"I wanna be defined by the things that I love Not the things I hate Not the things I'm afraid of, I'm afraid of The things that haunt me in the middle of the night, I I just think that you are what you love" https://linktr.ee/RecklessLupin
AU 𧥠Pansy has just ran out on her wedding đ° And now she's getting drunk alone in a muggle bar đ¸ where national hero is hiding from the attention of wizards.
Hey, guys. Hope you're doing well. Happy holiday season, to those who celebrate one or any this time of year.
A couple of announcements. First, you may have noticed that I've restricted both the fic and the comment section to registered users. There's been a recent sweep of nasty bots in my comments, and while most of it is obvious slop, it's still not pleasant reading. Also, I don't want my fic getting picked up by web scrapers or AI trawlers, so â it is what it is.
Second, and probably of more interest to most of you, starting tonight, I'm going to be taking Lionheart down temporarily using the "hidden collections" feature. The first purpose of this move will be to work on revising the first five books (brit-picking, plot holes, consistency, etc). I apologize if this disrupts your reading plans, but I think â to be honest â it will also be good for my mental wellbeing to take the story out of the spotlight for a while. Which brings me to the second purpose.
This community has been a wonderful place for me, but with the extraordinary privilege of writing something popular comes a lot of attention. To be blunt, I was not prepared for this kind of reception. When I wrote fanfic for smaller fandoms, I didn't understand what it felt like to have so many people reacting to your work. On the one hand, I have been given more praise and kindness and generosity than I can possibly deserve, for which I will always be grateful. Nothing that I am about to say should be taken as denying that the reception I have gotten for this fic is crazy positive, and nothing that I say should be taken as me being ungrateful or resentful of criticism. It's a normal part of writing for any audience that some people will not fuck with what you're doing, and that is totally fine. I would not want it any other way. But I think the fact that I take criticism as hard as I do means that my relationship with the fic/community may not be as healthy as it could be. In fact, it's been taking a pretty big mental toll, and it's really hurt my ability to interact with the fandom in many ways. I get anxious while I'm writing now; I can't write as quickly anymore, and I don't take the same joy in it that I used to. Taking this most recent break, after being pretty much consistently working on the fanfic for three years, made me realize how much I need to focus on healing my relationship with writing and with fan space. I need to go back to just... being a fan, for a while.
So I'm going to take a step back, do some revisions, and make sure that I am in a good physical and mental place before I come back to it. I apologize again. I know how many people will be disappointed by this. But I wouldn't do it unless I thought it was necessary to preserve my relationship with this fic and with this fandom.
To be clear, I'm not going to delete the fic. I'm going to use the collections feature to hide the work for a while until the revisions are done and I feel comfortable continuing. This is going to make some people unhappy, I know, and I'm sorry for that. I really am. Please forgive me and try to understand where I'm coming from.
When the war ended, Harry hadnât even considered the possibility of normalcy. Everything was happening so fast. Everything was starting to blur together. But Harry remembered his birthday.
The months spanning between the second of May and the last day of July were an amalgamation of moments that felt like they were leading up to something important, but the clarity just wasnât there. Until Malfoy.
Funerals. Death Eater trials. His own birthday. Nobody expected the Saviour to show up in front of the Wizengamont for Draco Malfoyâs trial on the his own birthday to boot. Harry wondered if that was a deliberate choice, or just a darn coincidence.
When all was said and done, Malfoy was given a conditional pardon with minor stipulations, and while Harry wouldâve preferred they wipe the slate clean, he supposed it was more than anyone couldâve hoped for. Especially Malfoy.
Speaking of, as soon as the court had adjourned, Harry approached the defendantâs table. Called Malfoyâs name, and the worldâs most awkward conversation ensued on both ends. Harry, fumbling through words. Malfoy, lacking any to contribute. Harry finally pulled out a familiar hawthorn wand, the reason why he was standing here before Malfoy, the reason why Harry was alive and standing. It always came back to Malfoy, didnât it?
Malfoy gaped at the worn wood in Harryâs hands. Heâd even polished it with special wand wax before he came there. Harry watched Malfoy take his wand back gingerly, fingers gently caressing his beloved wand. Palmed it in his shaking hands. A word of gratitude uttered, in that posh voice of his, and as Harry turned to leave, âPotter?â Harry looked back. âHappy birthday.â Harryâs mouth twitched, the first hint of a smile to grace his mouth since the war ended. âHappy late birthday to you too, Malfoy.â
Harry left the courtroom, mouth quirked up, with the final thought that Malfoyâs smile actually looked quite nice when it wasnât that cocky smirk of his.
In the week that followed Harryâs birthday, a letter came. Fate came calling in the form of a Hogwarts owl. Redoing his final year of school wasnât something that heâd thought was in his cards and yet, here it was. Here he was. Standing on the train station platform 9 3/4.
The opportunity to finally have a normal school year without a threat on his life breathing down his back? Harry would have to be bloody mad to decline.
The first day back had a weirdly charged air to it. Excitement. Somber. Curious. Torn. Murmurs of wonder. Whispers of grief. The war had changed everyone. Even the walls outside the Great Hall had been rebuilt. And then there was Malfoy, sitting by the fire. And Harry decided to sit next to him.
Not a single word was exchanged between them. Just a nod, acknowledgement, a little scoot to the left to accommodate Harry by the fire. And then silence as they waited for the rest of the students to file into the Great Hall.
McGonagall gave a speech. The Sorting Hat Ceremony commenced and went. The Welcoming Feast passed without a hitch. It was normal. It was everything Harry expected it to be.
When the eighth years were directed to congregate outside the hall and everyone had begun to file out, Malfoy stood up and cleared his voice, speaking to Harry for the first time since theyâd arrived there.
