Prompt: Imagine Draco insulting Harry, who just cries because he’s having a shit day. Cue Draco panicking because he hadn’t been that mean and now he’s made the Saint cry.
Okay, so, I said I was writing this yesterday, and I did. I wrote a 5k thing that is still being Alpha’d. It was still inspired by the same prompt, butI got very carried away and I honestly don’t know if it even works. SO! I have also written this 😂 At some point I will upload the 5k thing (I’ve worked too damn hard on it to abandon it) and you can have a proper fic, but for now, enjoy this!! Sorry for the wait, I hope it satisfies your fluff and angst needs!
It just couldn’t get any worse.
Harry sighed as the laughs and gasps echoed around the Great Hall, drawing more stares from his fellow students and even the teachers. It took every ounce of his self-control to resist the urge to hex himself into oblivion.
On the table in front of him sat a Hagrid sized teddy bear, holding a heart the size of a human head, adorned with an arrow. It had taken 11 owls to carry it in, and had made the entire table jolt when it was dropped down, sending breakfasts everywhere flying.
It was in dire need of an Incendio.
Being the Chosen One in Eighth Year was proving to be more difficult than he anticipated. Each morning he was inundated with gifts, love letters, and thank you notes, each more embarrassing than the last, thanking him for defeating Voldemort, asking him on dates, and generally offering to worship his feet.
To make matters worse, he still wasn’t sleeping properly, being hounded by nightmares that detailed how The War could have ended, so he watched his friends die repeatedly every week. Those same friends had also all paired up in a Post-War love making frenzy, leaving him with lots of extra time on his hands whilst they engaged in activities he definitely didn’t want to be involved in. It wasn’t that he didn’t want them to be unhappy. Of course he did! He just didn’t expect relationships to take up so much time.
To top things off, NEWT level work was kicking his arse, even with the extra time he had to study. All he wanted was a quiet year, one where he didn’t have to worry about anything other than his school work. Why was that so difficult?!
As the laughter and staring continued, the glass eyes of the soulless bear baring into his own, he’d had enough.
“I’ll see you in Charms,” he quickly muttered to Hermione, leaving before she could form a word.
This just couldn’t possibly get any worse.
Draco grinned as he watched Potter storm out of the Great Hall in the wake of his loving fanmail. It honestly sickened him how much people adored Saint Potter, but seeing him getting frustrated with his gifts made it a little bit more bearable.
Throwing it in his face helped a lot.
Without saying a word, he quickly followed the Golden Boy, knowing his friends weren’t awake enough to miss him; no one really liked mornings in Slytherin. A flash of raven-hair down the corridor had his jogging to catch up.
“Off to make out with your lover, Potter?” He drawled to the unruly mess of hair.
“Poor them, I say. Who would want your ugly face and crooked glasses on theirs?!”
The sound of Malfoy’s laughter echoed off the stone walls, reverberating through him. He shook his head, trying to ignore the taunt and kept walking. To his annoyance, the sound of Malfoy’s footsteps followed him; each slap of leather on the concrete drawing more hairs on his neck upright.
What was that git’s problem?! Why couldn’t he just leave him alone? Couldn’t he see that he hated this?! Before he could put a decent distance between them, Malfoy’s sneering voice reached him again.
“The whole school knows you’re awful in bed too, Potter! You couldn’t even keep the Weaselette for a whole month!”
Cold slammed into him like a dragon protecting her offspring, forcing him to stop in the middle of the hallway. Rage boiled through him, crawling up his arms, his legs, squirming in his stomach. He shook, breath coming in gasps, tears forcing their way into his-
Harry swallowed as his anger was consumed almost instantly. He tried to keep his breathing even, he tried to calm down, but it was futile; his body betrayed him. Within seconds, he was drowning in a tidal wave of hysterical pain that originated from deep in his core, overwhelming his senses with a desire to wail in despair. He was powerless to resist or fight the tears that were spilling from his eyes.
Everything was just too much; he’d fought too long, too hard to pretend that everything was okay. He was done with being the Golden Boy, the Hero, the Boy Who Lived. He just wanted to be normal.
Draco paused his pursuit as Potter stopped. He was ready for the backlash, the sparring, the insults. He held his wand tightly in his hand, mentally selecting the spells he would fire first. He was prepared, he was waiting, all he needed was Potter to-
… Choke? What the fuck was that?
