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#2021 summer writin
magpiefngrl · 2 years
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What?! You are not a native English speaker ? Omg, you’re English is amazing. You write si well and you are definitely one of my favorite author.
Reading that you have so many WIPs got me a bit curious. Do you feel like sharing anything about it? Anything you want.
Hi!
Thank you so much for the lovely compliments! I'm thrilled you think my Eng is amazing :))
But yeah--not a native speaker. I learned English as a Second Language.
That being said, I studied English in uni, I'm a qualified English teacher and, most importantly, I lived in the UK for several years back in the 00s. I also have a summer job that takes me to Kent for 1-2 months most summers (like now. I'm in the UK).
As for the WIPS, this is what happens with me: 1. I have a lot of ideas. A LOT. Like, I can generate ideas like no one's business. And although some I might simply get out of my head and on paper, I do have many that I wish to develop further.
But 2. I've had a few years of a combination of writer's block, full time job, and loss of fandom friendships that have affected my writing and made the WIPs pile up.
These are some of the WIPs that are my current priorities:
two original romances that started off as ideas from my drarry fics but have become their own thing now.
secret desires, (wangxian) currently 1 chapter up. Started as a project during one of my fiercest writing block + quarantine depression periods. A friend in a writing server gave us one word prompts each month and I decided to write a fic using each prompt as the title and the inspiration of a chapter. I've got 2 more chapters written but I'm not happy with them yet. *sigh*
Last summer I had big plans for my writing and I even launched the 2021 Summer Writin' Challenge. Some people contributed some stellar works as you can see from the AO3 collection. I started writing a few, but didn't finish them. I'm halfway through a wangxian fic (nested narrative or story within a story) which I'm very excited about. I really want to finish this one. I'd like to play around with the challenge a bit more and write more stories--might take away the "2021" from the title and make it a perennial summer thing to account for my various writing blocks lol
There is a drarry fic which has been in my mind, and it's based on a goldilocks idea I had once (here). I know there's a fic (or more?) with the same premise too. If I write more drarry, this is prob what I'll write but it'll be just porn.
EDIT TO ADD: I've started writing a coda for The Gift (currently hidden) and I am going to heavily revise some chapters. I wrote it in a rush and am not super happy with some parts of it, so I'm going to make sure when it's revealed, with the Coda, I'm happy with it.
Cornwall fic was one of the most pressing WIPs until about a month ago--it's such a relief to have finished that one.
I'm excited to try and get some more writing done when my summer job ends.
Thanks for the ask!
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softlystarstruck · 3 years
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starlight (the unsuccessful return of a runaway prince)
Rating: E | Word Count: 11.5k
✩ space AU, there was only one bed, trans guy harry, banter ✩
Harry doesn't do the damsel-in-distress thing anymore. Even when he stumbles across a starship marooned in one of the most dangerous quadrants of the system.
Well, maybe he'll consider it, only because the damsel– person– prince in distress looks like that.
And has a million-unit reward on his head.
my fic for the fourth week of 2021 Summer Writin’! my prompt combo was eclipse + only one bed + first person POV. so much love to @m0srael for being the best beta i could ask for, and @phoebedelia for cheerleading me the entire way through this work!! 
Read on AO3
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drarrymybeloved · 3 years
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the shape of your soul (fits mine)
written for the 2021 Summer Writin' Challenge. prompt: wonder, trope: accidental marriage, craft: outsider POV, character/object: a gilded mirror. thank you @the-starryknight for looking this over!
It’s been years since I saw him last, but I recognise him. The same unkempt hair, those familiar round glasses slightly crooked from being mended one too many times, and of course, that lightning bolt scar. Harry Potter has come to visit me again.
He enters the room I have been stored in and closes the door softly. He does not move for long minutes. He looks drained, like he’s lost something essential and doesn't quite know how to navigate it's loss.
Harry's dulled emerald gaze traverses my gilded edges, soft nostalgia edged with profound grief writ across his face. I do not know what he saw in me, all those years back. Such is my magic – private. I wonder if the shape of his soul has changed, if he will see a different reflection now, all these years later.
He lets out a gust of air and straightens, steeling himself. Despite his apprehension, I can see a flicker of anticipation in his eyes, a wistful set to his mouth. He approaches me slowly, both the hunted and the hunter. Stopping two feet away from me, he closes his eyes. Strange, how he seems so scared of what he most desires. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. His jaw slackens and his eyes widen. He stumbles back a few steps but comes closer just as quickly.
Harry has changed, then. His deepest desire has changed.
A pained noise escapes him. His face crumples before me and his eyes shine with unshed tears. He lifts a shaking hand towards me, almost touching my surface, but then withdraws before he can make contact. His hand moves towards his chest. He’s still looking at my reflection, but his hand presses into his chest. I see his fingers trace the shape of a ring pressing through his shirt.
He takes several deep breaths. I watch as determination hardens Harry's face. He presses his hand flat over his chest, covering the ring with his palm. With one last glance, he is gone, leaving far faster than he entered.
The door opens again some time later. Harry is back, but he hasn’t come alone. There is another man with him, unfamiliar to me. He is all sharp angles, pale skin and pale hair. As soon as he catches sight of me, his nostrils flare, grey eyes flinty. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Harry?” he asks harshly.
“Please,” Harry entreats. “Please, Draco, just look at it.”
I can pinpoint the exact moment Draco gives in by the slight slump of his shoulders.
He eyes me warily as he draws nearer. Whatever he sees reflected back at him makes his shoulders stiffen. His lips press into a thin, hard line and he lets out a controlled breath.
“If you think I’m going to tell you what I see–” he starts, addressing Harry without turning around.
“I see you.” Harry cuts him off.
Draco’s head snaps up.