His name. Some brief words on their past. A hopeful desire for something amicable. And a hand, held out for Harry to shake. To take, if he so wanted. Eight years. Eight years of memories and moments flashing through Harryâs head. An overlapped memory of Malfoy, eight years younger. Eleven years old and silver eyes full of hope. An offer of friendship. An offer that Harry would notâcould notâdeny again. Harry reached out and took it.
That was the start of their final year at Hogwarts together.
The first few weeks passed by slowly yet surely. Everyone was trying to fall back into things. From the staff to the students. Eighth years navigating the final year that theyâd lost. Teachers being lenient on traumatized students. Lots of review. Or a whole lot of learning on Harryâs endâhaving missed out toward the last few months of the previous term.
It wasnât all stifling hours of studying, lectures, and homework though. There was also Malfoy. Harryâs not sure what he would have done if Malfoy hadnât come back to finish their final year. Not that he wouldnât have blamed him if he hadnât, but still. Harryâs not sure what he wouldâve thought. Malfoy made things normal.
Malfoy was always there. Like the salt on a roast dinner. It was necessary. Vital, even. No one ever noticed or complained about it unless there was too much or not enough of it. And while all of Harryâs friends had complained in last years about Malfoy being mouthy and an overall git, Harry was the only one whoâd noticed when Malfoy had been pulling away from everyone two years before.
This time around, Malfoyâs constant presence was⌠comforting. Harry hadnât realized how much heâd looked for that head of white blond across the room, through the halls, on the other side of the Great Hall. He was aware that they frequented similar circles, but their schedules were like night and day. They shared a couple of classes, sure. But was Malfoy always there before? Always present in passing?
Harry felt like it wasnât a good idea to bring to mention to his friends. Ron would surely shake his head, claiming âobsession.â Hermione would sigh exasperated, citing âboys.â So he kept it to himself. Instead he just stared as though Malfoy were a silver snitch. Always watching. Always staring. Ready to move at the slightest twitch. And Malfoy was twitchy. But not in a bad way, in a traumatized-teen-who-had-a-Dark-Lord-living-in-their-house kind of way. Not his fault. Not in the least.
At first Harry thought that it was postwar nerves. A sort of jumpiness that everyone still had these days, though muted, subdued, understood. The first time Harry had witnessed it was in the hallway during their first week of term. A tiny Hufflepuff had bumped into Malfoy on the way to class, and Malfoy responded with a sudden jerk, knocking into a pristine suit of armor as though a buldger had hit him and not the shoulder of someone under five feet tall. He remembered the way Malfoy had stammered, before straightening himself up and curtly apologizing and promptly left the hallway.
Another occasion had been during herbology. Harry had only noticed because Malfoy had shuffled toward the back of the lecture, but a branch of Whispering Wisteria had brushed the back of his neck, causing Malfoy to jolt and scatter his notes to the ground. Rolls of parchment curling, rustling like the very Wisteria leaves that had startled him in the first place. He quickly gathered them like the world was on fire, and not another perfunctory day of herbology class.
And then there was the time Harry had gotten up out of bed in the middle of the night, invisibility cloak wrapped around him for a breath of fresh air. Heâd turned the corner after getting off the stairs and found Malfoy, wandering around in his sleep clothes. But he looked anything but sleep-soft. If anything he looked sleep-stressed. Harry took a step forward, stumbling over a kink in the ornate rug running through the hall.
âWhoâs there!â
Silver-blond hair jerked in Harryâs direction, wand at the ready, eyes frantic and unseeing. Well, technically Malfoy couldnât see him. Harry was invisible.
With a sheepish grin, Harry tugged the slippery smooth fabric of the invisibility cloak off his head. He hoped the apologetic expression on his face softened the heart attack he mightâve given the other boy. The sag in Malfoyâs shoulders did more for Harryâs chest than heâd expected it to.
âPotter?â
Harry wanted to be sincere. He aimed for disarming.
âDo I have⌠any other name?â
Malfoy relaxed even more at that. His head tipped to the side in that familiar mannerism of his.
âOf course you do. The Wizarding Worldâs Saviour. Boy-Who-Lived. Twice. The Golden GitâCome on now, Potter. You know this.â
âYou made that last one up.â
A quirk of the mouth, a hint of that trademark smirk.
âDid I, now?â
Harryâs heart fluttered.
⌠⌠âŚ
I cannot for the life of me, remember how I planned to get from point B (midnight conversations) to point C (drarry potion lab partners). I started this drabble (does this even classify as a drabble anymore?) in February. My draft says I made this reblog the day Sly made the original post! Thatâs how long itâs been, and how long Iâve been sitting on this pile of words that have been marinating in my tumblr drafts. Iâve been holding onto it forever, and I need to set it free.
I hope you like it, even if I canât recall what I wanted to do with it, where I wanted the plot to go. Thereâs just something in Slyâs art thatâs almost invigorating to consume. Itâs literally pulled me out of my writerâs block. No idea what she puts in here. Rosemary? Thyme? Oregano? Iâm a fan of turmeric for its anti-inflammatory properties (hah, Iâm such a riot). Anywho, I guess to close things off, Iâll try to summarize how I envisioned the rest of this piece to go?
The running theme is that Harry notices, and that Harry has always been watching Malfoy. And after all these years, Harry is starting to realize just how much heâs been watching, and finally come to the conclusion of how he really feels about Malfoy in the art above. A love story eight years in the making, folks!
They arenât even brewing amortentia. Itâs not that romantic of a realization. Just a normal 7th year appropriate potion. Iâm thinking something slimy and green. Good for the skin. A jelly lotion with⌠magnesium and kelp? Excellent for second and third degree burns? I donât know, I made that upâbut it sounds pretty useful in the medical sphere!
⌠Thanks for reading, and I will see you⌠in the next story! Bye! âŚ
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