#sad harry

[justthingsfromsarah]

you look like my n(ex)t boyfriend

“You can’t spell next without ex,” Draco slurs, dropping down next to Harry.

Harry hums in response, trying vainly to ignore the white hot line where their bodies are pressed together. He hadn’t wanted to be Draco’s ex. Draco hadn’t really given him a choice.

He continues, ignorant of the ache in Harry’s chest. “But I don’t want there to be anybody else next.”

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt — ex

[dilligaf1985]

"How could you do this to meh?!"

THIS DOES NOT SHIP ANY PEDOPHILLIC SHIPS AND FRED AND GEORGE ARE BEING SATIRE

SCENE; Just as one Minerva McGonagall was walking down a corridor, tired about this entire Goblet of Fire happenstance and absolutely drained from setting up the Yule Ball, a grinning redhead stops her in her tracks.

"Well- Professor McGonagall," Fred (it is definitely Fred, how she always knows is something to be admired.) states- putting on the whole nervous act.

"Mr. Weasley," she greets cordially, smiling faintly despite her exhaustion, "How can I help you?"

Holding out a rose, this little bastard brightly states, "Care for me to take you to the Yule, 'fessor?" Fred asks, grinning like an idiot.

Staring at him for a solid 5 seconds, George pops out of nowhere looking scandalized, right at McGonagall.

"Pro-FESS-or!" he gasps, one hand to his chest, "How could you DO this to meh!?"

"I asked her first!" "Yeah but I asked her second" "AU YOU BASTARD!" "AW YOUUU BASTARD!!!" "I'll fight you for her" "Nuh uh me FIRST"

The twins proceed to have a squabble on the probably dirty probably cold stone floor of The Hallway.

Unable to stop herself, Minerva starts to shake with repressed laughter. (neither will admit it but both twins looked to her in genuine concern when this happened)

Then she starts laughing. Full on old-woman cackles and a full, happy laugh. The twins stare at her, both grinning like madmen. The actual purpose of this prank was, as always, to improve morale for the people involved. They cared, and this was how they showed it, whatever anybody else said it worked. And well, if the half-dying-clutching-on-the-wall-for-support transfiguration professor was anything to go by.

Just by chance, a certain green eyed child was invisibly stalking the corridors, extremely upset and in need of comfort was he- he peeked upon the scene curiously.

(He had just spent the past 20 minutes trying to get away from some Hufflepuffs who were "just making fun" of him because of that damned tournament)

"You know- you know I had two students who did just the same thing during Professor Dumbledore's time," she chuckles, wiping her eyes- which were glittering in amusement.

The twins simultaneously turn to each other, blink, turn back, and ask, "Who!" both in sync and with perfectly matched levels of excitement. Minerva had to stem her laughter harder.

The invisible specter sat against the wall, between both the wizened witch and the twin redheads, staring in slight exhaustion.

"James Potter and Sirius Black," she replied with a small sigh, leaning against the corner of the wall, as the Weasley twins sit up criss-cross applesauce and look to her like hooked kindergarteners. They were not the only ones, however, who looked to her in that moment.

"They once asked Professor Dumbledore-" George spits a rose petal out of his mouth in shock (wasn't Fred the one with the rose?), "to go to Hogsmede together, on Valentine's day of their third year," she smiles, tinged with that old kind of sadness as though it was, it was still fond.

George gapes. Fred subtly slides the rose he was twiddling into his twin's hair. Harry, on the other hand, is so shocked that he stops breathing for a moment. A second, fleeting all though it was, he starts gasping for breath right there on the wall. Thank god that he put that silencing charm on himself.

"Professor Dumbledore, though, jovially said yes to both of them, and both students were forced by their own doing to spend the evening with him," she smiles, a bit less sadly.

Unable to stand listening to this story even a bit longer, Harry races down the corridors, fighting hyperventilation by a hair. This was not what he needed right now. This was NOT what he needed right now. Collapsing into the small crawl space behind the portrait of one of the former Transfiguration professors, he curls into as small a ball as possible.

He just wanted to collapse and cry and god- he wanted someone to tell him it was okay to feel this way because nobody except his friends seemed to think he did. Oh yeah.

He could get his friends!

