In the predawn light, Edgar Allan wasn’t much to look at.
On paper it wasn’t far behind Palmetto State in terms of enrollment and campus size, but whereas Palmetto State was built on sprawling land with low buildings and open lawns, Edgar Allan had taken a compact, vertical approach. That wasn’t to say the architecture wasn’t to be admired; even Renee, who had no eye for such things, could see the meticulous and ostentatious care put into the school’s appearance. A pretentious coffin, Jean had called it a month ago, when Renee asked after it. Fanciful and grim, she’d thought then, but now she understood.
Her phone hummed in her hand, but Renee finished her slow sweep of the area before looking down at it. At this hour it would only be one person: she’d kept Stephanie up all night, needing another pair of eyes to guide her and lay the groundwork for this reckless stunt. Their call lasted most of the five-hour drive here from the cabin. Later Renee would apologize for the hours of lost sleep, and Stephanie would brush away her guilt and concern with the same easy care she always did. Now was too soon for any such kindness.
“It’s sent,” Stephanie’s text said.
Renee held down until a heart appeared and slid off the car to her feet. Gravel crunched beneath her shoes as she went for the front door. There was an actual knocker on the door, but it wasn’t likely to get her far. Renee put her thumb to the doorbell instead. The carved wood muffled most of the noise, but she heard the distant tones echoing down the hall. Renee let them fade, then pressed again. Two seconds later, again. And again. And again.
It took a few minutes, but at long last there was a sharp clack of the locks snapping out of place. Louis Andritch yanked open the door in a half-undone bathrobe, looking more like a harried professor than a campus president.
“Yes?” he demanded. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Jean Moreau is dying,” Renee said.
Andritch stared at her like she was speaking a foreign language, mouth still half-open on an abandoned tirade. She kept her stance neutral and her hands loosely folded in front of her as she waited for him to finally clue in on what she’d said.
“Excuse me?” he finally managed. “What did you say to me?”
“Jean Moreau is dying,” Renee said again, with an unhurried calm that ate away at her heart. Lashing out at Andritch prematurely would tilt this entire fiasco against her, she knew, but without Stephanie’s steady voice in her ear she had nothing to keep her fear at bay. Everything hinged on getting to Jean. If she could just do that, nothing and no one could stop her. This was the only part that Renee couldn’t control.
Renee held Andritch’s gaze as she said, “Exy team, your perfect Court backliner. He is dead or dying as we speak, and I need you to take me to him.”
“Listen,” Andritch said, putting a hand out like he could ward off anything else Renee had to say. “I thank you for your concern, Miss…?” She held out her student ID and driver’s license, but he only gave them a quick glance. “If there was a problem with one of my teams, my staff would have already informed me. I assure you I will look into it, but—”
Renee saw the door start to close and moved into the doorway to catch it. “Mr. Andritch,” she said, in as pleasant a tone as she could manage, “I drove through the night for the slim chance of saving his life. I would prefer you escort me to Castle Evermore now, but if you would rather wait until your school makes the morning news that is your choice.” He frowned at her, not following, but Renee didn’t wait to be asked. “An article is queued to send to a half-dozen sites, and the author is prepared to give Kathy Ferdinand the scoop for her morning show.”
“Where are you even getting this information?” Andritch demanded, and Renee tapped through her phone with her free hand to send a short X out. “These are some serious accusations you are leveling at me, young lady, and I do not appreciate being strongarmed.”
“I would rather not do this,” Renee said. “We both know how much money is riding on championships this year regardless of the outcome. Our schools have too much to gain by seeing this through to the end. But I will not sacrifice Jean. Help me save him, and we can both forget this conversation ever happened. Please.”
Andritch’s phone started ringing before she was finished. He ignored her in favor of answering it with a harried, “Yes?” He tried again to close the door, but Renee braced it with a hand and foot. He fixed her a warning look she wasn’t cowed by. “Yes, hello? Can you give me just a—”
Andritch went still and calm as he listened, and Renee stared him down as Stephanie went up one side of him and down the other. She counted seconds between his “This is highly irregular” and “What proof do I have that this is not some cockamamie prank” protests, and they added up to so many minutes of wasted time Renee was tempted to leave him here.
The first plan had been to bypass Andritch entirely and go straight to Evermore. Stephanie had talked her down from that, careful not to ask how Renee would circumvent the security system there. They needed Andritch on their side. They needed a credible witness. Without him they had nothing. Even if she could get to Jean on her own—they cannot stop me, Mom—how would she keep him? Renee knew Stephanie was right, just as she knew the nearest hardware store wouldn’t open for another hour. She was not above breaking into it, but the consequences would hurt them all in the long run.
At last Andritch hung up. There was a sour look on his face that didn’t match the fear in his eyes, and Renee saw the tension in his imperious gesture to enter his front hall. The what if had taken hold; whether Andritch was more worried about his student or his school’s reputation she did not know or care so long as she got the desired results. Renee stepped in with a polite “Thank you” and stood off to one side so he could close and lock the door again.
