“Yes,” Harry repeats, this time directly into his mind as he deepens the kiss. “Me too.”

[my-castles-crumbling]

disappear - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 426

"You know you're allowed to blink, right?"

James's tone was teasing, but Remus still winced, wondering if he was being called out a little too much. Shifting just slightly, so as not to wake the sleeping boy on his lap, he glanced up at his friend. "What d'you mean?"

"Like...if you look away, he won't disappear."

Gritting his teeth and trying not to flush, Remus looked back to where Sirius had dozed off on top of him. "I've no idea what you're talking about," he whispered loftily.

"Right, mate. And I am best friends with Snape. We go for tea every Sunday and-" James cut himself off with a gag. "Yeah, can’t even get through that one as a joke. No, but Padfootiously. You're mad for him, yeah?"

Remus would have run if he could. "I-"

"You look at him all soft. Like you've had too many shots of firewhiskey or you've been hit on the head with a bat," the other boy said delicately. "S'sweet, mate. You know he looks at you the same?"

"You know lying to your friend's a shit thing to do?" Remus retorted, wanting to melt into the floor.

"A Gryffindor never lies," James replied boldly, having just lied his arse off to McGonagall for an hour about a dragon eating his homework. "But the point is, Moons, you should tell him. He's mad for you, too. And trust me, he'd rather die than leave that spot."

But Remus's nerves were fraying, the conversation leaving him anxious and on-edge, especially with the subject right there on top of him, snoring quietly. "Most love in the world, Prongs, but fuck off," he murmured. 

James beamed, saluting him. "Aye, aye! But when you two finally get together, I reserve the right to say, 'I told you so!'"

He walked off jauntily, whistling to himself, leaving Remus to contemplate legal means of torture.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear it: Sirius's soft whisper as he shifted a little. "He's right, you know."

Remus's stomach dropped to his toes. "Pads?" he croaked, frozen.

"James. He's smart. You ought to listen to him," the shorter boy mumbled into Remus's chest. "I'm quite gone for you, Rem."

And then, so slowly Remus thought he might die, Sirius opened his eyes and shifted, so suddenly they were face-to-face. 

"Really?"

"Yeah."

A beat.

"I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO!" James screamed from across the room, interrupting right before their lips brushed.

Sirius fell to the floor, cursing, as Remus jumped a mile. 

[my-castles-crumbling]

darkest - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 658 - based on a request by chilton_2003 on ao3! - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3

"Wait."

It's not even Ilya's word that makes Shane pause, it's the hesitation in it. By this point, they're both used to this: the time apart, the heated reunions. Summers together and long stretches of time apart. Relishing in time they have and yearning for so, so much more.

So when Shane enters Ilya's new Ottawa place (with his own key, because Ilya gave him one the second he signed the papers, just like Ilya has a key to Shane's place), he doesn't think before crashing into his boyfriend, before smashing their lips together to make up for time lost.

But Ilya, who usually is even more eager than Shane, who usually adores texting Shane about exactly what he's going to do when they see each other again, is hesitating.

Shane's stomach drops. "What?" he asks, pulling back.

Oh.

Ilya looks nervous. "I, um. Maybe did something stupid."

Immediately, Shane's anxious brain takes over, his darkest fears playing out in his mind’s eye. Was Ilya breaking up with him? Had he cheated? God, had he cheated with multiple people? Fuck, with who? When? He should have known this was too good to last, Ilya was too good for him, he-

But Ilya is talking, stuttering a bit. "I just missed you," he's saying, wincing a bit. "Was, um. Not thinking. Got drunk with teammates..."

Well fuck. Yep, Ilya really had cheated. Of course he had. Stupidly, Shane can't even bring himself to blame him for it, not at all. Some of Ilya's teammates are so good-looking and Ilya could do so much better than Shane. But what did this mean for them? Were they done? How bad had it been? Had Ilya at least thought of him? What--?

"So I did...this.." Ilya says, and then...removes his shirt?

Shane can't properly process what he sees, because he's so busy looking for love bites. But the plain expanse of skin in front of him is unmarred, until-

"Wh--what?"

It's a loon. A fucking loon tattoo, new and still healing, stretched across his boyfriend's bicep. And Shane wants to die with how perfect it is. "Ilya," he whispers, his voice strangled and broken and full of relief.

"I know. I maybe should have told you when I got it. But I was nervous you might not like it, and--" Ilya begins to explain, completely unaware of Shane's inner turmoil.

"You got a tattoo for me?" Shane interrupts, about to collapse to the ground.

In the back of his mind, he knows about what most people say: don't get tattoos for partners. You never know how things will change, it could jinx things, blah blah blah. But now, as he stares at the ink etched into his boyfriend's skin, all he can do is focus on the way his chest is expanding, his body filling with adoration and possessiveness and lust.

This tattoo is permanent on Ilya's body.

He is permanent in Ilya's life. Completely undeniable.

