#eight year

[drarryficrecsbasement]

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy & Blaise Zabini & Pansy Parkinson & Theodore Nott, Harry Potter & Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley, past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley - Relationship Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott Additional Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Down and Out Draco Malfoy, Pining, so much pining god help us all, Angst, Fluff, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, the violence is the bullying so like. its not as bad as the violence could be, Coming Out, Bisexual Harry Potter, Gay Draco Malfoy, Protective Harry Potter, Supportive Ron and Hermione, pretentious allusions to sun and moon imagery, because sometimes teenage angst really is that serious, Sectumsempra Scars (Harry Potter), Dark Mark (Harry Potter), Top Harry Potter, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter is Obsessed with Draco Malfoy, harry potter has a phd in yearnalism. thats it thats the thesis of this entire fic. enjoy!! Summary:

(There is another part of his brain which cannot help but indulge the idea that Dumbledore would find this all so painfully amusing, as if he wasn’t orchestrating his own Wizard’s Chess match with Harry and Malfoy on opposite sides, inching them closer and closer and closer still, and then, for the past seven years, each time it looked like they were moments from crashing into one another, he pulled them back to where they started, and it began anew.)

And thus, it begins anew.

[bridenore]

HD eight year fic recs : 10k to 20k words

Here are a few drarry eight year fic recs that are between 10k and 20k words. Posted in alphabetical order, as always.

All the Sense in the World by @l0vegl0wsinthedark [10k]

He had absolutely no idea what was about to happen. Maybe Malfoy would kick him in the face. Maybe he’d scream loud enough that the whole school would rush in and see him lying there between Malfoy’s legs with his cock rock hard. Maybe he’d hex Harry’s rock hard cock off. Hell, maybe Harry’d wake in his own bed in a few minutes with a rock hard cock and would never again be able to look at Malfoy without sprouting an instant hard-on. Or maybe he and Malfoy would have sex.

All Your Stars In View by @alpha-exodus [18k]

Life after the war is difficult for Harry, especially when the only thing that makes him feel better is, oddly enough, being around Malfoy. So when Malfoy asks to paint his portrait, Harry can’t refuse, even if it means baring himself in more ways than one.

Bold and Unafraid by CherriOnTop [13k]

After the Battle of Hogwarts, students are invited back to complete their schooling. Eager for any excuse not to think about the events of the war, Harry and Draco fall into bed together, and their relationship blurs somewhere between friends and something more. Which is totally fine with Harry, of course, until he realizes that he wants more with Draco. Specifically, he wants to be cuddled.

Deep Waters by @huldrejenta  [13k]

Back at Hogwarts, eighth year turns out to be just as miserable as Draco had suspected. Struggling with post-war apathy, he tries to find something positive he can do for himself. Like secretly learning how to swim in the Great Lake. Only things don’t go as planned when Potter somehow finds out.

Dreaming of Harry by @writcraft [11k]

The first night Draco Malfoy dreams of Harry Potter, everything changes.

Equally Cursed and Blessed by @moonflower-rose [18k]

Harry’s back at Hogwarts to attempt his final year, again. This time he’s sure there’ll be no shenanigans. Well. Maybe there’ll be a few.

Famished by LadyGaGalion [10k]

Draco thought his life couldn’t get any worse. He was wrong. Now Harry Potter’s stuck to his arm.

He Was a Skater Boy by @m0srael [19k]

Harry Potter intends to spend his eighth year at Hogwarts avoiding the endless stares, whispers, and nosy questions that never seem to leave him be. He wants nothing more than to hide in the quiet solitude of his dorm room, keep his head down, and wallow in his grief. At least, that’s his plan right up until the moment Draco Malfoy kick-flips his life upside down.

Hold Close Your Heart and Take the Leap by  @dracogotgame  [19k]

Draco knows he needs to tell Potter their lives are about to change forever. But ‘knowing’ and ‘doing’ are two very different things. 

Hung Like a Hippogriff by Magnolia822 [16k]

After Dean Thomas catches Malfoy wanking and tells everyone about his giant cock, Harry can’t stop thinking about it. Not because he’s attracted to Malfoy, mind, but because he’s concerned Malfoy is up to something. Er … 

In the Interest of Interhouse Cooperation by @firethesound [11k]

Organizing a Duelling Club was supposed to be a fun extracurricular activity for Harry’s 8th year. But add in Draco Malfoy and a malfunctioning Room of Requirement, and things can’t help but get complicated. 

‘Ohana by plumeria47 [11k]

It started off so simple: sex whenever they wanted it, with no further expectations.  But life has a funny way of turning everything up on its head.

