#drarrynet

[oliivverwood]

my youth was yours

draco/harry + reconnecting at work for @shealwaysreads

--

Draco was by no means old.

Yes, he was hitting dirty thirty next year and yes, he was a homebody and preferred a nice night in with a good book and a glass of Muggle Pinot Grigio, but he was not old.

Which is why when his mother sent her letter, he threw it in the fire immediately.

'Draco, darling,

How are you? How is Hogwarts? I hope the first day goes well. Tell me about the students when you meet them. I heard there was a new DADA professor as well--do tell me about them.

I am well. The Manor is cold, sometimes, with your father passed and you away teaching, but you know that. I'll be fine.

Speaking of warmth, darling, isn't it about time you began to settle down? Find a lovely young gentleman? You forget that you are aging dear; soon all the good ones will be taken!

I jest, love, but it's something to keep in mind. Reply to me soon, humour your poor old mother.'

Draco loved his mother. He did. But she was meddling, now.

It had bothered him all through the big first night, and he ended up being late to the Great Feast and the first year sorting. He was so flustered, by being so late, that he hadn't realised who was sitting in where Terence, the flying instructor, sat normally. Draco nudged Neville, who was on his other side.

"Didn't miss much, did I?" He asked frantically, running a hand through his hair and cursing himself. He probably looked like a relatable and unintimidating professor. He'd have to make it up by assigning the first years some tough homework

"Wood and Flint's kid sorted Slytherin. I can imagine the row they'll have over that." He chuckled.

The sorting finished just then, and McGonagall began the second part of her speech.

"Now, we have more people then just students to welcome." McGonagall said warmly. "Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts, former Senior Auror, now Professor Harry Potter, will be joining us for the forseaable future."

The figure next to Draco, who he'd completely not noticed the entire seven minutes he'd been there, stood up awkwardly, while the students clapped and cheered. He watched on as Potter sat back down, a vague look of horror stuck on his face. How had he not noticed Harry Potter sitting next to him? The Draco he had been during his school years would be embarrassed.

"Alright, Malfoy?" Potter asked cheerfully, as if their past never happened, as if they didn't fight on opposite sides of the war, as if they were friends. It was a new start. Potter was offering a fresh start, he realised.

"Alright, Potter." Draco answered, cursing at how faint he sounded.

--

He was able to avoid seeing Harry Potter for the most part. The weeks were long and busy, filled with the most loathsome students and essay grading. It was only at meals that Draco had to interact with Potter, who'd insistently been sitting next to him every day and starting conversation.

It was about the most redundant things--how his mother was, howclasses were going, who was his brightest student (Pansy and Hermione's daughter, obviously). And Draco was only obliged to answer. And question him back.

He was disgusted to realise that he'd grown fond of Potter's company, the same way Neville had grown on him.

Neville was a bit different. They'd been offered jobs fresh out of school--Draco had no right to think of Neville as something that had grown on him. He was evil.

(When Draco tried this line on Neville, the Herbology professor laughed so hard that his pumpkin juice came out of his nose. He was finally wiping away tears after five minutes of intensive cackling)

Anyways. Potter.

Potter had grown well. He was filled out and strong from auror training, naturally tan and still had those green fucking eyes. As if eyes were allowed to be so vibrant. So bright. A fucking travesty.

As the weeks went on, Draco found himself feeling the same way about Potter that he'd felt when he was in fourth year.

Ah.

Well.

That wasn't good.

"Fare well, Verona." Draco groaned into his pillow, to the amusement of Neville. They sat in his room, Neville pretending to comfort Draco.

"You're so daft." Neville said fondly, reading an essay and then crossly scribbling something on the page. Draco winced for the student. Neville was a generous grader, so cross-scribbling probably meant a Dreadful.

"How am I being daft!" Draco grumbled. "It's always Potter. Everywhere I go. And he's fit."

"You are daft." Neville said, finally putting his quill down. "Do you think he just sits next to you at mealtimes for the kick? As if he didn't obsess over you all of sixth year? He's interested in you, muppet. You two have always been tied up."