Andritch ignored her in favor of making another call. “Coach Moriyama, this is Louis. I need to have a meeting with one of your Ravens this morning, Jean Moreau.” He listened for a moment, and his eyebrows went up in surprise. “New York? Oh, I am sorry to hear that. Of course, family must come first. You have my condolences for your loss. Yes, of course. Yes, I can reschedule, it’s not that pressing. We can discuss it when you are back in town.”
Force, then, Renee thought wearily, but then Andritch hung up and pointed at her. “Do not leave this spot. I am going to get dressed and call security.”
And check his email, most likely, because Stephanie would have sent him a preview of her page-long exposé. Abby had reluctantly loaned them photographs from Kevin’s first night with the Foxes, leery of betraying Kevin’s trust by releasing them but trusting Renee and Stephanie to win Andritch over before they were forced to go public.
Andritch’s phone rang again before he was halfway up the stairwell. “Hello? Coach Wymack, you said?”
The rest of the conversation was muffled by distance. Renee hummed quietly to herself so she wouldn’t ask him to perhaps be a bit more urgent about the situation, and then her phone buzzed against her fingers. She opened it to a query from Stephanie and tapped out a quick update. She didn’t mean to click over to Jean’s message next, but a second later it was staring up at her.
Kengo is dead, first. And then: Thank you.
Two words that meant nothing, that meant everything, when just a few days prior Neil had offered Andrew a threadbare smile and Thank you, you were amazing. before getting ripped out of their lives with violent force. Thank you, goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.
Renee closed her phone and squeezed it until her knuckles ached. She looked toward the stairs again. She wasn’t sure if a “Hurry” or “I will meet you at the stadium” would make it out of her first, but then Andritch came down the stairs so fast it was a wonder he didn’t tilt forward and fall flat on his face. Renee made a note to gift Abby a spa day as soon as this was over.
“You will follow my car,” Andritch said, snatching his keys off their hook with such force he nearly pulled the rack off the wall as well. He got the door and shooed her out, and Renee went for Andrew’s car with long strides. Andritch needed another moment to field another call, but he pulled his car door closed so hard Renee heard it over the Maserati’s engine. Finally, finally Andritch got on the road, and Renee pulled out behind him.
Because Castle Evermore doubled as the home court for the national team, it was set a short drive from the rest of campus. Renee had never seen it before, but it was hard to miss the imposing building with its spired corners. There was no color on it; from the foundation to the towers it was painted a forbidding solid black.
Pretentious coffin, she silently agreed, and then, But not yours.
The entire thing was surrounded by a tall fence lined with barbed wire. Andritch passed a half-dozen gates before slowing to a stop at one, and he leaned out his window to tap away at a keypad. The gate remained closed, and Andritch tried again. After a few attempts he got out of his car, like somehow the angle of his arm was to blame for this. Renee assumed he had few reasons to come out this way, but that he hadn’t secured the codes on the drive over was frustrating.
Movement in her rearview mirror had her glancing back as an unfamiliar car pulled up behind her. The driver’s door opened, and she saw enough lettering to guess it was campus security. Perhaps Andritch’s incompetence was just show, then, a means of stalling her until he could eject her from campus. She relaxed her grip on the steering wheel and waited for the guard to try her door, but he went past her without slowing. Andritch got out of his way to let him have a go at it, but he had no more luck than Andritch had. After two attempts, the guard had no choice but to phone his superiors.
Renee glanced past them at the fence. She gauged the height and tugged idly at her jacket, wondering if it was thick enough to protect her from the barbed wire along the top. Likely not, but before she could commit to trying it out the gate finally rattled open. The guard went jogging past again so he could get back in his car, and the three drove into the Ravens’ guarded lot at last.
The spots closest to the stadium were all taken by a line of identical black cars, so they double-parked behind them. The security guard sent a curious look at Renee as she joined him and Andritch at the door, but he was too busy trying to get them into the Nest to ask questions. Unsurprisingly he needed to call in for this access code as well, and he held the door open for both of them when he managed to get it unlocked.
Renee expected to find a hallway; what she saw was a dark stairwell leading down. Red lighting on the ceiling did nothing to chase away the shadows. Renee was tempted to ask Andritch if he had honestly signed off on this thinking it was a good idea, but he looked just young enough she assumed he’d inherited this madness. Andritch led them down without comment or hesitation, so Renee trailed after him. One more door awaited them at the bottom, but the guard hadn’t bothered to hang up his call and he called out a code to Andritch from the rear.
If Renee had expected the Nest to be an improvement, she was immediately and sorely disappointed. The rooms they passed through in search of a stray Raven were spacious, but the ceilings were too low and the entire thing was done in Raven black and red. It was a minor blessing that these ceiling lights were normal, but whoever installed the bulbs had chosen a weaker wattage that let shadows collect in all the corners.