Pure Imagination by @aibidil [14k]

An eighth-year tale of depressed happiness, reluctant imagination, and conflicted hope. And skateboarding.

Quickie by nerakrose [11k]

Harry's 8th year is going okay: he's got a girlfriend, the future is far away, and he has no choices to make. And then Malfoy starts sending him dick pics.

The Room that Changed Everything by @multiverse-of-fanfic [18k]

When a sabotaged potion lands Harry and Draco in detention, Harry must wrestle with two uncomfortable truths: One, Malfoy the nemesis no longer exists. And Two, Harry is embarrassingly attracted to him. With the war behind them, can Harry and Malfoy build something from the ashes, or are they doomed to be enemies forever?

Said and Unsaid (or, The Value of Knowing When to Stop Talking) by bryoneybrynn [14k]

When the Interrogator asked if he had anything to say on his own behalf, Draco shook his head, his lips pressed tight in a thin line. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse.

Say It Out Loud by @pheaphilus [11k]

Eighth year was bollocks, as far as Draco could tell.

Sex and the Art of Castle Maintenance  by birdsofshore [14k]

“Come on, boys,” Zabini drawled. “You’re only delaying the inevitable.” Trouble always had a way of finding Harry, and eighth year was obviously going to be no exception.

so scarlet it was by Olena [19k]

Draco’s back for his Eighth Year as part of his parole. He’s doing his best not to annoy any war heroes and avoid Harry Potter as if his life depends on it. Too bad Harry has other ideas.

The Slytherin Host Club by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony​ [14k]

Harry is simply looking for a quiet place to finish his Potions essay. It’s a pity he ends up at the Slytherin Host Club instead. Or maybe it’s a blessing in disguise, since he’s had a secret crush on Malfoy for a while…

Through the Looking Glass and What Draco Found There by @magpiefngrl [17k]

Draco discovers the Mirror of Erised is a portal and he enters an alternate reality where your deepest  desires come true. Or how Draco found himself in the world of his dreams and Potter had to come and ruin it.

Truffles, Noble Lord of the Sky by megyal [10k]

Fuck fairies; and Longbottom, too.

Truths, Dares, and Love Affairs by @ronbinary [17k]

NEWTs are approaching, Mind Healing is mandatory, and something is wrong with the castle. And then, there’s Potter.

Tug-O-Want by @dysonrules [16k]

Harry is back at Hogwarts minding his own business when he finds himself magically drawn to Draco Malfoy. Over and over again.

Twice as Much as an Earthquake by @firethesound [18k]

Accidental bonding. Breaking and entering. Conspiring, however unwillingly, in the strange one-man war Malfoy’s waging against detention. This isn’t the normal school year Harry anticipated having, but at least it’s not boring. 

Unknown Pleasures by Birdsofshore [10k]

The Room of Requirement was definitely broken. Why else would it be presenting Harry with a whip, some handcuffs, a blindfold, and a… what exactly was that thing, anyway?

The Wolf Pack by @dracogotgame [13k]

Nobody said achieving your animagus form was easy. Draco could handle being a wolf pup for a while, right? How bad could it be?

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

Last updated : July 5th 2026

[katherinexx-ao3]

What's The Worst That Could Happen?

Harry's POV: When you think that you'll finally be free to rot in peace but the world has other plans. And those plans had Malfoy's name all over them.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[scarredsnake]

I don't usually do recs but you guys should definitely read this fic if you're into eight year kinda angsty (heavy on the kinda) and very very depressed drarry.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[hanaranjada]

Dramione once they comeback for eight year~ If she could forgive then everyone can 😤

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT CREDIT (o´▽`o)ﾉ

[mymelodramaticjournal]

The Cupboard under the Stairs

Nostalgia is a disease, historically. No really, check the mortality bills from times of war; cause of death: nostalgia. Killed by a sickness that softens the mind and rots the soul. Nostalgia is the longing for a home you cannot return to, or perhaps one you’ve never known. Nostalgia is the ache for a time that you cannot reach because it no longer exists- in fact, it never existed at all. Only ever existed in your warped, pinked memories. 

Nostalgia is poking a festering bruise to see how many pretty colours it can turn. Nostalgia forgets the details and forgives everything. 

Harry feels it rock through him now, the ache, as he stands in the hallway of 4 Privet Drive. As he stares at his cupboard, the one under the stairs. As he fights the urge to try and climb inside it. 

It had taken Harry two months after the battle to owl Dudley. 

Dudley, 

Things are safer here. Going back to school but have some stuff to sort. Let me know when.

Give Alf a treat or he’ll bite. 

