this was so much fun! my first time writing for the drarry discord monthly drabble challenge, and what a joy it was!
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Prompt: Spring
WC: 192
Sleep is a comfort, a safe haven. When Draco sleeps, he dreams.
Long blades of grass whispering against his skin, leaves rustling in gentle sighs, clouds floating on the edge of his consciousness. He can reach out his hand, feel the soil under his fingers, small grains unsprouted catching his nails. Tiny saplings bursting forth, breaking free of their confines, cracking the surface of the earth, sun hot and high as it beams down on him and his peace.
His days make him yearn for it. Keeping himself compact, shoulders shrinking, the blood rushing in his veins and his heart pounding beneath his fear. The magic in the manor clinging, shadowed, insidious, and silent. He occludes, and imagines himself back in his meadow, breaths deepening in his chest, sweat cooling as he reaches desperately for that liminal state.
When he enters the drawing room, panicked excitement swirling around him, tension building as each step brings him closer to the subject, he’s in a fog. He is not here, he is there.
Until their eyes meet. He sees green, like his meadowed blades. Tawny skin, like the dust turned up against his palms.
written for 2/5/21 prompt “miracle” - @drarrymicrofic
word count: 677 - oops 😬
With the assistance of a sharp shove in the back, Draco stumbled forward, chains on his wrists and ankles clinking as he tried to keep his balance. A metallic click of a lock behind him, ringing loud in the dim basement, before the hum of magic in the tiny cell activated and began levitating him to the surface of the courtroom above him. He forced his eyes to close, took a deep breath and occluded.
He was sure the trial was going as had already been previously decided. He was the son of a well-known Death Eater, already convicted and kissed, and marked himself, after all. He had done so many things wrong, had made so many choices, wicked ones, that he held no hope of redemption. So, this end was quite inevitable, and Draco deemed his attention to his demise as superfluous. The proceedings carried on; questions were asked – and answered in a dull, flat tone – but it was all playing out in the back of his hazy mind. The chill from the dementors above was seeping into his bones, and the fact that he knew they would be the perpetrators of his justice in mere moments barely cut through his fog by way of a small shiver. He was tired and he was guilty. The war was over, and he would get his come-uppance, and he tried to convince himself that he was glad – because he deserved it.
There was an all too familiar throat clearing to his left, and the bright lights of the room were searing as he raised his eyes to the person beside him, walls falling, disintegrating, into rubble. Harry fucking Potter. Of course, it was him. And of course, he was testifying on his behalf. Bloody Saviour of the Wizarding World, and he’d deemed Draco a lost enough cause to come and defend his actions. Actions that had deadly consequences, that shaped the virulent path the war had taken. Draco had the sudden realization that Potter had been talking, as the man finally fell silent, one hand tugging anxiously on his unruly black hair.
Broken and wilted as he was, he tried to summon enough anger to glare at him through the bars, but all that resulted was a disconcertingly anguished expression. He turned his gaze to the Wizengamot as Kingsley lifted his gavel and struck against mahogany, trying and failing to retreat into his mind. Surely, not even the testimony of the Prat-Who-Wouldn’t-Die would be enough to balance his misdeeds. Draco reminded himself to breathe as the room began to spin.
Exhale.
“On account of the combined testimonies and evidence presented, including but not limited to Mr. Malfoy’s underage status during the alleged crimes, we hereby present the decision of Not Guilty on all charges. Considering his previous association with Death Eater activities, Mr. Malfoy will serve one year of house-arrest, and will be required to return to Hogwarts in September for his final year of schooling as part of his time served.”
Inhale.
The loud crack of the gavel rang out again, and the room descended into chaos. Draco’s eyes searched the room frantically, looking for his mother’s familiar face before he was taken below again. He finally spotted her by the wide wooden doors, being escorted out of the courtroom by a pair of harried Aurors. They were stark in their vibrant ruby robes, one hand on their wands while the other hand encompassed her small frame as if to protect her from the masses.
Exhale.
The cage rattled and slowly began to lower beneath the floor, presumably back to that dingy basement where he would be, by all intents and purposes, released as a free man. A shade of emerald caught his eye, behind those ridiculous spectacles that had become so familiar over the past seven years. Potter didn’t drop his gaze, cheeks flushed, feet shuffling awkwardly as he raised a solemn hand in acknowledgment. Draco managed to dip his head in a slight nod before the dark swallowed him up.