Draco paused a moment, shocked, before spluttering unattractively.

--

The next day, Draco steeled himself.

He had fought in a war. He had mastered the Elder Wand.

He could ask Harry Potter out to dinner.

Coincidentally enough, on his way to the DADA professor's classroom, he turned the corner in the hallway and collided painfully with the Saviour himself.

"Oh fuck." Draco blurted, his filthy mouth becoming a force of habit. Potter let out a surprised bark of laughter, and then suddenly blushed.

"Sorry, sorry! I was actually looking for you." Potter dusted off Draco's shoulders and straightened his cloak for him, leaving Draco feeling very blushy and slightly grumpy.

"Well, I was looking for you." Draco said haughtily. "But then I was walking and some heathen so rudely collided into me when I was rounding the corner--"

"Want to get dinner sometime?" Harry blurted, interrupting Draco's grumpy monologue and sending them both into a state of awkward embarrassment. Draco's mouth fell wide open, into what he was sure was a highly unattractive expression.

"I was going to you to ask the same thing." Draco said cautiously. What if it was a joke? What if Neville had let it slip, oh he'd kill-

"Really?" Harry had a goofy smile on his face, always wearing his emotions on his sleeves.

"Pick me up Saturday, seven o clock. Do not be late, I will hex you myself."

Draco couldn't remove the upward quirk in his mouth for the rest of the day.

[brtycrouchjr]

[poirot]

“Harry, however, had never been less interested in Quidditch; he was rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy.” (Happy Birthday @sleepdeprivedravenclaw​ )

[oliivverwood]

forgive me not, forget me not

draco/harry + eighth year shenanigans for @assassinsdragons

-

The year after the war was one of forgiveness.

It was one of empathy.

It was one of healing.

The Eighth years had been taken out of their houses, a group of neutrality.

Harry had doubted they were now all from the same house they started off in anyways.

This year, he'd ended up rooming with Ron, Neville, Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini- a recipe for disaster, or so he thought.

'I'll do it for unity.' Harry thought to himself, quashing all the discomfort at being in the same room as Draco Malfoy, his rival, his enemy, in the same room as him. Hermione had chided him, about prejudices--Harry knew from experience not to question Hermione. So he didn't.

It's not as if it mattered. Neither of the two slept the nights without waking up screaming, anyways.

A shaky truce formed two weeks into the term, when Harry had sleepily trotted down to the common room, blanket wrapped around him to try and stop the shivers he'd had from his nightmares, and saw Draco in the exact same predicament, sitting on the couch in front of the hearth .

His platinum hair took on a more golden tint in the orange firelight that lit the room, and he looked tired, just as tired as Harry felt, with dark sagging underneath his eyes, prominent on his pale skin. His duvet was wrapped around him snugly, covering everything but his head and hands. He did nothing but drink his tea silently, staring into the fire.

"Can I sit here?" Harry asked softly, feeling a bit silly. After all, he was wearing his blanket like a cloak at one in the morning, and there were plenty of other seats around.

He didn't want to feel alone.

And neither did Draco.

"That's fine, Potter."

They sat together in silence that night, but the quiet was comfortable, the crackling of the fire and distant hooting of owls filling the gap instead.

Harry fell into a dreamless sleep, next to the fire, next to Draco, that night, for the first time in a long time. Nobody spoke about finding the two curled up on opposite ends of the loveseat in the morning, sound asleep.

The nights following, however, they talked. At first, it was awkward small talk, about quidditch, the weather, initiated by Harry, welcomed by Draco. It filled the silences, which was good, because sometimes if they left themselves alone with their thoughts for too long, old memories resurfaced. Memories that they wanted to forget.

Four weeks into term, their conversations had become deep. Harry had felt guarded, at first, telling his once nemesis all his horrible history and his innermost regrets, but it evened out. Draco did not hold back, whispering to Harry about life in the Manor with him there, not looking Harry in the eyes as he spoke.