"I fucking love it," he chokes out, words strangled with the love undulating through his body. "It's...fuck, Ilya, can I touch it...?"

The smile on Ilya's face lights up the entire room. "Yes? You like it?"

"I love it." His hands are on Ilya's arm, tracing lightly, making sure it's real. And yes, it's there. A reminder of Shane is carved into the man's body, and barbaric as it is, Shane is breathless with the sight. 

"Good."

"I want one."

The words slip from his lips before he can grab them, but it's okay because Ilya seems to easily take them from the air and adore them, his lips twitching upward even further. "Yes? Maybe eighty-one on your ass, hmm?"

But Shane can already picture it. "No. A lily. Here." He points to his left pec, right above his heart.

Ilya melts a little, eyes going from teasing to soft. "I would like that," he murmurs.

It ends up being a wedding present.

[dodgerkedavra]

engagement

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt book

After two years, Harry knows the truth: Draco’s a liar.

He’s been tricking Harry into being on time.

Well! Harry’s here at six for their eight o’clock.

But…

So is Draco.

He’s pacing the rose garden with a box in his hand.

Harry creeps away. He’s got to go change.

[coppercatbird]

Dedication

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: book | wc: 200

“Fancy seeing you here—I didn’t know you could read. Are you fetching things for Hermione now?”

“Ha bloody ha. Just sign it?”

Draco sat back, looking Harry up and down as the queue behind him murmured. Harry did, after all, feature prominently in Draco’s bestselling memoir. They’d been arguing about it for months.

Draco tapped his lip with his quill.

“I thought you didn’t like me writing a book.”

“Couldn’t possibly turn down the chance for an autograph.” Harry flipped the book over and they both admired Draco’s stunning black and white author photo. “And it’s good.”

Draco’s brows raised. “I knew I’d wear you down. Does that mean you actually read it?”

“I did. It’s … fuck, it’s exceptional. I’m … I’m proud of you.” He looked uncomfortable; the crowd murmured more.

Draco swallowed, willing himself not to do anything so embarrassing as weep in public. “I would have understood if you didn’t. But thank you.”

“I was wondering.” Harry frowned, then nodded. “Can I take you out to dinner?”

Draco beamed. “I’d like that.”

He dropped his quill to the dedication page, underlined the dedication twice, and wrote, in his beautiful script:

Every day of my life. —Draco Malfoy-Potter

[nsasquith]

For @drarrymicrofic prompt: “Book” wc 741

In the early days of their relationship, Draco had wondered about the little notebook Harry kept on his person.

It was a small thing, barely big enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Plain black leather. Muggle-made, with crisp white paper instead of the aged yellow of parchment.

Then, as the days bled into weeks and the weeks into months, Draco’s curiosity only grew.

Harry rarely got it out in front of him, but when he did, he was always careful to angle it away, shielding the contents as he scribbled. Tiny little scratches of his hand, sharp and quick, so frantic that Draco often wondered how Harry managed to read his own writing afterwards.

On the morning of their first anniversary, Draco finally asked.

“What is that?”

Sleep-mussed and bleary-eyed, Harry took a moment to realise Draco was speaking to him.

“Darling?”

“Huh?” Harry looked up, blinking once.

He looked adorable like this. Curled up in the corner of the sofa, wearing the ratty grey joggers Draco claimed to hate but, in truth, didn’t. Bare-chested because, apparently, Harry was allergic to clothing on Sunday mornings.

Draco didn’t hate that either.

In his lap was the notebook, perched precariously on his thigh. In one hand, a Muggle biro. In the other, his coffee.

“What is that little thing you’re always writing in?” Draco asked, curling up beside him.

The smile Harry gave him was coy and lopsided, a flush of pink spreading across his cheeks. He cleared his throat, set his coffee down, and leaned forward until there was barely an inch between them.

“A present,” Harry explained, his voice a whisper.

Puzzled, Draco tilted his head. “A present?”

It took Harry a moment to respond. “Yes. For you.”

Then it took Draco a moment to hear the words properly.

“For me?”

And another for Harry to offer the book over.

Carefully, tentatively, he held it out.

Confused, nervous, and a little bit excited, Draco accepted it. Harry’s eyes remained fixed on him as he opened it to the first page.

365 Reasons Why I Love Draco Fucking Malfoy

“I started this the moment you said yes to a date. Three hundred and sixty-five days ago,” Harry explained. “I knew then that I wanted a million plus one days with you. Three hundred and sixty-five reasons are simply not enough to even begin to explain why I love you.”

With shaking hands, Draco flipped through the pages, and with each turn, he felt his heart grow larger and larger until it threatened to tip over and spill out of him entirely.

#16 – Owled me just to say hello.

#45 – Remembered Hermione’s favourite wine and brought it round for dinner because he knew I’d forget.

#51 – Bought me a limited-edition Puddlemere jersey for my birthday. How he did that, I don’t know. They were sold out everywhere.