“I see you and me, in Grimmauld’s kitchen,” Harry continues, voice shaky. “You’re trying to teach me how to make beef bourguignon, but I keep getting distracted. The sun is coming through the kitchen window in just the right way, and you look,” Harry swallows, a small smile on his face. “You look beautiful,” he whispers.
Draco has not turned around and I can see the maelstrom of emotions on face. His eyes dart over my surface, before he closes them. He takes a trembling breath. “We never did finish making that beef bourguignon."
Behind him, Harry smiles. He walks up to Draco and places a gentle hand on his cheek. He doesn’t spare a glance for me.
“Darling,” he whispers. A request and a reassurance.
Draco laughs, a watery sound. His expression is open, hopeful. He covers Harry’s hand with his own, his other hand going to Harry’s chest, over his heart.
Draco inhales sharply and slowly brings out the ring Harry is wearing. “Harry,” he breathes in wonder.
“The marriage may have been accidental, but I fell in love with you anyway,” Harry says.
Draco smiles, his face awash with a contentment I rarely get to see. He pulls Harry in for a kiss, familiar and intimate.
"Take me home," he whispers when they break apart.
As they are leaving, Harry turns to look at me and it's the oddest thing — for the first time, I feel seen. Not my reflection, me. He smiles crookedly and then he's gone.
That is the last time I see Harry Potter.
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lqtraintracks · 3 years
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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Words: ~1,300 Additional Tags: Getting Back Together, Smoking, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Kissing, POV First Person, POV Harry Potter, Future Tense Summary: I’ll kiss you how I’ve never quite kissed you before, because I’ll be this me now rather than the me you knew then, who kissed you then, the me who hadn’t felt the loss of you. A/N: Written for the Week One of the 2021 Summer Writin’ Challenge. I used a random number generator to pick a prompt, a trope, and a craft element, and what I rolled was Getting Back Together, while Crashing a Party, in Future Tense. And I was like, whoa. But it really worked as inspiration, weirdly enough! Also, this is a wee birthday gift for the phenomenal @bluebutter-art  Blue, you are a gift to this fandom! Your art is so stellar, so full of love for the characters, and I'm in awe of your skill and talent! I'm also so happy to be able to call you my friend. I hope you have a wonderful birthday, bb! *HUGS* <3 
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floydig · 3 years
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Fic: Walk Right Through Me
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Harry/Draco, M, 1.9k || Psychological Horror, Unreliable Narrator, Polyjuice Use, Down and Out Harry Potter, Repressed Memories, Twist Ending
“Harry was tired of being seen. The Polyjuice started as a therapeutic exercise that we thought would help him, but it spiralled into something insidious.”
Every day, Harry drinks Polyjuice to disguise himself as he lives on the streets. Today, he observes a gaunt, shirtless Draco Malfoy walking around Knockturn Alley and is immediately drawn to him.
However, sometimes the truth is much darker than what the mind perceives.
Read on ao3
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m0srael · 3 years
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Boy Wonder seeks Wonderful Boy
In which Draco and Harry both submit personal ads to The Quibbler and hilarity (and pining) ensues. 4.3k | Rated M. Same universe as this lil baby. Week 1 of @magpiefngrl's Summer Writing Challenge! The prompts chose ME: Wonder + Epistolary + A Photograph. I loved this challenge, this really took shape as it was being written. Thanks, @nv-md, for the beta and for workshopping H & D’s personal ads with me! Is this also based (very) loosely on my own personal ads experience 👀? Two snippets, the rest is on Ao3!
“Okay, here’s one...seriously, this time,” she folded the paper in half and handed it to Harry, pointing to a short personal ad in the very center. Out loud, he read:
"Golden Prince looking for his Knight in Shining Armor:
Me: devilishly handsome with a wicked sense of humor, not afraid of the dark You: strong, dependable type looking for a mouthy piece of arm candy I will: teach you to dance, charm your family, make you look good in public and feel even better in private You will: come when I call, tell me I’m pretty, show me off, kiss me slowly"
--------------------
Hermione waved her wand again to summon the copy of The Quibbler with Harry’s personal ad in it, which she had also written for him. She carefully tore out the ad, folded it in half, and put it into the envelope with the letter.
Boy Wonder seeks Wonderful Boy Me: Laid back, good looking with my fair share of scars, seeking more than just a good time You: confident, discrete, quick to tease and quicker to laugh, give as good as you get I will: make you breakfast in bed, carry your jacket, always pick up the check You will: push me out of my comfort zone, hold my hand, share my bed “There! I’ll send it in the morning. I don’t trust you to not take it home and immediately throw it into the fire.” Harry covered his face with his hands, whining, but only a little.
Ao3
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frenchmarshmalloww · 3 years
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Badass Level : Rock-Paper-Scissors + Roommates + Dialogue only
Once A Cheater, Always A Cheater
“I will not!”
“Draco, come on, I did it on Monday! We have a schedule for exactly that purpose!”
“Well, yes but remember last week? I did it for you, didn’t I?”
“I was sick! I couldn’t even get up!”
“Still, it counts.”
“Okay, I’m sick of this. Let’s just rock-paper-scissors it, okay?”
“Rock-paper-what? Is it some sort of duel?”
“Sort of. Except no wands, just our hands.”
“Like a fist-fight? Because let me tell you, I really don’t want to do the laundry, so I’ll punch you for real.”
“No! No one’s getting punched! It’s a game.”
“How is a game supposed to help, Potter? Gods, you’re infuriating.”
“Let me explain, and then you can punch me if you want.”
“Well? I’m listening.”
“So, we hide our hands behind our backs and choose between rock, paper and scissors. Like this, with your hand. At the count of three, we show each other which we’ve chosen: rock, paper or scissors. Rock beats scissors, scissors beats paper, paper beats rock. Three points to win. Understood?”
“Are you sure we can’t just duel? This seems pretty tedious.”
“No, we can’t duel. Are you scared, Malfoy?”
“You wish.”