Eventually, around halfway through term, they were considered friends.

Nobody was too shocked, after seeing them together on that same sofa in front of the fire, almost every morning without fail. Hermione and McGonagall smiled at the two encouragingly. Ron had made his own Slytherin buddy in Blaise, who was much better at chess than Harry and was therefore a more appropriate opponent.

When they were closing in on NEWTs, Harry didn't want to talk about the war anymore.

He wanted to move on. He wanted new memories. He wanted to have fun.

Ron had lost his mind at the idea of planning a party.

"Wonderful." Ron had mumbled the entire way through the planning process. "Truly, magnificent."

And so it was settled--Hermione (with a hefty amount of convincing) was to make sure no professors bothered them, Ron and Blaise would set up entertainment, Neville and the Hufflepuffs got ahold of some gillyweed to smoke, Blaise took care of drinks, and Draco and Harry would do food. It would start late, at 11, and it would go on a night, seventh years welcome, eighth years invited.

It was a perfect plan- Invisibility cloak, a quick dash to the kitchens, and they were party heroes.

What they hadn't predicted, was the two of them would have done some pre party drinking and smoking.

"Why the fuck are you so tall?" Harry grumbled, unsuccessfully trying to maneuver the cloak so it covered them both evenly. It was 10:30 at night--but suddenly going to the kitchens and back in half an hour was feeling like a difficult task.

"Not my fault you're part dwarf, Potter." Draco slurred. Harry, instead of biting back like he would've used to, grinned. This was the Draco Harry was familiar with. It made him a bit nostalgic- for Rememberall chasing, for on-pitch taunting, for hallways jibes and shoves.

They made their way out of the common room, sent off with cheers from the rest of the eighth years. Harry was pressed up against Draco, the warmth of a body next to his leaking through his clothes and heating him.

"You're comfortable." Harry murmured, alcohol taking control of his mouth.

Oh, fuck, that was mortifying.

Instead of an awkward reaction, an uncomfortable reaction, Draco chuckled. His eyes, though bloodshot red from the gillyweed, were the most alive Harry had seen him in a while.

"Good to know, Harry."

One for one. It was always even. Harry let one slip, Draco blurts out Harry's first name.

It sounds normal, rolling off Draco's tongue, the first time Harry's ever heard it from him. His heart beat uncomfortably against his chest.

They attempted to make their was surely and slowly towards the kitchens, giggling and stumbling all the way.

Until Harry tripped for real and brought Draco down with him.

It was loud, the thump of hitting the floor, and Harry would definitely feel that in the morning, but right then he was only painfully aware of the fact that he had one Draco Malfoy sprawled on top of him.

And he liked it.

"Sorry." Harry breathed. Draco's eyes, he learned, had flecks of blue in them, contrasting against the slate gray.

"It's okay." Draco murmured, looking into Harry's eyes in the same mesmerised manner.

Harry, somewhere in his consciousness, knew that this was incredibly sappy. That he would never be able to tell his friends about this, because they'd take the piss and never let him forget it.

Harry craned his neck up and brushed his lips against Draco's, a split second of contact. Harry heard the other boy's breath catch.

"Really?" Draco asked, a question that couldn't quite be said aloud.

Do you like me?

Do you realise what you're doing?

Do you realise who I am? Who you are?

"Yes." Harry surprised the both of them with how firmly he said it. "Now, come on, you lazy arse, if we come back without food we'll face Hermione's wrath."

That casual. That easy.

He pulled Draco up until they were face to face again. Harry decided that he really was courageous, and pecked Draco on the mouth again.

When they returned to the common room, food floating behind them, the two of them hand in hand, Harry flushed with happiness at how his friends hooted and hollered.

Draco relaxed next to him, tension fading.

All was well.