Renee keenly understood why the Ravens spent so much time on the court, if this was their only other option. She had been here for only twenty seconds, and she was ready to never come here again. Jean had told her the Ravens only left the Nest for away games and classes, and she wasn’t sure if that made this better or worse: she couldn’t imagine coming back to this pit willingly, but the thought of being trapped here almost every hour of the day turned her heart cold.
Raucous laughter led them to a kitchen at last, and the conversation died when Andritch stepped inside. Renee looked past him to the four Ravens gathered around a square table. She had one moment to note their identical black clothes and another to take in their stunned expressions before one got up from the table with lethal intent.
“Who the fuck—”
“Your campus president,” Andritch cut him off. “I am here to see Moreau. Where is he?”
The four exchanged baffled looks before volunteering, “He’s in Red Hall.”
“Show me,” Andritch said.
No one seemed in a hurry to obey, but after a pointed, “You’re already up,” from one of the Ravens at the table, the first man scowled and crossed the room. He put a finger in Renee’s face as soon as he reached them.
“You’re a Fox,” he said. “You don’t belong here.”
She was idly impressed he recognized her so easily, but considering how sour things were between the teams now perhaps it was to be expected. “Neither do any of you.”
“Right now,” Andritch said before the Raven could respond.
He settled for giving her an ugly look and pushing her roughly out of his way. Andritch snapped at him for his aggression as he followed, but Renee let it go in one ear and out the other. Signage on the wall pointed out the directions to Red and Black Halls, and they went down the one that would lead them to Jean. Despite the name, there was no more abundance of color here than there had been anywhere else. Most of the doors they passed were open, but Renee only spared a couple glances at the dark bedrooms.
Finally their unwilling guide stopped in a doorway and hit the side of his fist against the frame. “Andritch is your problem now,” he said to whoever was inside, and he flicked a last annoyed look at the president in question. “Zane is Jean’s roommate. He’ll find him for you. I’ve only got ten minutes left of lunch before I’m due on the court, so I’m leaving.”
“Your name first,” Andritch said.
“Williams,” the man said. “Brayden. Striker, number nineteen. Done here?”
“For the moment,” Andritch said, with a tone that said this attitude was going to dearly cost Brayden when Andritch could spare enough time for him. Renee was expecting his shove as he went back down the hall the way they’d come, and she kept her feet planted so he couldn’t knock her over. She didn’t spare him another thought but followed Andritch to the doorway.
Identical beds were set against opposite walls, with two nightstands and tiny desks between them. Only one man was inside, and he wasn’t Jean. Renee glanced toward the empty half of the room and was surprised to see Jean had decorations up. Postcards were pinned to the walls, and the top of his nightstand was littered with either stickers or magnets. The urge to study his precious possessions was as fleeting as it was inappropriate, and Renee forcibly returned her attention to the greater problem: Jean wasn’t there.
“—he is?” Andritch was asking.
Zane didn’t answer immediately, but the look that crossed his face told Renee everything she needed to know. The Ravens they’d met in the kitchen seemed more annoyed and bewildered by this intrusion than anything; Zane’s hesitation now was a deeper understanding. He knew exactly why they’d come. Renee assumed he had a better vantage point for Jean’s ongoing trauma as his roommate.
“He’ll be with Riko,” Zane said at last. “They’re partners.”
“I don’t care whose partner he is,” Andritch said. “Someone is going to find him for me.”
Zane got up from his desk but sent a long look at Renee. “She shouldn’t be here.”
Andritch snapped his fingers to get Zane’s attention. “That is not your call. Move it.”
Zane led them to Black Hall. Another dormitory, Renee realized, with only one door closed at the far end. Zane knocked, listened, and knocked again. He checked his watch, tipped his head back to think, and said, “First shift, but what day is it? They might be finishing up on the court right now. Come on.”
As soon as he stepped past her, Renee went to the door. The knob turned easily under her hand. For one moment she was surprised at Riko’s boldness, that he genuinely trusted people to stay out of his space out of some semblance of respect. Then she had the door open, and the sight waiting for her erased every thought from her mind.
Zane caught her arm to haul her back. Renee didn’t even feel his skin under her knuckles when she put everything behind her fist. Zane wasn’t expecting it and wasn’t at all braced for it, and he nearly took Andritch down with him as he was thrown back.
The guard moved to intervene, but Renee was in the room and out of reach before he could get his hands on her. She let their outraged demands wash over her and was only distantly aware of how abruptly the shouting stopped when they followed her into Riko’s room. The only thing that mattered was the body on Riko’s floor.
Not a body, Renee thought fiercely, and willed it to be true, but how could it be true when Jean looked like this? That Riko had just left him here like this was almost as horrifying as the state he was in, and she was trembling as she knelt on the ground by his head. She took five seconds to calm herself to stillness before reaching for him, and she pressed her fingers to his bruised throat in search of a pulse. The relief it sent through her was almost sharp enough to bite away her grief, and Renee sent up a quick and desperate prayer of thanks.
“Jean,” she said softly, then louder: “Jean. Can you hear me?”
