#maesterchill writes

[maesterchill]

none but the brave

Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt 'brave'. Filling the following 5 bingo squares: veela, werewolves, Harry POV, idiots in love, 250 words.

It had been different, with Fleur.

He hadn’t felt the compulsion. Not like Ron.

But now, watching Malfoy make his fashionably-late entrance into the pub, all pearlescent skin, hair like moonlight, Harry feels something snap.

Something primal.

He stands up so fast his chair scrapes loudly. Shouldering past a floating tray of firewhisky shots, almost toppling them, he grabs Malfoy’s wrist.

“Malfoy,” Harry says, breathless, “have I ever told you about the time I wrestled a rabid werewolf to the ground with my bare hands?”

“No, you haven't, Potter.” Malfoy's voice lilts, like birdsong, a quivering flute melody. “Because you never did that. You’re on the literal board of the Werewolf Rights charity, you idiot.”

Harry falters. Feels a bit stupid. 

Stupidly in love. 

And Malfoy just isn’t getting it.

“I’d protect you!” Harry blurted, “if one ever tried to hurt you. I’d do anything—”

“Yes, yes, you’re terribly brave. Now, snap out of it.” He clicks his fingers, and like that, Harry's mind clears.

“Fuck, sorry about that.” He releases Malfoy's wrist. “I don’t usually fall for the allure.”

Malfoy frowns. “The what?”

“The Veela allure… that activated on your twenty-first birthday?”

“Do you believe every stupid rumour Witch Weekly prints?” Malfoy’s delighted laugh is musical and lovely, and Harry desperately wants to impress him all over again. What the hell—?

“So, wait, you’re not—”

“No, Potter. Now, does this sudden gallantry extend to buying me a birthday drink? Or do I have to fight a werewolf for it?”

[maesterchill]

Ron is a good friend

Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt 'overdrive'. Approx 450 words

Ron’s flicking through a Quidditch mag when his Floo roars to life. What bugger calls at eleven o’clock at night?

A pair of specs and a mop of dark curls materialise in the flames. “Ron, you there?”

“Haz!” Ron shuffles off the couch onto the rug so he can chat. “Everything ok?”

“Ron,” Harry says, a strange edge to his voice, his face half-warped by firelight, “do you think I’m homophobic?”

Ron snorts. “Are you mental? I’ve never known you to be weird around gay people.”

Flame Harry is nodding. “Right? RIGHT? I’m NOT weird around them!” His voice is too loud; and a couple of embers pop off his lips and sizzle the rug.

“Right. You’re fine with Charlie. And Gin and Pansy.” Ron checks them off on his fingers. “And Dean and Seamus obviously.”

Harry nods along, then frowns. “Yeah. That’s what I thought too, but ugh.”

“Whaddya mean ‘ugh’? What’s the problem?” Ron squints. “Wait a sec. Malfoy’s gay. Are we talking about Malfoy? Did you two get into another fight at work?”

“No! No fight. Just—”

“Just?”

Harry rakes his hair with a flaming hand. “He keeps talking about this guy he went on a couple of dates with, Leroy or Leonard or something. And it’s just… YUCK. Even the thought of them together or holding hands or kissing … my mind goes into overdrive, and I feel SO uncomfortable, and yeah, I think I must be a homophobe. Maybe I picked it up from Vernon, he used to go on about it being a sin.”

“Mate, no.”

“There’s no other possible explanation!” Harry’s voice has risen an octave. “He keeps talking about Leo’s wonderful eyes or his smile, and he even showed me a photo and, fuck, I just want to punch him.”

“Punch Malfoy? Well, that's understandable.” 

“No! Malfoy’s boyfriend, and his stupid face and his stupid perfect smile.” Harry flails, flames dancing from the ends of his fingers. “How can a smile even be perfect? Because Leonardo’s apparently is.” 

Ron’s shaking his head. “Harry, I hate to say this, but you sound kinda like—”

“Like a raging bigot? A homophobic dickhead?”