[oliivverwood]

room key

draco/harry + muggle au for @hogwartsfirebolt

A drop of sweat trickled down the nape of Draco's neck, and he pursed his lips sourly as he was forced to ignore it. The air was humid, sticky with champagne breath, and the scent of the sea wafted through the air. The party was situated outdoors of a resort, loud and lush and positively Pansy Parkinson.

It was the pre-wedding celebration, and by tomorrow evening, Pansy Parkinson would be Pansy Parkinson-Nott.

He was happy for Pansy, really. 22 and getting married to the love of her life. In Hawaii. Life was good for her. She deserved a big fancy party with lots of fancy people.

It didn't explain the small downward curve of his mouth when he saw all the other lovebirds fluttering around, doting on one another, and dear God, he'd need at least two more too-sweet pina coladas and half a bottle of tequila, sans salt and lime, to survive the night.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Blaise chatting up the ginger waiter. Handsome, not really his type. Draco mentally tutted his friend for trying to get laid on Pansy's trip.

Draco craned his neck around, trying to spot the bar. Through all the bustling crowd, fairy lights and torches and palm trees, he pinpointed it.

Well. Might be it. It was beginning to feel a little cloudy in his head.

When he finally made his way over, slumping at the stool unceremoniously, Draco realised exactly how lonely he looked. Everyone else was singing and dancing and chatting and he was sat at the bar all by his lonesome.

His frown deepened. This vacation wasn't turning out to be that brilliant, like Pansy had promised it would be. Then again, he should've known better than to trust Pansy.

The bartender's back was to him, polishing a glass slowly. His hair was jet black and thoroughly ruffled, looking almost artfully done, and the hawaiian shirt he wore that matched all the other resort workers did nothing to hide the strong, lean frame of the man.

"Excuse me?" Draco tapped his fingers on the counter, less impatient and more anxious. The bartender turned-

Wow.

He was all sorts of tall, dark, and handsome, but had a friendly, easygoing expression, tan skin ruddy cheeks that made his green eyes stand out sharply. He wore round, black rimmed hipster glasses, making his eyes look wider from under his thick lashes. A white cloth was slung over his left shoulder, bright against his dark red shirt.

Wow.

Draco almost forgot what he went there for.

Almost.

"Hi. Could I have two shots of tequila, no limes or salt?"

The bartender's brows shot up. "Rough night?"

Draco snorted, a pitiful attempt at covering up how much that hit home. "Is it a party if nobody's drunk?"

The man placed the two shots in front of him, and Draco slapped a couple dollar bills on the counter.

The bartender laughed, slow and rich and deep. "That's true. Normally even the first drunkards at the parties get their tequila with at least lime."

Ah shit. He'd been caught out. He picked up one of the shots and threw it back at lightning speed.

"Nosy thing, aren't you?" Draco said, relishing the way it made the bartender smile and blush. "Well, if you must know, my best friend Pansy is getting married tomorrow. And she's gross and in love and I'm..." Draco waved his hand, searching for the right words. "-Not."

Instead of the sympathetic look or the pity Draco was expecting, the bartender snorted instead. "Makes the two of us. My best friend has been victim of being chatted up over there by one of the guests."

Draco whirled around to where he was pointing and saw that yes, Blaise was still talking to the ginger, and yes, the ginger was smiling and blushing, and yes, they'd wake up in the same bed tomorrow morning. He huffed.

"Blaise has some fucking cheek." Draco said without any bite. "Also, who forced your ginger friend into a red hawaiian shirt? That's abominable."

The bartender chuckled again, flashing bright teeth and dimples. "Ron isn't too pleased about it either. That friend of yours seems to dig it, though."

Draco downed the second shot after seeing that he'd almost forgotten about it. "I mean this in honestly, like, the least crude way possible, but Blaise will fuck literally anything that breathes." He flushed, feeling the heat crawl up from beneath his collar, from the alcohol or embarrassment, he didn't know, but he was losing composure.

This bartender wasn't going to judge him.