“Good god above,” the security guard finally said. “Is he—”
“Alive,” Renee said, and was just mad enough to add, “For now.” She looked toward the men standing across from her: the horrified guard who hadn’t signed up for this before he had his morning coffee, the Raven who looked uncomfortable but not surprised or upset, and Andritch, whose blank-faced horror could have been for his mangled student but was just as likely for his crashing career.
“What happened here?” Andritch demanded.
Zane lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Rough scrimmage, maybe?” At the foul look Andritch sent him, he scowled and looked away. “I don’t know, man. He hasn’t been my partner in a year now.”
“I am taking him home,” Renee said. “Help me get him to my car.”
Andritch didn’t move. “We need to call a doctor.”
“Josiah lives on campus,” Zane volunteered. “I’ve got his number saved.”
“He is coming with me,” Renee said.
“You can’t have him.” Zane flicked her a venomous look. “He belongs here.”
That he was angrier over her intrusion than had what happened to his own teammate shook Renee to the core, and for one frightening moment she felt all the years of anger management and therapy start to coil undone. Maybe Zane saw something change on her face, because he took a half-step back from her and tensed for a fight.
“You cannot stop me,” Renee said, in a tone far steadier than she felt. “If you try, I promise you will regret it. Mr. Andritch, you know the terms for my discretion.”
“Now listen,” Andritch started, but there was more uncertainty than bluster in his voice. If he actually had a coherent thought to follow that, he couldn’t seem to get it out. When Renee flicked him a hard look he was staring down at Jean’s broken, bloody form. “I don’t know if we can even safely move him. It would be best to get someone here first to make sure he’s stable. Josiah, you said?” he asked Zane.
“Head nurse,” Zane said, digging his phone out of his pocket.
“I left my team nurse at the hotel before coming over here,” Renee lied as she pulled out her own phone. She hated making Jean a spectacle, but she knew she needed evidence. She took a few pictures of his bloodied, broken face. “I can send these to Kathy Ferdinand for her morning show, or I can delete these in the parking lot. Give me one Raven, or I will take them all.”
“I don’t appreciate your tone, young lady,” Andritch said. She half-expected him to try intimidating her to silence, but perhaps he knew it was useless. He could try to confiscate her phone and throw her off-campus, but she’d set too many pieces in motion already. She didn’t technically need Jean or these photos to destroy his school and he knew it. The best he managed was, “Let’s not jump to any rash action.”
Jean’s fingers twitched against the carpet as their voices finally started to rouse him. Renee carefully peeled his hair out of the caked blood on his face and smoothed careful knuckles over his temple.
“Hey,” she said, softening her tone immediately. “Jean, can you hear me? We’re going to move you just in a moment. I’m sorry, but it’s going to hurt. It’s going to really hurt, and I can’t stop that. I need you to bear it a little longer, okay?”
At long last Andritch chose his side with a tense, “Let’s get him out of here.”
The guard dragged Zane with him as he approached, and Renee moved out of their way. It took them a moment to figure out how they were supposed to get Jean off the floor. He didn’t stir at the feel of their hands on him, but as soon as they hoisted him off the carpet, he made a wretched noise in the back of his throat that had Renee’s eyes stinging.
“It’s okay,” she promised him, unsure if he could even hear her. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
“—ry,” Jean mumbled, so faint Renee could barely hear him. “Sorry, I’m—” the rest got swallowed up by another pained noise as the guard shifted his grip, and Renee locked her fingers together before she could reach for him.
Andritch sent Renee ahead of him so he could take the rear and focus on his phone. From the sound of it he was rounding up the Ravens’ other coaches and calling them back to Evermore for an emergency meeting. Renee kept moving, trying to ignore the agonized sounds Jean was choking on as he was carried after her. She wanted to ask them to be more careful; she knew just from looking at Jean that they couldn’t be careful enough.
Getting him up the steep stairs was the worst part, and Renee’s cheeks were damp with silent tears when she finally pushed open the last door. As soon as the men were clear of the door she hurried over to Andrew’s car. It took only a bit of jostling to slide the passenger seat back on its rails, and she tugged the latch until she could lay it as flat as it would go.
Jean was boneless when they finally got him settled. Renee saw the unnatural way his head lolled to one side and feared the worst, but when she squeezed past Zane to check on him, she could still find a pulse. Unconscious from the pain, then, which was only a half-step better. It was six hours and change from West Virginia to South Carolina. Abby had offered to meet her here, and Renee should have agreed, but she was desperate to get Jean out of the state before Riko and his uncle figured out how to respond.
“You’ll keep us updated?” Andritch said. He sounded calm, but she saw the nervous way he turned his class ring on his little finger as he studied her.
“Hourly reports,” Renee agreed as she pushed the passenger door shut. He was standing close to her, so she obediently tilted her phone screen his way and deleted her photographs in front of him. It wouldn’t stop her from taking more once she got somewhere safe, but it was a token of good faith and the best he could hope for. “We appreciate your cooperation. Please feel free to delete the email you received this morning and contact Coach Wymack if you have any additional concerns.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Zane warned her. “You will regret this.”