But he didn't want to get up, couldn't find the will to get up, so no Ron or Hermione or Neville, or Luna for him. Damnit.

They probably wouldn't want to deal with his pathetic display anyhow.

Spawning an overlarge fairy light to the area, he is bathed in a soft blue glow. New charm. They had to learn all the different types and ways to light up things anyways, so to hell with that rule that says no magic in the corridors- he wasn't in the corridors and he was practicing something for Charms thank you very much.

Harry flinches at the sound of footsteps.

Whoever it was passes by him, and he curls into himself impossibly tighter.

He wanted Snape. He wanted the man's comforting smell of herbs and medicines, he wanted his warmth and dark robes- and that ever so comforting heartbeat against his head- he wanted to be HELD- No. Stop. Stop.

He wouldn't ever have that- he couldn't ask for that-- he shouldn't even want it in the safety of his own mind.

But he did.

And god did it hurt so bad.

He wanted so badly to be in the man's comforting presence to be developed in those dark robes and to be held into be hugged and to be wanted that parental-

NO.

Just thinking about it, will make him want it more. He already craves it enough. More would be even more unwelcome. The man already indulged him so much. This would just be asking for too much. Harry knew- and God did he know well- that Snape did not like physical contact. He would be so deeply uncomfortable by what Harry wanted that he would just push him away again and again. It would hurt so much more than what the Dursleys ever did.

Harry just wanted to listen to some music and forget that he existed. In this random truce with Draco he could ask if maybe, just maybe he could be introduced to some magical options to music. He already asked Ron and Ron doesn't know anything about it, his mother does indeed have a radio, but he doesn't even know how to purchase one- neither do any of the Weasley children.

Draco probably listened to music all the time. He was a pampered white boy for Merlin's sake.

Now now, what have we said about conjecture? You don't do that Harry, you of all people should know how much conjecture can hurt.

Because it hurt every time he was at the Dursleys, every time anybody in Hogwarts accused him of doing something that he didn't do, once more it was in the way people interacted with him like he had been growing up magical all his life- in how he was expected to know all of these things that he had no clue how to even begin doing. Everybody already had different expectations of him before they even met him- and so very people would actually ever meet him- the real him- is the truth.

And he was tired.

That's the reason why he was here in the first place, right? He was just- so tired. He wanted someone to comfort him. And if the person giving that comfort was preferably somebody with black hair, a black cloak, and darker eyes... Then that was nobody's business but his own.

[vampishwitch]

A Harry Potter au, but in this story James and Remus had Harry together. And when Voldemort came to Godrics Hollow, only James died helping his wife Remus and their child escape into safe place. And the rest of the story could be like, Sirius never found guilty, Remus missing James a lot and never remarried and Harry wanting revenge for his father.

Yes, Remus is Harrys mommy, of course.

[sitp-recs]

Hey, I love your recs! They're actually what originally got me into drarry ages ago.

I was wondering, do you have any eighth year or soon after the war recs where Draco is out and happy and Harry is just dead and depressed? I've really wanted to see happy and finally free Draco (like when the Prophet LOVES Draco after the war) and Harry is just done with it all?

I've been dying to read some these, but I can't find any that hit the spot. Thanks for all you do!

Thank you, that makes me so happy! 🥹 I can’t think of any fics where the Prophet loves Draco, but these might work for you. They’re not all set in the immediate post-war tbh, but Harry is inspired by a free, confident Draco. I also have a list for out & proud Draco and for sad/closeted Harry. Enjoy!

Starstruck by phrynne (E, 4.5k)

Yeah, Malfoy has pink hair. Or sort of. Half of his hair is shaved short and dyed an aggressive pink. The other half is still white-blond, a strand falling over his right eye, only the left side of his face visible at all times. He turns it slightly and spots me beyond the moving bodies. He doesn’t stop dancing, a smile plays on his lips. This time I don’t look away like I used to when all this began.

We Might Be Too Old for a Bildungsroman by calrissian18 (T, 21k)

Harry finds something he’s been looking for since the war’s end. Admittedly, the packaging’s a bit odder than he expected.

A Year in Training by Omi_Ohmy (M, 25k)

Harry is finally living his dream and training as an Auror, but nothing seems to be going right: he’s just so angry all the time. And Draco Malfoy’s presence on the programme really isn’t helping with that, either.