#96 – Took Teddy to his Junior Quidditch club when I couldn’t get out of work.

#148 – Brewed me Pepper-Up Potion when I caught a cold.

#193 – Booked us a surprise weekend trip to France. He wants to introduce me formally to his mum.

#228 – Saved Christmas dinner when Molly burnt the turkey by Apparating home to get the one he’d saved for our Boxing Day meal.

#274 – Ate my arse out for a solid forty-five minutes until I was a whimpering, fucking mess before shagging me something rotten.

#319 – Took Ron to St Mungo’s when he fell off his broom like the idiot he is.

#339 – Agreed to move in with me.

#365 – Said yes.

Tears fell freely, but Draco didn’t care. He wiped them away, stomach in knots, heart lodged somewhere in his throat.

Three hundred and sixty-five reasons why Harry loved him sat in the palm of his hand.

He looked at the last page again.

“Said yes?” he asked.

Harry nodded, his own eyes welling. With a shaky breath, he said, “Will you marry me?”

The question landed hard and firm between them, and Draco knew he would need three hundred and sixty-five ways to say yes.

He started with the simplest one.

With a teary chuckle, he nodded—resolute.

“Yes. Merlin, yes.”

From the pocket of his joggers, Harry pulled out a small box and opened it.

Inside, nestled in the velvet cushion, was a silver ring.

“Thank God,” Harry breathed. “I bought this three hundred and sixty-five days ago, and I don’t think I could return it now.”

[nsasquith]

For @drarrymicrofic prompt: “Charm” wc 681

White light falls through the window, softened by the sheer curtain. It casts Draco in an ethereal glow, blurring the harsh lines of his jaw and collarbones, emphasising the scars across his chest that Harry has spent the last several hours worshipping. His blond hair looks almost golden, splayed across the pillow like a halo.

Harry traces his fingers over Draco’s bare stomach, still giddy with the fact that he has finally—finally—got him exactly where he has wanted him for the last year.

“You are so beautiful,” Harry says, his fingers stretching across the taut skin of Draco’s V-lines.

Despite the many orgasms they’ve already shared since falling into bed, Harry notices the way goosebumps still flicker across Draco’s skin. The way Draco stretches into his touch. The way his breath catches. The way his foot snags on the sheet covering them both, dragging it lower.

“And you are incredibly…” Draco says, lazy smile curling at his mouth as he stretches his arms above his head until his shoulders click. “Gooey. Who would have thought?”

“You’ve only just realised?” Harry asks, amused.

Draco smirks, but it isn’t the smirk Harry grew up with.

It is the smirk Harry fell in love with the moment Draco returned to England after several years at MACUSA as an Auror. The very same one that has driven Harry mad for the last twelve months, during which he has tried—and failed—to convince Draco to go on a date with him.

It took Harry taking the full brunt of a hex in the field, saving Draco in the process, for Draco to finally admit that, yes, he would go on one—but only one.

That date ended at eight o’clock last night.

It is now eleven in the morning, and Draco still hasn’t left.

“Besides,” Harry says, taking Draco’s hand in his own, “you might think I’m gooey, but something about this tells me you are as well.”

The bracelet around Draco’s wrist is silver, and attached to it are a dozen tiny charms. Harry had clocked it the first day Draco started at the DMLE and had been curious about it ever since. It feels like a particular kind of privilege to touch it now, considering that when Harry first asked about it, Draco told him to “pound sand” with the faintest New York accent, which Harry had found, unfortunately, endearing.

“Tell me about them,” Harry asks.

He doesn’t miss the way Draco’s cheeks flush, or the way his throat bobs as if he could swallow down the discomfort of being seen.

But Harry wants to see Draco. All of him.

So, he keeps hold of Draco’s hand, loose enough for him to pull away if he wants to, and drags his thumb carefully across the charms.

It takes a long moment, but Draco eventually frees his hand and holds it up in the air, letting the bracelet catch the light. Permission. Assent.

“They’re things I’ve survived,” Draco explains. “Things I never want to forget, so I never return to the person I used to be.”

In the hazy light, made even hazier by Harry’s lack of glasses, he squints, trying to make each one out. Draco takes pity and explains.

There is the Elder Wand, to represent the time Draco had unknowingly been its master.

An orange flame, for Fiendfyre.

A snake that continuously slithers around its jump ring, for Nagini.

The Astronomy Tower, for that dreadful night.

A broken chain, for everything that had once claimed ownership over him.

“And this one?” Harry asks, drawing Draco’s wrist closer to make sense of the final charm.

It’s small. Delicate. Green.

Harry blinks, forcing his vision to focus.

A lightning bolt.

“Something I’m still surviving,” Draco answers.

The charm rests against the pulse point of his wrist, and Harry kisses it, giving Draco the courtesy of pretending not to notice the way he trembles.

“I’m not something you need to survive, Draco,” Harry says, threading their fingers together and pulling Draco’s hand to his chest. “I’m something I want you to live for.”