“Okay, let’s go. Ready? One, two, three.”
“Rock beats scissors, right? I win!”
“Okay so one point for you, Draco.”
“One, two, three.”
“Fuck. How do you keep winning when you’ve never played?”
“I’m just that good I guess. You wish we would have duelled now, don’t you?”
“Shut up. Okay, ready? One, two, three.”
“Yes! You’re terrible at this game, aren’t you?”
“You’re cheating! You must be! Nobody’s that good at rock-paper-scissors, it’s like mathematics or something.”
“Well, I am. So I guess you should start on the laundry. There’s this blue jumper I need tonight.”
“Draco?”
“Yes?”
“Did you go all Legilimens on me?”
“I am outraged you would even think that, Harry!”
“Draco?”
“...”
“I need my Auror robes washed by tomorrow, have fun!”
Thanks @avenueofesc for the polishing :)
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coriesocks · 3 years
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My second fic for @magpiefngrl​’s brilliant Summer Writin Challenge!
I used a random number generator and got the prompts Rooftops and Roommates.
Talking is overrated
Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton | Rating: T | Length: ~1.7k
They started out as teammates, then fuck buddies, best friends, roommates. The evolution of their…— not relationship, that sounded far too serious— their…hanging out and being awesome together, was as natural as anything. Clint was well aware it wouldn’t work for everyone—had been told that very thing on many occasions—but the important thing was that it worked for them. All the benefits of being in a relationship with none of the messy stuff. At least, that’s how it was supposed to go. Then Clint caught a nasty case of feelings, Bucky caught a nasty case of freaking the fuck out, and just like that, everything was shit.
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standalonefics · 3 years
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That’s right, I have managed to keep this going four weeks in a row!
I’m going to be gone for a week, but might be able to squeak something in next weekend. It’s so nice to have this little push to keep me writing. 
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magpiefngrl · 3 years
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2021 Summer Writin' Challenge (multifandom/OF)
The challenge is to write a fic/ficlet/drabble each week for 8 weeks (starting Monday 28 June and ending Sunday 22 August) based on a combination of prompt + up to three items from 3 different categories (Tropes, Craft, Character/Object).
I'm interested! Tell me more!
There's a spreadsheet. Click here and make a copy for your own use.
The idea is that, once you choose a prompt, the Trope can inspire the plot or theme, the Character/Object category might give you some further plot inspiration or a character to use, and the Craft is a chance for you to stretch your writing skills. By the end of the challenge you'll have written 8 pieces of writing, which will all showcase different tropes or craft elements.
3 Levels of Challenge:
Playful: Prompt + 1 item from a category (any)
Example: Prompt + Trope (Rain + Fake Dating), or Prompt + Craft (Rain + 2nd POV), or Prompt + Character/Object (Rain + Vampire).
Badass: Prompt + 2 items (from 2 different categories)
Example: The ocean + 2nd POV + silver bracelet
Hardcore: Prompt + 3 items (1 from each category)
Example: Salt + fake dating + epistolary + neon lights
.
Rules:
You can make your choice any way you want, throw dice, use a random number generator, or settle on whichever combination is more inspiring to you each time.
BUT: Once you use an item from any category, you can't use it again.
(this means the challenge will be harder as you go on :)) Perhaps start with harder things for you so you can leave some easy items for later)
ALSO: You can't use 2 items from the same category. If you want to do prompt + 2-3 items, they have to be from different categories. (Or, if you have an idea for a story that includes 2 tropes (or objects etc), you can write your story but you can only count one of them as being used for the challenge.)
Please include the combination you've used in your Author's Notes. I love seeing people's creativity in the way they interpret prompts.
You don't have to stick to the same level throughout the summer, if you don't want to. You can go Playful one week, Hardcore the other.
The deadline for each work is on the Sunday of each week so 4/7, 11/7, 18/7, 25/7, 1/8 and so on. You're free to post your writing earlier in the week if you wish, but pls stick to one story per week. A marathon, not a sprint :)
FAQ
Where can I post my writing?
Tumblr (tag: 2021 Summer Writin), AO3 (AO3 Collection here) or anywhere you want.
I'm busy in July. Can I jump in later?
You sure can!
What happens if I can't write a story every week?
Er....nothing. This is for fun :))
What if I want to write more than 8 fics or wish to continue using these prompts for inspiration for longer?
No problem, I'll be delighted if people are so inspired!
Can I write about my obscure OTP?
The challenge is open to all fandoms, all ships and Original Fic too.
I'm a minor. Can I take part?
If you're under 18, feel free to make a copy of the spreadsheet for your own use (and I hope you find it inspiring and challenging), but please don't upload your writing in the collection as it'll contain adult works.
.
My thanks to @glittering-git and @phd-mama for their help in brainstorming <3
Go forth and create!
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softlystarstruck · 3 years
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to find softness under your hands
Rating: G | Word Count: 2.1k
✩ hurt/comfort, friends to lovers ✩
“Hey.” Draco smiles ruefully, just an upward tilt of one corner of his mouth. “Can I… can I come in?”
“I mean–” Harry starts, but then freezes, finally taking in Draco’s appearance in the faint light spilling out of the doorway.
Draco’s eye is surrounded by a bruise, blooming black blue purple.
seventh week of 2021 Summer Writin’, we’re almost done! my prompt combo was his hands + hurt/comfort. thanks to @moonstruckwytch​ for the beta on this one!
Read on AO3 or below the cut!
A sharp, insistent rapping drags Harry from his doze. He blearily looks at the telly flickering across the room, then heaves himself off the sofa.
“Draco?” he exclaims as soon as he opens the door. “What– it’s nearly eleven–”
“Hey.” Draco smiles ruefully, just an upward tilt of one corner of his mouth. “Can I… can I come in?”
“I mean–” Harry starts, but then freezes, finally taking in Draco’s appearance in the faint light spilling out of the doorway.