Renee met his cold stare with a cool look of her own. “Your captain is free to take his grievances up with me if he has something to say about it. I’m sure he knows where to find me.” She didn’t wait for a response but looked at Andritch. “If we’re finished here, I will take the code for the outer gate.”
The guard had to call his office again to get it for her, and Renee committed it to memory as she got in the car and pulled away. She had six numbers tapped into the keypad when the stadium door crashed open, and Renee glanced at her rearview mirror to see Riko in the doorway. He was dressed in full court gear minus his helmet, and the distance between them couldn’t hide the absolute rage on his face when he followed Zane’s pointing finger to her car. He took a couple steps in her direction like he wanted to chase her down, and Renee quickly put in the last two numbers.
The gate rattled open, and Renee flashed Riko a peace sign out the window as she put the pedal to the floor. Unnecessary, she knew, but she could worry about her attitude later. All that mattered now was getting Jean to South Carolina. She had the window closed before they reached the interstate and called Stephanie on speaker.
“I’ve got him,” she said. “We’re on our way south.”
“How is he?” Stephanie asked. “How are you?”
“Oh, Mom,” Renee said, and risked a glance over at Jean’s battered form. With the windows closed the smell of blood was thick enough to choke on. “I don’t know how he’s still alive.”
“God’s not done with that boy yet,” Stephanie said. “Drive safe, you hear me? I know you were up all night. If you start getting tired, you call me to keep you awake or you make sure you pull over and rest a bit. You can’t help him if you go off the road.”
“I know,” Renee said. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”
“I’m proud of you, honeybug,” Stephanie said. “I love you. Be safe.”
“Love you.” Renee clicked her phone closed and dropped it into the cup holder between the seats. She reached out blindly for Jean, needing to check his pulse one last time, and thought she felt a hum against her fingertips as Jean tried to stir. “Sleep, Jean,” she urged him, thinking of the lone packet of painkillers in the bottom of her purse. “Sleep, and I’ll get us home.”
“—ome,” was the slurred agreement, and Renee turned her attention back to the endless drive ahead of them.
anyway now that the blond jeremy fiasco has put the fear of god into all of us (me) (thank you to the brunette truthers, ilu) it's time for fun facts friday
1 I have to keep reminding myself the books take place before uber was founded
2 If I don't learn how to shut up soon this book will be longer than TKM and I will have to yeet myself into lake superior
3 Not book related but speaking of superior I moved to the midwest last year and I have never been so far from the ocean. I don't even like the ocean. But I do not know to process being 1200miles from it. All other 6 (7?) states were coastal.
4 I am forgetting how to pronounce Jeremy bc I keep pronouncing it like Jean
5 TSC is dual POV I hate my gd life
... ... ...
USC Trojans Coaching Staff:
Coach James Rhemann, head coach
Coach Jackie Lisinski, fitness coach
Coach Michael White, offensive line coach
Coach Eduardo Jimenez, defensive line coach
I was tagged by the wonderful and amazingly talented @tackytigerfic to share some bits n pieces! You can read Tacky's phenomenal sneak peek here! Here's something sudsy and soapy from my just finished WIP 🫧
“That hike was absolute hell, by the way,” he moaned. “I can like—smell myself.”
“I can smell you too, Potter.”
Harry looked up sharply.
Malfoy stood at the end of their table, empty plate in hand, wet hair scraped back and tucked behind his ears. He was in a loose white shirt and dark green shorts, and Harry tried hard to quiet the voice in his head that whispered tauntingly: I’ve seen this man naked. Completely and utterly nude.
Malfoy lifted his chin at Ron. “Budge up, Weasel.”
To Harry’s mild horror, Ron did as he was bid and shuffled up the wooden bench. Malfoy set his plate on the table first, then climbed over, one long leg at a time, before he settled in elbow to elbow with Ron.
“So,” Malfoy said, proceeding to steal a piece of bread from Ron’s plate. “What are you two talking about, hm? My little ears are positively burning.”
“Your cabin in the woods,” Ron said, and as if things weren’t completely fucking bizarre enough, he served Malfoy stew from the bowl in the middle of the table. Harry stared at them. “Harry spotted it on his way up here.”
Malfoy bit into the bread and chewed slowly. “Oh, did he?”
Harry studied Malfoy closely. His hair was longer, but his face hadn’t changed much since the last time they saw each other: same sharp chin and nose, same full lips and high forehead. The faint dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks was new, and he wore two small silver hoops in his right earlobe. His shirt, made from some crêpe-like material, was damp around the neck, open to reveal the delicate lines of his clavicle. Harry glanced at the pale ends of Malfoy’s wet hair, his gaze following a droplet of water as it splashed onto his throat and disappeared under his collar.
“See anything you liked, Potter?”
Harry’s eyes snapped up. “What?!”
Malfoy picked up his fork and waved it around grandly. “At the cabin?”