“Like you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?!” Harry splutters, tiny sparks peppering the hearth. “Of what? What would he have that I’m jealous of?”

“Give it a minute,” Ron sighs. 

"Huh?" Harry’s brow crinkles up. “Ron? Wait…” His eyes go wide. “No.”

Ron grins. “THERE you go.”

“No, that’s impossible, I’m not even gay, or bi, or whatever— And anyway, it's Malfoy! Fuck. Fuck.” Harry’s face collapses into horror, and his hair blazes brightly for a spilt-second. "Am I? For him?"

Ron’s grin spreads. “Yep, and yep.”

“Oh god, Ron, what am I gonna do?”

“Tell you what, why don’t you pop through for a whisky, and we’ll hatch a plan to make him forget all about this Leroy muppet?”

[maesterchill]

Precarious

Written as a gift for @citrusses on her birthday, inspired by the @drarrymicrofic prompt 'tightrope.' Happy birthday, Cits!! Hope you have a lovely day writing under the blankets 🍂 (CW: infidelity, but not between D & H)

Potter finds him on the way to the cafeteria.

“Malfoy,” he says, ruddy-cheeked and bright-eyed. “Before you eat, come with me in here a sec. I want to show you something.”

Draco genuinely thinks there’s something he’s meant to see. But when they turn the corner, Potter leads them into the supply cupboard and presses Draco against a tall stack of memo paper, and kisses him. Hot, damp lips against his own, and Draco’s whole body goes limp. Then Potter licks into him vigorously, and every nerve in him lights up, and he grabs Potter’s robes and clings desperately to him, giddy, unbalanced.

“Wh— what did you want to show me?” Draco manages to say between hot breaths.

Potter's tongue retreats from Draco’s mouth, and he pulls back, rubbing the back of his head. His lips are red and shiny. Swollen.

“I actually just wanted to snog you,” he admits, all sheepish. Draco’s mouth falls open, and Potter sticks his tongue back into it. Draco's heart stops when Potter slips a hand between them, and then it speeds right up when Potter unfastens both their trousers with a wordless spell.

After that, Draco knows.

Malfoy, can you help me with the wand movement for that new tracking spell?

Malfoy, let me help you carry those boxes down to the archive room.

Malfoy, quick question for you, it’ll just take a moment.

It's covert, clandestine. He knows he's Potter's sinful little secret.

They're walking a tightrope… if Potter’s wife finds out, they both have a very long way to fall.

But he still goes with Potter.

Every. Single. Time.

[maesterchill]

turn to the altar of lust

680 words written for @drarrymicrofic song prompt 'Sinner' by The Last Dinner Party. And as a gift for my fellow micro mod @tackytigerfic. Bit of sudsy smut for you on your birthday!!! 🫧🧼🚿

Draco won’t look at him. Harry doesn’t know why; it’s not like the guy usually has any modesty—showing off is practically his trademark. The shower curtain is cold and clammy, sucking against Harry’s hip and bum as he watches the obstinate line of Draco’s back, the defeated way his head hangs as he presses his forearms against the tiles, the dreadful groan of relief at the water sluicing down his back and dripping noisily onto the rubber bathmat. 

He won’t ask. He’s just glad Draco came to him. Glad he allowed Harry to remove his tattered clothes, glad he allowed him to manhandle him into his shower bath, glad he nodded when Harry peeled his own clothes off and offered to help. Harry said he’d scrub his back, wash his hair, help get the dirt and grime off, but he senses something else is getting washed away here, something Draco doesn’t want to tell him about. Harry gets that. He’s had those moments too. He won’t ask. 

He squirts a glob of shower gel into his palm—bright blue stuff that supposedly smells of sea minerals, left over from a Christmas gift set Hermione gave him.  Draco lets out a shuddering exhale as Harry begins to clean. Draco’s back is smooth, a contrast to the raised scars on his chest and stomach, but it’s not unmarked, and Harry skates around the purpling bruises with the pads of his fingers—circling and spiralling through the lather.