I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor by birdsofshore (E, 28k)

Harry felt lit up from inside as soon as he entered the bar. There were blokes dancing together, their bodies close to one another, not keeping a wary distance as Harry was always careful to do when he was near another man. God, he wanted this – wanted it so much he could taste it, a metallic tang of heat and desire. He suspected nothing would ever be the same again – especially when he saw who else was in the room.

Here's The Pencil, Make It Work by ignatiustrout (M, 49k)

Harry thinks "Why is Malfoy working in a coffee shop in muggle London?" is a much simpler question than, "Are you going to accept that auror offer and, if you don't, what will you do?"

Modern Love by tackytiger (E, 61k)

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.

The Beauty of Thestrals and Other Unseen Things by Writcraft (E, 63k)

Harry has terrific friends, an amazing girlfriend and his job as Head Auror enables him to work on challenging cases and Ministry reform. He just wishes he could work out why he’s been so out of sorts.

[renharry-styles]

crying in like a not cool way

[phonesare]

Ok so like these are some pictures of harry for my Twisted wonderland x Harry Potter crossover.

P.s. there not my pictures

Check out my AO3 account @phonesare

[theresthesnitch]

The Sound that broke the Silent Night

This is almost a response to this prompt by @impishtubist but I made some changes. Wolfstar raising Harry, but make it Santa.

TW: implied abuse at the Dursley house. Nothing explicit.

Read here on AO3. 

“Moons, it’ll be great. Don’t worry so much.” Sirius adjusted the big black buttons on the red coat, then straightened the white fuzz on his cuffs.

Remus sighed. “He’s going to know it’s you, and then he’ll just be confused. Or worse, afraid.”

Sirius scoffed. “Come on. He knows who Santa is, or at least who the muggles think he is. He has no reason to suspect it's me. He’ll totally buy it.” Sirius popped the red hat on his head and began charming a fluffy white beard on his face.

Honestly, Sirius was prepared to try anything to get Harry to smile. Harry had been living with them for just under two months, after spending a year with those dreadful muggles that Lily called relatives. A year away from them had been far, far too long.

Too long for the two twenty-one year olds who just wanted to feel connected to the last living connection to their best friends.

Too long for the two year old who was kept in a damned closet by his wretched aunt and uncle.

Too long for the Wizengamot to finally listen to Sirius and Remus when they screamed that Sirius deserved a trial. Too long to check his wand and memory, which he willingly offered. Too long to clear his name. Too long to approve them to adopt Harry. Too long for some damn social worker who thought she was a fairy godmother to check the box that said a home with two gay men was good enough for a lost little boy who only wanted to be loved.

It was too long, but a year is what it took.

So on November 2, 1982, Sirius and Remus stood at the end of the small sidewalk outside of 4 Privet Drive, waiting for the two and a half year old Harry to come out with his meager belongings. (They would have waited inside, but when they knocked they were told not to come in.)

In the fifty-two days since that Harry had been living with them, they were slowly undoing the damage that staying with those muggles had done to him. Every day, they cursed the muggles and the social worker and Wizengamot and Dumbledore and fucking Peter Pettigrew for making this their reality.

They tried to get him to sleep in their bed the first night, assuming that it would be better if he felt connected to them. However, Harry stood trembling by the door in their room, clutching the blanket that they had given him to his chest, until they finally relented and told him that he could sleep wherever he wanted. He went to his room and closed the door. Twenty minutes later when a friendly black dog trotted into his room, he found Harry curled up on a thin blanket in the back of his closet.

Harry woke up the next morning with the dog curled up against him, and every morning after that until Sirius and Remus finally coaxed him out of the closet, out from under the bed, off the floor, and finally under his own covers. Sometimes, Harry still woke up sleeping with the dog.

In all that time, they had not been able to elicit so much as a smile from the little boy, much to their dismay. It broke their hearts to see the once vibrant little boy dimmed so much.

So when Christmas finally came around, and they caught Harry looking wistfully at the Christmas displays of fat, jolly men in bright red suits as they walked past the muggle shops, they knewthat they would be having a muggle Christmas that year. Sirius peppered Remus with a thousand questions on Santa and elves and reindeer and oh my god, Moony, can we get real reindeer? Prongs would absolutely want us to.