Draco’s eye is surrounded by a bruise, blooming black blue purple.
~
“What happened?” Harry asks once they’re sitting on the couch, Draco safely wrapped in a blanket he insisted he didn’t need and a mug of tea Harry forced into his hands. He isn’t looking at Harry, gazing instead at the muted telly. The scene is familiar: Draco curled up at the other end of the couch the way he does every week for their movie nights, watching obscure films that none of the rest of their friends care about. Now, though, the normally comforting sight is shattered by the mottled purple of Draco’s skin.
“Draco, what happened?” Harry repeats, but Draco just shrugs lightly.
“Occupational hazards. Could we watch something?”
“Occupational– Draco, weren’t you on a date tonight?” He was, Harry remembered. Draco had been so excited all week to have been asked out by an acquaintance of a coworker. Harry even helped him pick out the outfit he’s wearing right now, slim cut trousers and a deep blue button down.
“Can we just–” For a moment, Draco’s nonchalance cracks and his mouth twists fitfully, but then he blinks himself back into a light expression. “Harry, please.”
Harry is blinded by absolute rage.
“Who the fuck did this to you?” he asks, low in his throat. Draco flinches back into the couch cushion, finally turning to Harry with wide eyes, and Harry forces himself to take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. Draco, I just…” Harry reaches out to touch the skin of Draco’s cheek, right under the bruise. Draco makes a soft whining sound but doesn’t pull away. “Please.”
“It was going really well,” Draco says with forced levity. A wistful smile flickers across his features. “It was– I thought it was going well, at dinner, so when he asked if I wanted to go dancing I said yes. But it was so hot when we were dancing that I… I should’ve been thinking clearer.” Draco laughs a little bit, humorlessly. “I just wasn’t thinking.”
Harry lets his hand drop and sits back. “I’m not following.” Draco closes his eyes for a moment then holds up his left arm, where the Dark Mark is on full display underneath his rolled up sleeve, and Harry sucks in a breath.
“He said he couldn’t help it. He didn’t mean to,” Draco says, his eyes still closed and his voice still unsettlingly light. “He just couldn’t help it.”
“Oh my god,” Harry breathes. “Oh my god.”
“Don’t do the self righteous hero thing right now, please.” Draco’s tone is easy, but wavers on the last word. “I just don’t want to think about it.”
The all-consuming anger flooding every part of Harry’s body dies down with the realization that it won’t help Draco, not right now, and what he needs to do right now is make sure that Draco is okay. He reaches up again, slowly so Draco will see him coming. Draco just watches with those wide eyes as Harry traces over his cheek. It’s unsettling– Draco is rarely this quiet, always talking a mile a minute, using his whole body to emphasize his words.
“I have a topical potion for bruises,” Harry says softly. “Let me go grab it, okay?” He starts to move away but Draco grabs his wrist, his eyes suddenly wild and panicked.
“Don’t– I don’t–”
“Okay, it’s okay,” Harry soothes. “It’s just in the loo, you can come with me. The lighting will be better there anyways.” He walks to the bathroom, Draco padding softly behind him with his hand still wrapped around Harry’s wrist. He sits quietly on the closed toilet as Harry rummages around in his medicine cabinet until he finds the potion.
“Do you want to put it on yourself?” Harry asks. Draco blinks up at him as though confused, then looks down.
“I can.”
“I can do it,” Harry says, stepping in front of Draco. “If you want.”
“Yeah.” Draco tilts his face back up towards Harry and closes his eyes. In the stark light of the bathroom he looks so pale, the bruise purple-blue against his eye and cheek, but in the suspended moment Harry realizes how beautiful Draco is. He pauses, the potion still clutched in his hand, trying to understand the feeling that’s twisting inside his chest.
“Harry?” Draco asks softly, keeping his eyes closed. Trusting.
“Sorry. It might be cold.” Harry dips his fingers into the potion and applies it to the bruise, trying to keep his touch as light as possible. Draco winces but doesn’t make a sound, clearly trying to keep his body still. His eyelashes flutter faintly, golden against his skin.
“There you go,” Harry says when he’s smoothed the potion across the entire bruise. His instinct is to say something light, to make Draco smile for real, but he finds he can’t fathom how to do that. It’s as though something fundamental has shifted with Harry’s hand gentle on Draco’s skin, with the fact that Draco chose to come here.
“Why didn’t you go home?” Harry asks softly. Draco lives with Pansy– she would’ve taken care of him.
“I Apparated to the first place I could think of.” Draco’s eyes are still closed, and his face is smooth, expressionless. “You make me feel safe.”
“Oh,” Harry says, unable to form any other response. “Are you… alright?”
Opening his eyes, Draco grins, the lopsided kind that shows off his single dimple. To anyone else it would be convincing, but Harry knows better. “Quite. The bruise will fade, and it already doesn’t hurt. Thank you for the potion. I’ll just–”
“I didn’t just mean physically,” Harry interrupts quietly, and Draco’s smile falters.
“It is what it is. I can’t…” Draco laughs dryly, looking down at his hands. “It’s just how it is.”
“It’s not–”
“It has to be,” Draco states fiercely, snapping his gaze up to Harry’s, eyes glittering. “I can’t do anything about it and I– and I– fuck–”
By the time Harry drops to his knees on the tile floor, Draco is sobbing.
“You’re okay, it’s okay,” Harry murmurs, reaching up to enfold Draco into his arms. Against his shoulder Draco takes heaving breaths, clearly trying and failing to stop crying. Harry gently pulls Draco forward until he slides off the toilet, crumpling down in Harry’s lap. “Shhh, I know. I know.” Harry keeps murmuring nonsense into Draco’s ear, rubbing his back in small circles. He’s never seen Draco like this, and every sob digs right into his heart. Eventually Draco quiets, hiccuping softly as he shakes in Harry’s arms.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”
“No, no, don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Draco pushes his face into Harry’s neck and stays quiet for a long time. When he speaks, his voice is very small. “I just want someone to like me.”