-Harry.

They’re in Guernsey Aug. 25-31. Come then. I won’t be here. Your owl did bite me. It’s worse than the other one.  Don’t send it again or they might see.

-D.

That’s how Harry found himself here, on a sickly hot day at the end of an even hotter summer, hands twitching by his sides, longing to reach out. 

He’d already done the room upstairs. Empty, newly painted a fresh white. As though something had tainted its walls just by sleeping inside it. Harry had never even touched it, barely breathed in there, honestly. But they had to repaint it just to be sure nothing of him clung to the space, that traces of him could never be found anywhere here. Harry was like a very bad dream you try to scrub out of your hair the next day. He'd waited idly at the threshold of the room for the tell-tale pop of house-elf apparition, as though pretending not to care might make it come. The hinges groaned, after, as he shut the door on the resounding silence. 

Now he faced the cupboard. 

Open it. Get in. Shut the door behind you. What if it’s different too? Don’t open it. Don’t find out. Have to know, have to know, have to-

Harry opened the door. 

A hoover. A tub of white emulsion - for the room upstairs, he supposed. Shelves laden with cleaning products and random containers and a whole lot of rubbish. Nothing important at all. 

He tried his best not to be offended.

Well, he thought, desperate, if I just move some stuff out of the way there will still be room for me. 

Harry started with the shelves. All purpose cleaner, bathroom cleaner, glass cleaner- he wondered, who did the cleaning now? 

Then the boxes. Boxes of nothing, of rubbish. Screws, random electrical wires, replacement light bulbs. Spares. Stuff you didn’t know what to do with so you just shoved it in the cupboard under the stairs so no one had to see it. 

Piles and piles of shit and shit, a cupboard full of nothing meaningful at all. But it mattered to Harry, it mattered, it had to. 

‘Fucking hell, stop, stop stop stop,’ he did, when he realised he’d just been launching things into the corridor, and now the useless shit was all over the carpet. 

He’d made a mess. 

Fuck. 

‘Fucking shit.’ Harry didn’t want to get in the cupboard anymore, he wanted to get out of this fucking place. Away from the ugly furniture and the ugly carpet and the fucking rubbish that didn’t mean anything to anyone. But he needed something from in there, something that, despite appearances, wasn’t rubbish at all. 

Breaths coming short and putting as little of his body in the space as possible, he reached deep into the cupboard, down the side where it slanted to meet the floor, and felt for the join in the skirting board. Just behind it, where he’d left it, a folded up sheet of paper, so worn it barely held together as he pulled it from behind the wood. 

They hadn’t found it, didn’t know it existed here in the cupboard, the only proof that he ever had. It was the only thing he had at all, really, of his own. This was Harry's, and he wouldn’t let them have it. 

Before he left he set the things back on the shelf. He wondered if the magic of the floating charm would linger. He didn’t think he wanted it to, if he wanted anything of his left here. He shut the door on the cupboard of useless, meaningless shit, and was surprised to find himself, after all of that, on the outside, and not in there along with it. He locked it for good measure and regarded it one last time. It’s very small, he thought suddenly, horrifically, and made himself leave it behind. 

In a bizarre attempt at defiance, Harry smashed one of Aunt Petunia's decorative china plates, watched the shards skid across the kitchen linoleum. Felt truly underwhelmed, if slightly tetchy at the sight of the mess on the pristine floor. Reparoed it, put it back, and apparated. 

Grimmauld Place greeted him the way he assumed an aloof, disinterested relative might. Offering an old, cold hand for you to shake, but never hold. He supposed he had Walburga Black to thank for that, her cloying presence seeming to be the very glue fastening the wallpaper to the walls.

The difference between the two houses jarred him so severely he almost ended up on the floor in the entryway. Instead he leaned, back pressed against the stupidly sentient wallpaper and tried to remember how to feel his fingers. He stared up at the ceiling that seemed to go up for miles and miles and felt truly and utterly unmoored. 

He took his glasses off, rubbed his eyes, didn’t put them back on. He left a trail of clothes in his wake on the way up to the bedroom, creating as much mess as he dared. It didn’t matter anyway, it was always gone when he woke up. As if by magic. By the time he got to bed all that remained were his boxers and the sheet of paper held tightly in his fist. He shoved it blindly into his bedside table, out of sight but not forgotten, and crawled between the sheets of the bed that belonged to his dead godfather. It was early afternoon but no sun made it past the curtains, and in the dark and without his glasses Harry could pretend that the walls weren’t so far away. He dare not make a sound, not for fear of discovery, but fear of the noise trailing out into the cavernous room. Skittering off the sides and coming back to haunt him. 