No pressure tagging @skeptiquewrites @basicallyahedgehog @kbrick @lettersbyelise @lqtraintracks @the-starryknight @maesterchill @sorrybutblog @oknowkiss @aibidil @amywaterwings @the-sinking-ship and anyone who wants a go!
drarry | E | 1972 words | happy birthday HJP, established relationship, tattooed!harry, yoga, rimming
Read on Ao3
Summary: Draco does what he wants, when he wants. Even on Harry’s birthday. Luckily enough, their wants align.
Excerpt: Harry had a beautiful body. He’d grown into it, slowly but surely. The war had made him lean and wiry, then Auror training and long months of Mrs Weasley’s cooking had bulked him up, but he’d really only started settling into himself when he left the Aurors and started living life in his own careful way. He’d started yoga. Not the sort Draco and Pansy got up to, which consisted mostly of lying on their back and falling asleep mid-class, no, Harry did the sort of yoga that involved lots of handstands, and arched backs, and cantilevered balances that still made Draco’s breath catch in admiration.
Draco liked beautiful things. He liked art, and music, and the way Harry’s body looked against their dark bedding when he stretched out first thing in the morning. He liked their life together—slow mornings, late nights, cotton sheets and a silk dressing gown, wine on the weekends, sex that was a decade of practice in the making.
Read on Ao3
A late birthday offering for our darling Harry James—inspired by @babooshkart’s amazing art, I hope I did it justice my lovely! ✨
Big love and thanks to @bonesliketambourines for beta reading this little baby! ❤️
Draco raised a brow. "The Golden Boy still smokes? Well, I say."
Harry was getting dressed at the foot of his bed and he was as rumpled as the sheets they've worked on messing up all night, gilt and misty, surrounded by puffs of smoke like some god of debauchery. Or, at least, that's how Draco saw him these days.
"If I could roll you into a blunt and inhale you, I would," Harry mumbled around the cigarette between his teeth, "but this has to do for now."
"I can get some weed for tonight, if you'd like," Draco said, "I'm going to dinner at Pansy's, I'll nick a bag."
Harry winked at him. "And we'll fuck after."
"I'd be rather offended if we didn't."
"Hey," Harry said, and exhaled, and Draco rolled his eyes because it was too late to tell him he can't just smoke indoors and look so good doing it. "Have we said 'I love you' to each other?"
Draco sat upright, all sleep-sticky dizzyness evaporating into thin air. "I'd like to think I'd have remembered—that.'"
"I think I dreamed it," Harry shrugged. "It was weird, my dreams are usually rather dull. Death and carnage, and such."
"Was it a good dream, then?" Draco asked and got up from the bed, grinned as Harry's eyes followed.
Harry growled, slow and annoyed, and took another drag, tilting his head, and stared, fingers slowing to a stop over his shirt buttons. Draco let him come closer and Harry brushed his thumb over a bruise on Draco's collarbone.
"I'm telling you tonight," he said, buttoning up his cuffs.
"Why not now?" Draco asked, thinking that maybe's he the one dreaming, watching mirage-Potter promise him things that should be illegal and believing every word.
"I'll bring food," Harry said. "I'll tell you I love you, we'll smoke, and fuck, and then, we'll eat."
Draco kissed him and it was a little messy, and he could taste the tobacco on Harry's breath. He didn't want it any other way. "Sounds like a plan."
Draco is a wreck Harry wants to rebuild and destroy time and again, flushed crimson and swallowing air with burning lungs. Dark-wet lashes and tear-streaked cheeks, he’s bright, and ruined, and beautiful, and Harry cradles his face in his hands so he can lick a stripe up his chin and taste himself on Draco’s skin, and lick into his mouth, and carve himself into the backs of his teeth.
You guys know what's fun? The fact that @shealwaysreads is asleep right now and I'm raccooning away in the night. And that she reblogged this post earlier, and she was damn right to see Pansy, and she'll be waking up to Pansy. I find that hilarious.
Hi 👋 a prompt you can take or leave: Draco is very unsure whether he is being flirted with or this is an extension of their office rivalry that he doesn't understand (or the reverse!) Ty!
@skeptiquex and @ihavesomeideawhatimdoinghere, I read both of your prompts back to back, and they worked really well together, so I squished them into one. I hope you enjoy! Thank you both for sending me things, and thanks to @mxmaneater for the fast beta ❤️
—
The Tally
“One more for me!” Harry crowed, scratching a new tally mark next to his name on the chalkboard behind Draco’s head. “Better luck next time, Malfoy.” The board had a partner behind Harry’s desk, and the tallies recorded on one would reflect on the other, but Harry took great joy in invading Draco’s space and rubbing his victories in his face at every opportunity. Not that Draco was any better. It was part of the fun.
“Please, that one hardly counted,” Draco objected reflexively. “You only caught him because you tripped, for Merlin’s sake. Hardly an impressive arrest.”
Harry shrugged and grinned, perching on the edge of Draco’s desk. “An arrest is an arrest.”