“Draco,” Harry says helplessly as his heart shatters. “Oh, Draco, so many people like you. All of our friends. I like you.”
“You know what I mean, you berk,” Draco replies, his tiny laugh sounding watery.
“I– I like you.” As soon as Harry states it, he knows it's true. Months of happiness and that fluttery feeling in his stomach suddenly make sense, clicking into focus. “I like you.”
“You know what I mean,” Draco repeats, not understanding, and Harry moves away until he can look directly in Draco’s red rimmed eyes while still holding onto him.
“I like you,” Harry states, and Draco’s lips part slightly. “I like the way you make me laugh, and I like watching weird movies with you, and I like the way you push your hair out of your eyes when you get really excited about something, and I like– I like your hands.”
“My hands?” Draco whispers.
“Your hands.” Harry laughs, a little manic, feeling as though there’s magic prickling right under his skin. “Your fucking hands. They’re never still when you talk, it’s incredible.”
“I don’t– I–” Draco is frozen, his words seemingly caught in his throat.
“I don’t expect you to like me back,” Harry says as earnestly as he can, and that rings true also. He’s fine living with this feeling on his own as long as Draco knows how wonderful he is. “Really. You were just on a date, for Merlin’s sake. I understand why it wouldn’t be me. But you are likeable, Draco Malfoy. You are funny and so good and you are so much more than the Mark on your arm and if a man can’t see that then he doesn’t deserve–”
Draco tackles Harry to the floor with the force of his kiss.
“You idiot,” Draco gasps when they break apart, sounding as though he’s a second away from either crying or laughing. Harry gulps in a breath, still dazed from the feeling of Draco’s soft lips on his own. “You idiot. Of course I like you. I thought you knew and were just politely turning me down!”
“Wh– what? When?”
“You help me pick outfits for my dates,” Draco exclaims, dropping his head down into the crook of Harry’s neck. “You seem so happy whenever someone asks me out!”
“Because you’re happy, and I’m your friend?” Harry’s voice is more hesitant than he intends. “I wanted to be supportive.”
“Oh my god,” Draco says, his tone somehow managing to be exasperated and incredulous at the same time. “I underestimated how oblivious you are.”
“Shut up,” Harry replies weakly, turning his head to nudge his nose into Draco’s hair. The tile is cold and uncomfortable on his back, but he doesn't dare move when Draco is so warm on top of his chest. “Is your bruise okay? Be careful, it’ll still be tender even with the potion if you press it too hard.”
Draco’s voice suddenly goes quiet. “It’s alright.”
“Hmm. Up.” Harry taps Draco’s hip until Draco moves off of him. They end up sitting on the floor facing each other, Harry’s back to the wall and Draco’s to the sink.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know,” Harry says, suddenly aware of the fact that if Draco hadn’t gone on his date tonight he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. As though Draco can read Harry’s thoughts, he vehemently shakes his head.
“This isn’t your fault.” Draco gestures vaguely at his face. His gaze is bright, darting across Harry’s expression. “That was someone– someone else's decision. I could’ve been more direct with you, I suppose. I was just scared.”
“Of me?” Harry asks, tucking his knees up to his chest. Draco mirrors him, and their feet overlap.
“Of hearing you say no out loud.”
Harry reaches his hands across the distance between their bodies and Draco meets him in the middle, tangling their fingers together. For a while they sit in comfortable silence, Draco’s eyes flicking between their joined hands and Harry’s face.
“I’m saying yes,” Harry tells him quietly. “I’m not the best at realizing things like this, but I do like you, Draco. I do.”
“I– Harry, that’s– I know it’s late, but would you like to watch something?” Draco asks. He squeezes Harry’s fingers, looking very shy all of a sudden. “I don’t want to go home quite yet.”
“Comfort movie or something new?” Harry squeezes Draco’s hands back, thinking about how he should’ve known he liked Draco by the fact that he can list all of Draco’s comfort movies without a second thought. “I just got Juliet of the Spirits on DVD.”
“That sounds good.” Draco shifts across the small bathroom, leaning on his hands and knees over Harry. Harry straightens his legs out so Draco can get closer and meets the kiss head-on, holding Draco’s jaw in his hands.
“Will you actually watch the movie?” Harry laughs when Draco moves away, panting warm air across Harry’s cheek. “Or just kiss me?”
“I can do both.” The bruise on Draco’s face is fading with the potion, and Harry rubs a gentle thumb under it until Draco moves to stand up. “Come along,” he says, offering a hand down to Harry, a soft and genuine smile on his face. “I think I would like you to hold me.”
“I will,” Harry says, taking Draco’s hand. “I always will.”
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drarrymybeloved · 3 years
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Good Things Come in Pairs
written for week 2 of the 2021 Summer Writin' Challenge. prompt: his hands & craft: non-linear narrative. many thanks to @softlystarstruck for fine-tuning this <3
The sun filters in through large windows, its path disrupted in various places by shelves filled with assorted claywares. Draco quietly marvels at the impressive range of objects on display – shallow bowls, vases with intricate designs, creatively crafted plates, dainty tea sets – all with unique designs. 
No mugs, though.
Draco’s wandering eyes come back to Harry. He looks completely at ease behind his potter's wheel, in his element as he kneads a lump of clay with sure hands. Draco lets himself look at those hands, still so achingly familiar.
Potter grasps his hand firmly, just this side of painful. “Just so we’re clear, I still think you’re a shit,” he says bluntly, jaw set and eyes impenetrable. “But I don’t think you deserve Azkaban.” 
Draco doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he tries to keep his hand steady in Potter’s grip and nods his acknowledgement, his other hand maintaining a death grip on the wand he thought he would never get back. 
With one last inscrutable look, Potter lets go of his hand and walks off towards Granger and Weasley.