He lay awake, breathing softly despite the weight of his heart, and considered if the definition of a cupboard depended on its size or what, exactly, you were trying to conceal inside it.

[dracolucius-abraxusmalfoy]

[ashes-and-ashes]

The room is too quiet.

Harry’s always fallen asleep to the relentless background noise of other people; the rustle of bedsheets, the near-silent exhalations of people lost in slumber. He spent all of last year drifting off to the sound of wind and rain against the fabric of the tent the three of them had shared, counting each heavy breath he made as he slowly drifted off into sleep.

He can’t sleep now. The silence rings in his head, awful and unending. It feels a bit too much like flashing green and startling white, falling back into moss at the bottom of the Forest.

They’d given all the eighth years their own room - for space, McGonagall had said. He knew the real reason though - he’s heard the stifled noises through the cracks under doors, nightmares that pulled at the fragile seams of whatever silencing charms had been put up.

But everything’s too silent now. If he lies still Harry can hear the sound of his own heart thumping, still going after 17 years, still going even though so many had tried to stop it -

He doesn’t realize that he’s on his feet until he’s halfway down the hall, bare feet sinking into the thick carpet, one hand braced against the wooden door at the end of the corridor. The sconces flicker uncertainly on the wall, bathing everything in shades of shifting orange and soft yellows. Harry stares at his own fingers, splayed out against the cold surface of the door.

He’s an idiot - he knows this. Draco had said as much to him, out on the balcony just before they had burried Dumbledore, somehow still elegant despite everything. You’re a fucking idiot. A fucking martyr. Let someone else die for once.

Harry takes a deep breath, lets out a long exhale. Everything feels brittle, one good shove away from shattering completely. He closes his eyes against the spinning, fingers digging into the cold wood of Draco’s door.

No, he thinks viciously to himself. It takes a force of will to wrench his hand away from the door but he does it, as violently as if the wood was burning him. No. Broken, battered, weak -

The door opens, and in the darkness Draco is luminescent. He looks softer somehow, eyes half-lidded, hair in ridiculously soft waves. Harry doesn’t know where to look so he looks down - Draco’s feet are bare against the floorboards, the curve of his ankle sharp against the thin covering of skin. “Harry?” he says, in a voice smudged and tumbled by sleep, a piece of sea glass smoothed by the waves.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says - or maybe only his lips move. He can’t force anything out of his throat, everything too tight and closing up. “I - “

Draco just stares him down, then silently holds the door open wider. Harry follows him numbly inside, insides twisting with guilt.

He’s only been inside of Draco’s room once, on the first day back at Hogwarts. He still remembers it though - all soft grey silk and white sheets, trinkets covering the desk and bookshelves. There’s a photo on Draco’s bedside table, one of him and Blaise and Pansy, arms around each other. Draco had been caught mid laugh, his head thrown back and eyes closed and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen Draco laugh before.

“I’m sorry,” he says again - this time his voice actually comes out, sounding hoarse and gravelly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Draco just nods. He’s crossed legged on the bed, smoothing the comforter with wide sweeps of his hand. The curve of his back looks startling vulnerable in the moonlight, all ridges and shadows and starlight. “I know.”

“It’s too quiet,” Harry breathes.

Draco meets his gaze. He’s still sleep-warmed and gentle but his eyes have started to regain that familiar edge, the mix of cold cunning and logic. “Why me?”

He can’t answer that. Harry’s spent too many sleepless nights peeling apart his curiosity for Draco Malfoy, the strange feeling that kept pulling him closer and closer, even as he knew he should run.

“Because you understand.” Harry says, finally. “You’re the only one who does.”

Draco’s eyes darken. Harry wonders how long he took to comprehend it, the inexplainable pull that drew them together, the near-identical portraits of boys painted in blood. He wonders if Draco spent his nights caught in tangled webs of twisted stories, drowning under the weight of what he had done and what he still had to do.

“Yes,” Draco whispers, though Harry doesn’t know if it’s a response to his statement or an acknowledgment of the thoughts tearing through Harry’s mind.

They don’t say anything else after that, though they move in near-unison. Draco pulls back the covers on the bed, slips his legs underneath the comforter, as easy and as graceful as a shadow. The open window spills bars of starlight against the opposite wall and Harry can hear the soft lapping of the water just outside.

The bed is slightly cold when he gets under the blanket, though Draco’s body is like a furnace, just inches from pressing against Harry’s skin. He takes a deep breath, a long exhale and Harry watches the tension bleed from both their bodies.

He falls asleep to the sound of Draco’s chest rising and falling.