Draco watched as Potter’s muscles tensed repeatedly in his back, shoulders shaking ever so slightly, hand swiping at brought his face.
He edged forward, half expecting the Gryffindor to turn and fire a hex at him.
The quivering of the man’s shoulders became more insistent, more jagged, and another gasp met Draco’s ears.
As he stepped in front of The Boy Who Lived, his stomach dropped to the floor.
Not just crying, but sobbing. Strangled, choked little sobs he was obviously trying and failing to contain, were bursting past his lips.
How had he made the Saint cry? He hadn’t been that mean, had he?! Why was the Great Harry Potter reduced to a weeping mess at having his sexual prowess insulted? Everyone knew he could have any girl or guy he wanted! He was their Saviour!
As Potter continued to choke in front of him, Draco’s mouth started working on its own.
“Potter, I’m sorry, please stop crying, I didn’t mean it! You know anyone would be honoured to have you! I was just playing around, honest!”
His words were doing nothing, if anything, Potter was crying harder now, body wracked by the sobs that he could no longer contain. Draco ran a hand through his hair, searching the corridor for inspiration. If anyone found out he’d reduced the great Harry Potter to a weeping mess, he was done for!
Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! You stupid boy, what’s wrong with you?! Pull yourself together!
But it was no use, the seal had been opened, the plug had been pulled, and the emotion was unstoppable.
As Malfoy rambled on beside him, Harry felt his control slip even further, tears hot and fast streaming down his face as the sobs were ripped from his throat, more frequent now, causing his breath to judder more violently.
He tried to shake his head, to communicate that Malfoy had basically nothing to do with this; it wasn’t his fault.
He was stuck, completely at the mercy of his emotions, stood like a pillock in the middle of the corridor for all the world to see.
An idea struck him. Literally struck him. He felt the pain in his head from where it landed.
It was crazy. It was stupid. It would never work and would land him several punches to boot. Punches which, for once, he wouldn’t contest.
But as green fluid threatened to escape from Potter’s nose, Draco knew he had to do something.
It was the only idea he had.
Harry jumped as something warm and solid wrapped around him, pressing close. Foreign scents struggled through his congested nostrils, interrupting the storm of emotion, and the sound of awkward shushing filled his ears. His head was gently guided onto a hard surface, chest pulled close to warmth, and something was moving his hair softly, rhythmically. As a hand settled around his back, he realised with a start that Malfoy was hugging him.
His insides squirmed, desperately wanting to push him away; it was bad enough crying in the first place, especially over something as stupid as a teddy bear and a few insults. He needed to get a hold of himself. But his emotions had other ideas.
Unbidden, one hand latched onto Malfoy, gripping his clothes tightly as if to prevent him moving away. His head readjusted, finding the hollow of the other man’s collar bone, relishing the faint heat he could feel through it. His other arm wound around Malfoy’s slender back, anchoring him to his chest.
It was pathetic. It was stupid. But as his tears continued to fall, hiccups and sobs rampaging through him, it made him feel just a little bit better; safer.
As Malfoy adjusted against him, his hand clenched around the man’s shirt once more, one thought running through his mind: Please don’t leave me.
Draco could barely breathe. This couldn’t be happening. The Saviour of the Wizarding World could not be sobbing into his neck like a child!
But, as the wet patch on his shirt grew and the fist threatened to tear a hole in his uniform, Draco had to admit, it was undeniable; he’d become Potter’s comfort blanket.
The man shook against him, still sobbing in earnest. At a loss for what else to do, Draco hummed slightly, running his fingers through Potter’s (surprisingly silky) locks. A strangled cry punctuated the sobs and sniffles, giving him pause. Did Potter not want that?
A few seconds later, the first coherent words he’d heard from Potter all morning were whispered against his neck.
Swallowing his shock and confusion, Draco merely nodded, squeezing Potter closer as the man continued to cry.
If this was what Potter needed, this was what Potter would get.
Thank you so much for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed it, I’m always open to prompts but check what I won’t write please (in my description). You can find all my stuff by searing #mywriting or checking out my AO3, where you can find this here! Thanks!
Tagging @rose-grangerweasleyisbae, @witchygypsy99 and @wolf-in-the-star ❤️