Once the clay is soft enough to work with, Harry sets it aside and moves to set up the wheel. He sets a modelling board on the wheel and wets it, then places the clay in the centre of the board and starts up the wheel.
Draco watches, transfixed, as Harry begins to manipulate the clay with his clever hands. He can see everything that Harry is doing, is watching every step, yet he knows that if he were to try, the clay would fall apart immediately. Especially now that it’s been so long since he’s so much as seen someone do this, let alone touched clay.
Harry covers the clay with his hands, pressing oh-so-gently in all the right places. His brown skin is covered with flecks of the greyish clay he’s using. Draco doesn’t move his eyes from Harry’s hands; he couldn’t even if he tried.
Draco’s staring, he knows, but he just can’t tear his eyes away from where Potter’s broad hand is settled on his wrist. It makes an irresistible contrast; Potter’s brown skin against Draco’s paler hue.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Potter says, squeezing Draco’s wrist gently. From anyone else the words would have sounded shallow, but when Potter says them, they sound genuine. It makes sense, really. After all, who else knows loss as intimately as Harry Potter? 
Draco nods. “Thank you,” he says roughly, resisting the urge to cover Potter’s hand with his own, to keep it there on Draco’s wrist.
“She saved my life,” Potter tells him. 
“I know.”
“So did you.”
Draco looks up, shocked. Potter looks calmly back at him, a small smile on his lips, gaze weighty. 
A moment passes before Draco says, “She didn’t suffer.”
“I’m glad.” Potter’s hand moves over Draco’s wrist and his fingers slide between Draco’s. His thumb brushes the back of Draco's hand once, then settles.
They don’t talk. The whirr of the wheel fills the silence between them. It's not tense or expectant. It just is. Harry continues to mould the clay and Draco continues to breathe.
The clay begins to take shape. Draco sucks in a sharp breath as he realises what Harry is making. 
Draco had come to Harry’s shop today to see him, to talk to him, to explain. But as soon as their eyes had met, Draco’s carefully planned words had washed away. The Harry in his head, the one whom he practiced speaking those words to, was a shadow, a woeful underestimation of the real Harry. Draco had been expecting harsh words and hostile stares. What an absurd notion. Cruel taunts and snarled insults had long since given way to loving endearments and calm conversations, and Draco had been a fool for thinking so lowly of Harry. Harry had simply tilted his head a little, smiled, and got to work.
“You’re taking up pottery? Bit on the nose isn’t it?” Draco scrunches his nose. “Harry Potter the potter.” He snorts.
Harry sticks his tongue out at Draco, his hands and arms covered in clay. “Shut it, you menace. I’m making you something.”
Draco looks dubiously at the misshapen lump of clay in Harry’s hands. “That’s nice.”
Harry laughs at the note of uncertainty in Draco’s voice that he couldn’t fully disguise. 
In the end, Draco loves his mug. It’s quite rough around the edges and the bottom is uneven, which makes for a lot of cursing when the tea inevitably spills, but Harry made it for him and that’s more than enough. It’s green, which was meant to remind Draco of Slytherin, but instead puts him in mind of Harry’s eyes. Harry’s made one for himself too – Gryffindor red – because mugs should come in pairs, apparently. 
“Besides,” Harry says, “what kind of a couple doesn’t have matching mugs?”
Harry is making a mug for Draco. For the first time since Harry started working, Draco takes his eyes off Harry’s hands and looks at his face. Harry’s expression is calm, his posture relaxed. He’s absorbed in his work.
Draco, on the other hand, is anything but relaxed – his mind is racing, thoughts tripping over themselves. Hope rises within him, unbidden. He hadn’t allowed himself to hope for anything more than a civil conversation, a chance to clear the air. But Harry is making him a mug, and Draco cannot bring himself to believe that it holds no significance.
“I’m going to come back, Harry,” Draco whispers, hands clenched tightly around his mug of tea, needing Harry to believe him.
Harry just looks at him with shiny eyes, the corners of his mouth turned down in distress.
“I love you, I do, I just feel so,” Draco runs a hand through his hair in agitation. “Stifled,” he says. “I had a stifled childhood, and it took me a bloody war to understand that. I spent so long exposed to just one set of values, one particular culture, and I just need–” Draco flounders for a moment, trying to find a way to explain his need for autonomy in a way that won’t hurt Harry. “I think I just need some space from everything that defined who I was and figure out, for myself, who I want to be.”
Harry looks wretched and Draco’s heart aches with the knowledge that he put that expression there. 
“I can understand that,” Harry says hoarsely, not looking at Draco.
When Draco leaves, he takes the green mug with him. He drinks his morning tea in it, wherever he may be – Paris, Amsterdam, New York, Mumbai – the mug comes with him. He tries not to feel too bereft without the familiar red mug that used to sit beside it.
Draco says nothing as he watches Harry complete the final few stages of the process. Harry shapes the mug to his satisfaction – so much better than the one currently sitting in Draco’s kitchen cupboard – and sets it to the side to dry out. He moulds the handle from a long piece of clay and attaches it to the body of the mug wandlessly. Finally, he glazes the mug. Draco’s heart stutters when he sees the colour – emerald green. 
“I already have one of those, you know.”
Harry looks at him for the first time since he started making the mug. A slow smile takes over his face. “I’ve gotten much better since then,” he says. “This one won’t spill your tea.”
Draco’s heart is beating a million miles a minute. He takes a step towards Harry. “Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s endearing.”
Harry laughs, and Merlin, Draco missed that laugh so much. 
“You’ll have to make another one now,” he says.
Harry smiles, teasing. “Why is that?”
And it’s presumptuous and risky, but this is Harry – presumptuous and risky is practically his love language. Heart in his throat, Draco takes a few more steps and comes around the workstation to Harry’s side. He reaches out and cradles Harry’s hands in his own, hoping Harry can’t feel their slight tremor. Harry watches with wide eyes as Draco brings his hands up slowly, so that Harry can draw back if he wants to. He doesn’t.