Draco shifts and sighs under his touch, and Harry becomes aware of the reflection of Draco’s cock in the chrome of the bath tap, watching in interest as it begins to fill out. No big deal. Mightn’t be because of Harry. Sometimes a bloke just gets hard for no reason. Innocent enough.

Draco probably doesn’t know what he should do about it, here in front of Harry. Maybe Harry should let him know it’s okay to deal with it if he wants. They’re both grown men for Merlin’s sake. No big deal. Not as if it's a sin.

But everything’s fogging up, all clouded, steamy, languid, like a dream, and Harry finds himself shifting closer to Draco. And if his own cock is half-hard, if it’s brushing up against the back of Draco’s thigh, that’s no big deal either. His hand lands on Draco’s hip, slides around the front, slipping into sodden wiry hair. Draco tenses, gasps, and Harry shushes him, mate, it’s okay, it’s all okay. He’s only going to show him, show him that there’s nothing wrong with it.

His fingers curl around Draco’s cock and glide over it, straightening out its soft curve. A noise, low and guttural, almost swallowed up in the rush of the water, as Draco firms and grows in Harry’s soapy grip. 

Harry’s hips instinctively hitch forward, his cock now fully erect and bumping Draco’s buttock, and he pulls back slightly, closes his eyes, tries not to think about the pink depths of Draco, how he might feel between those cheeks. Instead, he concentrates on his task, on the wet pulling of Draco’s cock, on Draco’s moans, the hitched breaths and gulping swallows. His other hand slides around Draco’s stomach, holds him firm and safe.

It isn’t until sharp pleasure flares up Harry’s spine that he dares to open his eyes. Draco is pushing his arse back into Harry, his shoulders flushed red and his neck craning awkwardly as he watches Harry work his cock. The fog lifts from Harry’s brain in a rush. They’re riding each other properly now, between fist and arse cleft, Draco clutching the rattling shower curtain, his other hand splayed against the wall as he rolls his hips, and they’re moving in a sweet, wet rhythm, and it’s so good and hot and slippery, and they’re both moaning, and… and... and...

Harry plants his mouth on Draco’s neck to make the ‘and’s stop, to still them before he erupts. It wasn’t supposed to get this far— he only meant to—

And then Draco finally turns, his lips find Harry’s, and there’s no more stopping.

[maesterchill]

just cause

for @drarrymicrofic prompt: ground(s) | 130 words | CW: Auror brutality, sex worker slur, morally grey Harry

-

Malfoy’s eyes are wet, silver, furious. 

You are hereby sentenced to five years in Azkaban, on the following grounds:

He’s sprawled on the pavement outside The Leaky, robes hiked up. 

Dereliction of duty

Milk-pale calves, defiled with mud spatters. Jacobson’s sludgy bootprint sullying his cheek.

Aiding a known criminal

Jacobson laughs, "Filthy whore". Raises his boot again.

“P- Potter,” Malfoy begs, breath a smoky cloud in the freezing air. 

A flash—the night after Ginny filed for divorce. Ferocious silver eyes and a hot, hot mouth. Harry’d been the one begging.

Conduct unbecoming an Auror

Intent surges through Harry. Fierce. Vivid. More than he’s ever known. 

And, most egregiously, using an Unforgivable on a fellow Auror.

And he'd do it again.

For those silver eyes.

Guards, please escort Mr Potter out

[maesterchill]

tea is served

Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt 'Slander' (225 words)

‘And then there was that time during potty training when he waddled off to the hydrangea bushes and dropped his tiny trousers. Sadly unaware of the very inquisitive peacock lurking behind him. He ran screeching through the manor and complained of a “sore botty” for weeks.’

“Oh my god,” Harry laughed.

‘Don’t forget the massive crush he had on the Minister for Magic.’

“Fudge?!”

‘Oh yes. Obsessed. He kept so many election flyers and clippings under his pillow that there was a permanent imprint of Cornelius’ face on the satin.’

“Amazing.”