“Whatever,” Draco grumped. He and Harry had been playing this game for over a year now, and the margin was always extremely close. Harry was just barely ahead, at the moment, but Draco would catch up to him soon. He and Parvati had a potions ring bust coming up that Harry and Weasley weren’t involved in. Once that was done, he’d have overtaken him, and the smug expression currently gracing his colleague’s face would disappear along with his lead.
“So, any big weekend plans?” Harry asked, ignoring Draco’s pout.
Draco dropped the expression when it failed to produce the desired reaction. “Nothing too exciting. Yourself?”
“I’ve got tickets for the Puddlemere game on Saturday, actually. Ron was supposed to come, but something came up, so I’m trying to find someone else who might want to go. It would be a shame for the ticket to go to waste.” Harry was biting his lip and looking hopeful, and for just a moment, Draco thought— but no. If he’d wanted to ask, he would have asked, he told himself firmly.
Taking care to keep his expression light, Draco pondered for a moment before saying. “I think McCutcheon is a Puddlemere fan. Maybe try him?”
“Oh, right.” Draco almost thought that Harry looked disappointed for a moment, but on second glance, his expression was clear and friendly. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll see if he’s free. Have a great weekend, Draco. Parvati.” He knocked his knuckles against the desktop twice before straightening and walking off, hands in pockets. Draco watched him go, sighing as he rounded the corner. It really was a pleasure watching him walk away.
He was brought back to reality by his partner smacking him in the back of the head with a stack of paperwork. “Ow! What the fuck, Patil?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed, looking even more exasperated with him than usual. “Every time he’s over here, you spend the rest of the day mooning, and he finally asks you out, and you say NO?!”
“I do not moon!” He did moon, and he knew it, but he wasn’t about to say so. He still had his pride. “And he didn’t ask me out, either.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“He didn’t! He just said he had an available ticket! He very clearly had an opening to invite me, if he wanted to, and he very clearly didn’t.” There had been a number of moments like this, in recent months, and Parvati kept insisting that Harry was flirting with Draco. For his part, Draco kept insisting that she mind her own business, because she obviously could not read Harry Potter at all if she thought he was interested in Draco.
“You are an absolute moron.” Parvati shook her head in disbelief, but let it drop.
—
They made the bust on Tuesday. Monday had been a rush of preparations and contingency planning and final logistics, and the stakeout had lasted all day, but in the end, it had been worth it—they’d brought in six players in one sweep and were confident that at least one of them would give up the rest in exchange for sentencing leniency. Draco had dropped into bed exhausted but elated.
He was still riding high when he sauntered into Harry and Weasley’s office on Wednesday. He leaned ostentatiously over Harry’s desk, stretching almost directly over his perpetually-tousled head to grab a piece of chalk and carefully add six perfectly straight tally marks to his own side of the board, giving him the lead by three.
“And that’s how you do it,” he gloated as he straightened, smirking smugly down at Harry. “Suck it, Potter.”
Across the office, he heard Weasley groan and mumble something that sounded suspiciously like ‘he wishes’ under his breath. Harry looked a bit pink, but still smirked right back up at Draco, so it was probably just the heat. “Played that one close to the chest, didn’t you? But don’t worry, I’ve got something in the pipeline. I’ll be back on top before you know it.”
In Draco’s peripheral vision, he saw Weasley bang his head against his desk. “I’m getting tea,” he announced, stalking out of the office. Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter, who shrugged.
Now that he was here, Draco didn’t quite want to leave yet, so he searched for something else to talk about. “How was the game?” he finally asked.
“Huh? Oh, the Quidditch game. Yeah, I didn’t end up going, actually.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, not making eye contact. “Wasn’t really in the mood.”
Draco wrinkled his brow, not really sure what to make of that, but then Harry asked a question about the potions bust, and Draco forgot about it, instead focusing on a dramatic retelling of his glorious victory.
—
Harry’s next arrest came after a particularly brutal double homicide. It was all anyone was talking about when he arrived that morning, but, despite Draco’s expectations (and perhaps anticipation), Harry didn’t appear at his desk to brag about it. He was feeling a bit anxious by the time he finally saw him passing by his door in the late afternoon, and the feeling only grew when he did. Harry had bags under his eyes, and his usually confident posture was slumped. He didn’t look as though he had slept. He also didn’t look like he was going to stop.
“Hey,” Draco said, rising from his desk to catch him before he passed by completely. “Haven’t seen you today.” Are you okay?, he didn’t say, but he thought it was probably audible in his tone anyway.
“Oh. Hey, Draco.” Harry looked up at him, seeming a little lost. He looked hollow behind his eyes, and Draco could feel his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Yeah, I’ve been…” he trailed off and glanced past Draco, into his office, to where the chalkboard hung prominently on the back wall. He seemed to curl even further in on himself. “I don’t want to count this one, okay?” he said, finally. “It doesn’t really feel like a victory.”