Draco dips his head, brushing his lips gently, reverently, against Harry’s clay-flecked hands. He meets Harry’s eyes and says, “Because what kind of a couple doesn’t have matching mugs?”
Harry is still as a statue, shock written all over his face, and for one terrible second Draco thinks he’s miscalculated and fucked it all up. But then, Harry smiles and it’s radiant and perfect and exactly the way he smiled every morning when Draco drank his tea out of his perfect-imperfect mug. Harry laughs, and it’s a little watery, but his hands are sure in Draco���s and his kiss feels like coming home.
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lqtraintracks · 3 years
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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Teddy Lupin/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Pansy Parkinson, mentions of Pansy/Parvati, mentions of Blaise/Ginny - Character Words: ~2,000 Additional Tags: Polyamory, Anal Sex, Elevator Sex, Metamorphmagus, Genderfluid Character, Threesome, Cross-Generation Relationship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia Summary: Draco hates Ministry balls. Potter, Draco knows, isn’t too keen on them either and never has been. It’s the only thing they seem to agree on and share. One of the only things. A/N: Written for the glorious @magpiefngrl‘s 2021 Summer Writin Challenge! I randomly rolled Prompt #3: Wonder, Trope #11: Identity Porn, and Craft #3: Outsider/Peripheral POV. I don't think I was super successful with that last one, but oh well! :D
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the-starryknight · 3 years
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Let Me Carry It Instead
Rated: M | Graphic Descriptions of Violence | 1k
For the 2021 Summer Writin’ Challenge: Week 6 Prompt: The Power's Out, Trope: Hurt/Comfort, Craft: First Person POV/Story within a Story, Characters/Objects: A photograph Summary: He's going to save the Wizarding world again (again!), I know it. I'll hold him when he aches from it and wash away the blood. I'll tell him he's still a good man even if I don't believe it. many thanks to @babooshkart for the cheerleading, and to @p1013 for the beta read on this one!
CW: for Murder (of an OC), blood, corrupt Ministry (more tags on Ao3)
There’s soap in my hands, in his hair, and it’s the only defense I have against the tidal swell of heartache in my gut. I hate him in his Polyjuiced form. The Minister’s assistant’s shoulders are too thin, his hair too long. Harry’s lips are someone else’s lips, but I kiss him all the same. My hands on his skin are the only balm I’ve got to give, the only salvation I can offer the man who can’t stop saving everyone but himself.
“It was horrible,” he says. I rub the blood from his palms; my hands turn scarlet with it too.
It’s worse in the flicker of candles. When he Apparated back home, still sizzling with too much power, he took out the lights across the block. In the dim orange glow, I’m scared of the red refracted in his eyes.
“Horrible,” I echo, voiceless, useless, my heart in my mouth, as I scrape the rust-red from under his fingernails. “Let me hold it,” I beg. I don’t mean his hands. “Let me hold you.”
The water’s hot at our hips and even the steam curling off the surface of the water looks pink. There’s too much blood, and though I know it’s not his, the thunderbolt in my throat hurts like it is, like my Harry is hurt. It’s worse because the disguise is fading, and the bruise at his wrist is less stark on his deep brown skin, and his eyes are green again and carry too much for his young shoulders. I want to take it all away from him. Let him rest, let him rest.
“Does anything hurt?” I ask, sluicing fresh water over his shoulders, summoning the soap that I always use — oranges, cinnamon, bitters — to slip new suds across his chest.
“No injuries.”
I can’t help but touch him as the last of the Polyjuice fades away, fingers following rivulets of water to track familiar lines across his collarbones, to press into the divot on his chest where he died (where he died, was that not enough?), to slip over the curve of his hipbones under the water. His breath is warm against my wet shoulder, I have to pull him into my arms. The tub’s so full, water slips over the sides as we move, but I don’t care.
“I’m glad you’re home,” I say, too quietly, hoping he won’t hear.
But he does, damn him, and he says it back, “Me too,” and smiles for the first time since he landed. The smile doesn’t touch his eyes (how could it, with what he’s done tonight?) but it settles in the pink of his mouth.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I feel his swallow under my fingertips, the flannel a bare barrier between my hand and his throat. I think these are the marks of fingernails, and I want to hurt the person that dared leave them on him, though I know she’s already dead.
“Not with words,” he says, and swallows again.
I have to lean forward and kiss him against his throat so I can feel his heartbeat under my lips. He’s alive, he’s alive. Let him rest.
“Not with words,” I echo, and meet his eyes.
We’ve done it a thousand times; his wandless Legilimens links us together with a flash like a camera going off. I’m his eyes and itching under his skin, I’m in his mind, and he’s guiding me through too many colors and sounds. I don’t know how he lives like this, in this cacophony; I don’t know how he thinks in this noise. I want to take every burden from him, let him sit in quiet.
“—know what you did,” Harry’s voice echoes from a memory that veers too loud against the side of my head. Distantly, I feel my hands flash in the water, but I’m too lost in his mind to register more than the touch of his hand over mine before I’m tumbling into the memory, into his mind. I’d throw myself to his mercy again and again and again.
Marena Morganthau, the Minister for Magic, reclines in her chair, mauve fingernails tapping on the desk. She smiles at first, and realizes he’s not who he’s supposed to be. It’s too late. The memory moves like a photograph, twitching forward wrongly, ruined by the frenetic frazzle of Harry’s magic.
“Will you admit your collusion with neo-Death Eaters?” Harry asks. I can feel the rumble in his chest even in the memory. “Will you accept responsibility for the hundreds of Muggle lives already lost under your—” his mouth twists, my mouth twists, “—regime?”