"We can't all be romantics." He said. "That Pansy has it lucky. Getting married at- around my age, 22, 23, yeah? Wow." The bartender shook his head ruefully, mussing his already uncontrollable hair. "I haven't been able to have a relationship last for more than half a year." He slapped his hand over his mouth, his cheeks reddening and Draco laughed, but it lacked cruelty. Draco patted the bartender's hands that were on the table lightly.

"If it makes you feel better." Draco's mouth was running, the pina colada, one Sex on the Beach, two shots of tequila and the two cheap Natty Lites he'd had at, like, noon, starting to take their toll. Ah, well. "My last hookup is getting married to Pansy tomorrow."

The bartender's mouth fell open, and Draco couldn't help but let out an undignified snort. "I know, right?"

The man shook his head again. "No, no! It's just, I can't believe it."

Draco raised an eyebrow, probably looking much less intimidating than normal. "Why?"

"Don't fish for compliments." The bartender rolled his eyes. "But, I mean, come on. You're like, really hot. I know, like, at least ten people that would... you know. "

Draco almost laughed again, because fuck, this very attractive bartender was looking at him and thinking that he was attractive.

"And you?" He said lightly, his finger circling the rim of the shot glasses the bartender had forgotten to take away. Not that he minded. Because then his attention would be off Draco.

And he couldn't have that.

"What about me?" The bartender's eyes widened innocently. Draco was a goner.

"Are you one of the ten?" Draco inquired. The man spluttered slightly, eyeing Draco in what seemed to be a new light. He got up, dusting himself off, undoing the top button on his shirt. "Think about it. I'm in room 736..."

"Harry." The man murmured, picking up the empty shot glasses. "I'm Harry."

"Draco." Draco muttered. "Thanks for the drinks. See you tonight, Harry."

And with that, he walked away and disappeared into the crowd.

[oliivverwood]

drarry for the head cannon/ Drabble thing?

send an ask w a pairing or a character or a concept, and i’ll write a bulletpoint fic/headcanons!

okay I’ll hit u w the bulletpoint fic bc ive written a few drarry requests already

id like to think eighth year was a thing bc duh. 

education

anyways harry comes back and yeah he’s a hero he’s loved and cherished but he’s over it. the poor thing still has ptsd and nightmares

he wants to flip his shit when he sees that he’s rooming with draco malfoy because after ALL he’s sacrificed, hes got to deal with this shit

but he doesn’t. he doesn’t have the energy

draco after the war looks like a different person completely. his once hard gelled hair falls loosely and he surrounds himself in large cashmere sweaters at least two sizes too big for him and he’s somewhat frail, still tall and lanky but skinny and he wears GLASSES

something he made fun of harry for wearing for years

he wears them around harry. there’s some sort of underlying symbolism. it feels like a white flag

they don’t poke at each other

again, no energy

the first night of the school year, harry wakes up from a nightmare and walks down to the eighth year common room and dracos there doing his schoolwork on the couch in front of the hearth looking exhausted but hes nursing a third cup of tea and harry realises that they were the same boy on opposite sides of the war

it doesn’t mean he forgets all the dumb mean shit that draco pulled during the past years

but harry sits on the opposite end of the couch, asks him some questions. innocent ones like, “what are you working on? what are puddlemeres chances at the cup this year” and so on

hermione finds them curled up on the two sides of the couch in the morning, dead asleep

they talk about their nightmares, sometimes, but it’s cautious

after all, being nice to each other is new waters

but eventually, it becomes natural

they become friends

mcgonagall is absolutely delighted

ginny’s given draco the shovel talk, but harry doesn’t know about that

harry brings draco tea sometimes. it’s an awkward conversation when draco asked why harry knew how draco took his tea (one milk, one sugar)

it’s even more awkward when harry finds out that draco knows how he takes HIS tea (one milk, two sugars)

harry and dracos friendship brought along a lot of unity

two group alphas finally getting along was somewhat hard to miss

which is how harry, draco, ron, pansy, hermione, theo, blaise, daphne, ginny, luna, and astoria find themselves squished at the same table more often then not

