How about "scarlet" for Drarry or Teddy, if it sparks the muse? 💛
Harry’s problem has always been that he doesn’t know when to stop pushing. No one bothered to tell him when the war ended he didn’t have to keep pushing, keep fighting.
He isn’t even sure how he and Malfoy went from fighting to fucking to something that neither of them would admit. What started as the last battle Harry needed to win became the only battle he was terrified to lose. But he’d gone and pushed too hard. Too far.
“I need time,” Malfoy had shouted.
“I’m tired of being your secret,” Harry cried.
“Then you’ll be nothing,” Maylfoy had whispered.
And just like that Harry’d lost the one thing he never even let himself admit he had.
Weeks go by without a glance. Enough to convince Harry he really is the nothing Malfoy told him he was when the great hall breaks out in a silence more deafening than any sound ever could be.
Harry turns so quickly he nearly falls off the bench, mouth hanging open when he sees Malfoy standing in the middle of the great hall—pale skin adorned in scarlet—in Harry’s quidditch jumper.
Harry’s leapt out of his seat and across the hall before the shouting as started, the whispers of the other 8th years fading to a din as he brings shaking hands up to grab ahold of the jumper.
“What are you doing?” Harry whispers.
“I don’t know,” Malfoy answers, looking halfway between hexing Harry and kissing him. “But if I spend one more day without you I’m going to lose my mind. I love you, you absolute fucking tosspot.”
“ Got a funny fucking way of showing it.” Harry mutters,Heart racing. “I thought—“
But Malfoy never lets him finish, crashing his lips to Harry’s in a kiss that has the walls of the great hall quaking with the students confused shouts.