(Remus vetoed the real reindeer, but they agreed to transfigure reindeer figurines just in case.)

Christmas Eve was well underway, and Remus spent the afternoon baking cookies for Santa with Harry, who seemed to still be uncertain as to whether Santa would actually come. Sirius was shockingly missing from the baking activities, but arrived back in time to read ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas with Harry. They set out cookies and milk, tucked Harry into bed, and told him to sleep tight so Santa would come.

“Santa come?” His big doe eyes and quivering jaw betrayed his feelings.

Remus sat on the edge of his bed. “Yeah, bud. Santa’s coming tonight. He’ll bring lots of presents for you.” Remus leaned down and pressed a kiss into the crown of Harry's head. "Go to sleep, Harry. Santa will come soon."

Sirius was in their room and digging through a garment bag before Remus had even finished closing the door to Harry's room. It wasn't until Sirius slipped on the red pants over his regular black boots that Remus realized what he was doing. "Where did you get that?"

Sirius's mischievous smile was all the answer he got.

Twenty minutes later, decked out in red and white with a charmed beard to match, Santa Sirius made his way downstairs. He cast a spell to make reindeer sounds on the roof, carried jingle bells down the hall, and began pulling presents out of a bag that must have had an undetectable extension charm in order to fit the number of presents that Sirius was pulling out. Definitely far more than the reasonable number of gifts that they had agreed upon (which was actually far more than Remus really thought was necessary, but they compromised.)

"Santa, I think you've brought too many toys. Those must belong to some other little boy because we agreed on—"

"Nonsense, Moony. Where's your joy?"

"Probably the same place you stashed the receipts for all of— Is that a kid's potion set? He's too little to even use that!"

"Then I'll use it with him! It'll be great fun. We'll make scent changing air fresheners or whatever this thing can do."

"You don't even know what—"

They stopped talking at the sound of a small gasp from the top of the stairs. Neither one of them looked, but their eyes went wide as they realized that Harry had snuck out of his room.

Little marauder. Takes after his old man.

"Ho ho ho. Let me finish unloading the presents."

Remus rolled his eyes at Sirius's suddenly deep and jolly voice. "Yes, Santa. But only the ones for Harry."

Sirius turned and winked at him, a damned literal twinkle in his eye. "All of them are for Harry! He's been such a good boy."

"He has, but—"

A small giggle cut into the room, and silence followed it. Remus fought it for a moment, but glanced up to the landing where the little boy had his face pressed to the rails of the stairs. "Harry." His voice was a little breathless, and he realized that he was fighting back tears. "Do you want to come meet Santa?"

Another giggle rang out, and the patter of little feet on the landing before the slow and careful steps down the stairs. Remus met Santa's eyes again, and he could tell that Sirius was taking deep, steadying breaths.

Harry made it to the bottom of the stairs and ran over to Remus. He half hid behind Remus's leg, peering around to see Santa.

Remus ran a hand through Harry's hair. "Harry, darling, this is Santa. He brought you some presents."

"Presents?"

Sirius squat down in front of them, not bridging the gap but staying a safe distance away. “Yes, Harry. You were on my very nice list this year, so you get extra presents.”

“But I bad boy.”

Something in Remus fractured when Harry said it, and he watched Santa’s smile falter as well. Remus squatted down next to Harry, wrapping his arm around the boy. “Who told you that, Harry?”

“A’n Penunia. I bad boy.”

“No, Harry. You’ve been a very good boy.” Remus pulled him closer to his side. “You’re the best, and I’m sorry anyone let you think otherwise.”

“I get presents? Not coa?”

Sirius’s white charmed eyebrows knit together. “What’s coa, Harry?”

“Coa. Coa for Santa.” Harry made a cupping gesture with his hands. “Coa.”

Remus swallowed past a knot in his throat. “No, Harry. No coal.” Sirius looked at Remus in confusion, but he only shook his head and mouthed later.

“Presents.” It was no longer a question, and they saw Harry look around with wide eyes at all of his gifts.

“Santa.” Sirius’s head popped in Remus’s direction. “Do you think it would be alright if Harry opened one gift tonight?” Harry gasped, a look of absolute wonder on his face as he turned to look at Santa.