pansy and hermione decide that they’d wasted a lot of years being mean to each other. after all, the two of them combined were powerful enough to take over the world and whatnot

soon enough, the two boys find its hard to sleep without the other nearby

the couch in front of the fireplace is silently reserved for the two of them

harry tends to take dracos big sweaters because a) they’re expensive and very soft and b) smells good

madam rosmerta assumes they’re an item when they hit the three broomstick and makes them blush profusely(if ron and pansy fist bumped under the table, it was nobodys business)

the way they asked each other out was no big drama

they’re sitting in the common room on a regular old tuesday. ron and his new bestie pansy are playing chess a couple meters away. hermione, blaise, theo and hannah abbot are having an intellectual conversation about wizarding politics in chile

draco asks, completely casual, “potter, are we dating?”

harry doesn’t even look up from his essay when he says “im down if you are”

everyone looks on in awe, because who the hell could’ve predicted? 

hermione remembers watching their duel in second grade

and realises chemistry is chemistry, hateful or not

and the chemistry draco and harry had? well, you couldn’t fake it

[oliivverwood]

home is where the heart is

pairings: marcus flint/oliver wood, draco malfoy/harry potter, terence higgs/adrian pucey

summary: as a part of a house unity exercise, oliver is put in slytherin.

this doesn't fare well for his nerves; after all, he's been denying he's liked marcus for years

note: ez ( @rlversongs ) proofed this for me thank u love u, also in case u can’t tell by the summary which u cant because its super short, harry, hermione and fred were also moved to slytherin!! read to find out what happens ;)))

-

When practice was over, Oliver overheard the girls talking.

"Well, you know, Malfoy and Harry probably like each other, with all their pigtail pulling. Boys don't know any other way, really." Katie whispered.

"I mean, probably, they're obsessed. Harry's always raving about how much he despises Malfoy, how he's so arrogant and cocky and his stupid hair is always slicked back-" They broke into a fit of giggles.

"They remind me a bit of Ollie and Flint." Angelina said, and Oliver froze. "Ever since they started playing against each other they're always bumping each other in the corridors and saying adorably rude things on the pitch, trying to get each other's attention. Makes me wonder-"

Oliver chose to turn away at this point, to make his way back to the Slytherin dorms with Harry and Fred.

He and Marcus were so not like Harry and Malfoy.

What he and Marcus had was not obsessive, nor was it romantic. It was a rivalry. Those were natural, and it came with the sport they played.

Oliver bit his lip.

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[oliivverwood]

and you look so classic

pairing: marcus flint/oliver wood, minor draco malfoy/harry potter, pansy parkinson/hermione granger, ron weasley/blaise zabini, astoria greengrass/ginny weasley

summary: a flintwood take on the song "magic in the hamptons"

-

marcus flint remembered the summer when oliver wood pulled up in his red fucking ferrari in front of the mansion across from his, and suddenly he whirled into a summer with brown hair and brown eyes.alternatively; rich boys and rich girls fall in love over a summer

-

It was a Saturday when Marcus, who'd been glaring at his father's investment papers, watched as Oliver Wood moved into the empty mansion across from his own family estate.

It was a tall, picturesque household, very elegant, very costly, but if you lived in this neighbourhood, you had cash to blow.

The stranger was in a red Ferrari, his parents in the backseat chatting. They laughed together, looking at their new home. A moving van drove right behind him.

Marcus had set down his coffee. Newcomers were rare. It was too expensive to just move.

No, these were family estates.

He had warm brown hair, and was wearing a blue polo shirt. His sunglasses glinted under the light and he dimpled when his father had clapped him on the back.

Marcus hated him instantly. Marcus didn't do preppy, spoiled brats. Granted, he was one himself.

He looked at the papers strewn in front of him.

He was earning his funds, earning the right to be a Flint, a real Flint who shook firm hands and met important people and had champagne with his wife at a five-star restaurant on Saturdays.

The stranger was entering his mansion now. Marcus knew he'd see him again soon.

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