“Yeah, of course,” Draco said immediately, and he suddenly felt completely helpless. “Can I—” he hesitated, and then put a tentative hand on Harry’s slumped shoulder. “Do you need anything?”
He was half sure that Harry would pull away from his touch, but he didn’t. If anything, he seemed almost to relax into it. “I’m okay,” he said, and it wasn’t convincing, but Draco didn’t want to push it. “Thanks, though.” He reached up and gripped Draco’s hand where it lay on his shoulder, so briefly that his hand was gone before Draco could even fully register it, and then stepped back, continuing on his way.
Draco stood and stared at the chalkboard for a while when he got back to his desk. Then, he picked up his eraser and carefully removed one tally from his own side.
—
Their next bust, they were on together. A small Neo-Death Eater group that the department had been keeping an eye on, but who hadn’t done much of anything until now, had suddenly decided to make a grand statement by threatening a large-scale attack on Diagon Alley if their (entirely insane) demands weren’t met. Needless to say, the Ministry was not interested in negotiation, and the whole Auror force had been called out en masse.
Somehow, Harry and Weasley had ended up working in tandem with Draco and Parvati, and now Harry and Draco were back to back in a dead-end alley, dueling a pair that seemed to be the last desperate stragglers, while Parvati watched the street, ready to block anyone who might try to interfere, and Weasley stood to the side, clutching his ribs and sweating but still managing to hold a fairly steady shield charm. There was an unconscious, Incarcerous-ed body on the ground near him; his Stunner’s aim had been true, but the assailant had gotten off one last hex before it hit. He wasn’t in imminent danger—Draco had been hit by the same spell before, and it was extremely painful but didn’t cause any lasting damage once reversed—and although that would be easy enough to do, they didn’t have a wand to spare at the moment.
Harry and Draco worked together like they’d been born to it, and if their respective partnerships hadn’t been working so well for so long, Draco might have considered it a waste that they weren’t paired together. Spells flew around them like fireworks, and they cast and dodged and shielded and attacked without speaking, without pause, until, suddenly, it was over.
“Ron!” Harry cried as soon as his wand dropped, but Parvati was already by his side, countering the spell, and Ron’s body relaxed almost immediately.
“I’m fine, mate. Great work.”
Harry breathed out a sigh of relief and then turned to Draco, chest still heaving with exertion. Draco couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face even as he tried to catch his breath. He could feel sweat tracking down his face, his neck, his back, and he was streaked with dirt and—he suspected—blood; but they had won, and no one had died, and he was almost high on the rush of it. “I’m not sure who those count for,” he said, half laughing. “It happened too fast. Did you catch who took them down?”
Harry was grinning now, too, the buzzing energy of their win almost visibly coursing through him. He beamed at Draco, and he looked so fucking beautiful, even though he was just as dirty and dishevled as Draco was, that Draco couldn’t help but glance, just for a second, at those lips that he’d surreptitiously observed for so long as they stretched wide with joy. When he snapped his eyes back up, however, it was clear that Harry had seen, because the smile had morphed into something that Draco couldn’t put a name to, and his eyes were searching Draco’s for something. And then—
“Fuck it,” he heard Harry say, and then there were hands on either side of his head and he was being—quite thoroughly—kissed, right there in the alley. He melted into it immediately, pulling Harry closer to himself almost instinctively. There was an iron tang of blood as their tongues met, and Draco wasn’t sure whose it was, but he didn’t particularly care. He didn’t care about much of anything, right now, besides Harry’s hands, and Harry’s lips, and the press of Harry’s chest and hips against his own, and whether Harry might want to reenact this moment later but somewhere with a bed and a lot less clothes.
“I TOLD YOU!” Parvati yelled triumphantly in the background.
“Fucking finally.” Ron sounded both amused and exasperated.
Draco ignored them in favor of sliding his hands into Harry’s birdsnest of hair, pulling lightly and making him groan into the kiss. He supposed this one counted as a win for both of them.
Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Adoption. I know I always insist on giving Draco pets.
(i)
“What was that?” Harry asked against Draco’s lips. He smelled like wet pavement and the sharpness of Harry’s soap, and though his hair was damp from the street, his cheeks were flushed pink.
“What was what?” Draco murmured, leaning back in. He ran his hands up into Harry’s hair, which he had to admit was terribly distracting. Harry pulled him closer by the waist, tasting the new rain on his lips, and—
“That.” Harry leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “Whining.”
Draco stared at him blankly. Harry recognized it as his decision-making expression—choosing which lie to tell, as it were.
“Draco.”
“I found him in the outdoor bins.”
“Draco.”
“His name is Ares Arcturus Malfoy-Potter and I’m not putting him back.”
Mumbling profanities, Harry hooked a finger in the neck of Draco’s jumper and peeked down at what appeared to be a mass of pure fur.
“We’re a package deal, Potter.”
“One I cannot believe I’m tolerating,” Harry muttered. But he’d thought he’d tolerate just about anything to see Draco look at him like that again.
dailybridgerton
vaporwave
2087
theartofmadeline
gamechangershow
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