Sirius swallowed hard, then nodded. “I think that would be perfectly fine.”

Harry’s hands popped up to cover his mouth, and he giggled. Remus couldn’t look away from his adorable face as Sirius handed him one very lumpy package. Harry ripped the paper off to reveal a plush deer toy.

“His name is Prongs, Harry.” Harry looked straight into Santa’s sparkling grey eyes. “Do you think you could take really good care of him?”

Harry nodded, his face breaking into a genuine smile as he hugged the little toy to his chest. A moment later, Harry dashed across the gap between them and threw his hands around Sirius’s neck. Remus fought back tears as he heard the quiet thank you that was muffled by Santa’s beard.

Remus took Harry back to bed, while Santa stayed to finish laying out all the presents, and tucked him in with his brand new deer toy. When he made it back downstairs, Sirius was laying on the floor, clutching his red and white hat to his chest. Remus knelt down next to him, and they both cried together.

“Moony, he laughed.”

“Yes, and he insisted on sleeping with Prongs. Made me tuck him right in too.”

“Do you think—“ Sirius swallowed, then looked up and met Remus’s eyes. “Do you think we are going to be alright?”

Remus squeezed his eyes closed and nodded. “I think we’re going to be just fine, Sirius.”

“Merry Christmas, Moony.”

“Merry Christmas, Padfoot.”

~~~

Promptly at 5 am the next morning, Sirius woke up to find a head of messy hair and a pair of green eyes peeking over the top of his mattress. Sirius nudged Remus with his far hand before addressing the small boy. “Good morning, Harry.”

“Unc Pa’foo. I got Prongs from Santa.” Harry held up the little stuffed toy.

“I see that. Do you want to go see what else Santa brought?”

Harry’s head bobbed emphatically, and he darted out the door.

“Wait for us, Harry!” Remus called after him, then turned to Sirius with a smile.

Yes. They would be just fine.

[rockingrobin69]

Whatever helps

Harry liked to take long walks in the forest.

Well, liked might be a strong word for it. It never seemed like he enjoyed it, during. He never seemed that excited beforehand. But he would get glassy-eyed, and his leg won’t quit bouncing, and he’d look at Draco with a question, and the answer was always yes. So they’d go. Harry would Apparate them both to a spot deep in the green, and Draco would never complain, even if the occasional shrub tore a hole through his favourite jumper. He knew it was part of the ritual, the not knowing exactly where they’d end up.

They would wander around, not necessarily on a path, never repeating the same trail. Draco even thought, although there was no way to be sure, they were seldom in the same forest twice. Harry liked the notion of being in a place he didn’t recgonise. And if it was too dark, or foggy or muddy, Draco said nothing. He tucked the uneasiness in his belly and kept going.

They’d never talk, not a single word between them during these walks. Even when the ground was icy and Draco slipped, he wasn’t brave enough to venture the silence. He’d keep his swearwords to himself and waddle after Harry, because Harry liked the cold, felt at home in it. There weren’t many things he felt comfortable with, and that Draco knew. So he’d always give him this, even if his feet hurt or if he didn’t even get to grab a jacket. He’d follow him anywhere, that had already been established long ago. And sometimes Harry would take his hand—squeeze it so hard he’d nearly yelp. Draco cherished these moments, however mad that sounded, because. Well. Harry wasn’t really the type to share. And this, whatever this was, was somehow connected to Harry’s heart of hearts, to the most sacred, secret part of him. And when he took Draco’s hand he would give him a brief look, and then Draco would know. It was enough.

Every once in a while, Harry would stop. He’d put his hand up, eyes wild, so tense he was buzzing. Draco could never tell if he was looking for something, then, or trying to hide from something looking for him. Draco knew he still felt hunted, sometimes. It pained him to see Harry like that, way worse than falling on his arse or ruining his clothes or having to keep still in the oppressive, horrible silence. Harry still carried so much. So Draco stayed, and remained quiet, even if it broke his heart.

There would never be anything in the forest, anyway, neither person nor animal. Just trees, just the earth, just the fear. But Harry liked it, and Draco was happy to help. Or, maybe Harry didn’t like it, but he needed it. And maybe Draco wasn’t happy, per se, but he did it anyway. He would do anything, it would seem. Even though he really fucking hated the woods.