‘That was, of course, until he started at Hogwarts. The house-elves were under strict instructions not to disturb the Witch Weekly shrine. Or his Boy-Who-Lived figurine collection.’

“I'm sorry, his what?”

‘You heard me. Breakfast cereal toys. All. Seven. Limited. Editions.’

"No way. I can't—"

‘Septimus, tell him about when Draco spent an entire weekend begging Mummy dearest to help him sew some costumes to impress a boy at school—’

The parlour door burst open. It was Draco—clearly finished in the little boys' room, though he looked far more panicked than freshened up.

“Lies! Scurrilous lies! Harry, you must know these buffoons are just portraits and don’t have real memories.”

Harry lifted his teacup, and then a single eyebrow. “Mm hmm.” He took a sip. “Just please tell me you kept the Fudge pillowcase.”

[maesterchill]

All apologies

Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt 'fold'. ~520 words

“Al, I'm sorry.”

Albus looked up from his careful folding. His dad stood in the doorway, hands shoved in his jeans, wearing an expression like he’d bitten into something sour.

"Er, okay," Albus said, sucking on the paper cut on his index finger. “I mean it’s probably cool? Whatever you’re apologising for.” Albus tilted his head, trying to think why his dad might think he was pissed off with him. Nothing came to mind. Still, Harry looked genuinely stricken. “Did something happen I don’t know about?”

“Can I sit?” Harry nodded towards the spare chair in Albus’ cramped study.

“Go for it." 

Harry lowered himself gingerly into the seat, just about avoiding bumping the tray of quills or toppling the stack of cards.

“It’s just I— I wanted to, er, acknowledge…” His hand raked through his beard. “Back when you and Scorpius got together. Your mum and I... we didn’t— we weren’t great about it.” 

Understatement, Albus thought.

Harry shook his head. “No, that’s rubbish, it was mostly me, not Gin." He picked up a quill, put it down. Sighed loudly. "Merlin, I was so focused on keeping you safe that I... I never stopped to consider how you were actually feeling. What you were going through. I insisted I knew best, and all I managed to do was make you have to lie and sneak around behind my back.”

Albus stayed silent, trying to decide how to respond. He opened a drawer and took out some dark green sealing wax. 

Harry smoothed a hand along the thigh of his jeans, then looked Albus in the eye. “It’s shitty of me to be saying this six years too late, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you to make your own choices.”

Albus nodded slowly, selecting the custom-made seal from the tray on his desk. “Well yeah, I was pretty pissed off with you back then. I– I loved Scorp. I loved him so much. I get why you thought it was risky. But you were so wrong about him, and you just wouldn’t listen. That's why I dated him anyway, despite your disapproval. And… it was worth it, worth you being angry and disappointed. He was worth it.”

Harry made a hurt noise, scratched at the back of his neck, nodding in agreement. “I was wrong. I’m sorry it took me so long to realise.” 

“You were definitely a dickhead about it—sorry to swear. But I’m glad you came round eventually."

“Scorpius is a good man.” Harry sounded a bit choked up. “I’ll be so proud to be his father-in-law. So bloody proud to give you away to him.”

Albus ducked his head, hiding a smile as his heart swooped giddily at the very thought. He straightened the stack of folded invitations and got his wand out, ready to melt the wax. “So like… what’s brought this on after six years?” 

Harry coughed and fiddled with his leather bracelet.

“Let’s just say I’ve recently begun to understand how it might feel to fall for someone… someone others mightn't approve of… someone who’s worth risking it all for.”

[maesterchill]

tread softly

(Drarry, T, ~2.5k, flatmates, pining, miscommunication, obliviousness, alternating POVs, sad wanking)

When Harry needs a temporary place to stay, Draco offers his home. It turns out to be nothing like they dreamed it would be. That is, until the space between the dream and the reality finally collapses.

A gift for the talented and lovely @citrusses! You are a shining star in this fandom, and a brilliant friend! Thanks to @sweet-s0rr0w and @tackytigerfic for the beta brilliance.

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