Her Patronus call for help is barely corporeal before Harry snuffs it out, his magic more consumptive than a Dementor’s kiss.
“I asked you a question.”
The sound of her desk shattering into a thousand pieces at Harry’s feet splinters in my ears. I reach for him, feel his real self, wet and warm in my arms, still slick from the soap. I’ll watch this horror for him; I’ll tell him he’s not the monster he thinks he must be.
The Minister isn’t going to answer, that much is clear from the set to her jaw. She expects that the saviour will be a good man. He is a good man, but not by her standards.
She crumbles like the desk.
I watch it happen, blood on my hands, on Harry’s hands, the flicker-flash of the Legilimency burned around the edges with the force of his violent magic.
“I can hold this too,” I say out loud, half-broken, half-strong. Harry touches my shoulders to free me from the memory. “I’ll hold this for you too.”
This is my atonement too. I pick up the sponge; I’ll wash this from his skin, absolve him.
“You’ve saved us again,” I remind him (and me). I pour fresh water from my wand, fragrant with the soap, clear and bloodless. “You’re a good man. You can rest now. You can rest.”
Read it on Ao3!
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drarryspecificrecs · 3 years
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2021.07 ~ Top 10 longest fics posted on AO3
1. Two Houses by @keepcalmandexpectopatronum934 [E, 231k]
►[...] Harry and Draco have returned to Hogwarts to complete their final year of education, and both are unhappy to see the other. But when they are cast in the starring roles in the school production of Romeo and Juliet, they begin to see each other in a new light.
2. Under Dragon Wings by @bafflinghaze [T, 182k]
►Being able to turn into a dragon is not all its cracked up to be, not when Draco has to navigate an increasingly fractious Hogwarts, Death Eaters, and anti-Death Eaters��and lead his Slytherins to safety through all of it. And if Potter becomes one of his Slytherins, then he’ll have to...treat him nicely too.
3. I Beg Your Pardon, Potter? by Riyan_Blue [M, 164k]
►Harry asks Malfoy on a date. On a dare. What's the worst that could happen?
4. In Memory, Eternally by @samyistrying [E, 93k]
►Seven years after the defeat of Voldemort, Harry Potter leads a terribly dull life. When an old diary by Draco Malfoy surfaces, his life takes a turn and he soon finds himself stuck on a rollercoaster of emotions. // A story about finding courage, about the freedom of change and about love.
5. the Dragon Killer by cafesdeshanghai [M, 76k]
►Life as the owner of Shanghai’s highest-ranking bars and nightclubs isn’t an easy one, but Draco lived it well enough. [...] Until the day he catches sight of a familiar face in his bar… Harry fucking Potter. Turns out that there’s a killer on the loose, and MI6 Agent Potter is in charge of the case. Against his better judgement, Draco once again finds himself entangled in the underworld, but as the mystery deepens, realizes that the Dragon Killer might be closer than he originally thought…
6. Draco Malfoy & The Philosopher's Stone by Acacia_Laurel_Potter [?, 54k]
►Draco's first year in the past.
7. the devil wears malfoy by @softsams [T, 50k]
►It's a morning like any other at Atelier Malfoy for Draco, the most celebrated couturier in all of wizarding Britain. (In all of wizarding Europe, if you ask him.) That is, until he receives a request from a would-be client claiming to be Harry Potter, in need of a full bespoke ensemble for the Battle of Hogwarts 25th Anniversary Gala in the spring. Harry Potter hasn't been seen in ten years. So of course Draco takes the request.
8. draco malfoy & the philosopher's stone by @softlyblues [T, 48k]
►When 17-year-old Draco Malfoy accidentally uses a magical storm on the night before his death to communicate with his younger self, the ramifications on an 11-year-old Draco are huge. Entering Hogwarts with a warning ringing in his ears and a strange voice in his head, one small shift in attitude might change the Wizarding World forever - but for good, or ill?
9. The Curse of Wanting by @nothing-left-sacred [E, 46k]
►Draco is a Potions Master on a quest to collect a rare ingredient in the seas of Southern France. Harry is a Curse Breaker who mysteriously disappeared after taking a job in France, who hasn’t been heard from since.
10. King's Crossing by @lower-east-side [E, 42k]
►A familiar yet unexpected face greets Harry in the Forest at the close. Five years later, Harry comes to learn that destiny isn’t done with him yet.
---
※ Word count: 1k ~ 15k
※ Word count: 15k ~ 40k
Brilliant Bloody Birthday by karameiwaku [E, 23k]
Just nice things by Plum_Pancake [M, 31k]
Master Manipulator by DoloresUmbridgeDE [M, 16k]
Melancholia by GoldFrostbite13 [M, 36k]
the ripple effect by yellowmarshmallow [?, 28k]
A Treacherous Thing by @mysticdreamerwrites [E, 18k]
who is in control by @osnapitsdanni [T, 29k, series]
---
Ongoing Fest/Exchange
2021 Summer Writin'
Exploding Snap: A Drarry Game/Fest | @gameofdrarry
HD Wireless 2021 | @hd-wireless
Wheel of Drarry Mini-Exchange
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m0srael · 3 years
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Torch Your Inhibitions
2k | E | Read on Ao3
Third installment for @magpiefngrl's 2021 Summer Writing Challenge. Prompts: Bonfire + Sex Pollen + Unreliable Narrator. I joked about making this just a whole lotta nature-based group sex and...well... Thanks @nv-md and @devilrising for making this even better!
“Malfoy, are you sure the invitation says no pants allowed?” Harry says to the mirror as he grimaces and tightens the rope holding his robe closed around his hips.
“Yes, Luna has been very clear about the order of this evening’s events, and frankly it just seems... neater to me. You disagree?”
Harry forgets to reply for a moment, distracted by the broad swath of pale chest Draco’s own robe has left exposed, one hard, pink nipple on full display. Draco doesn’t notice that Harry’s jaw has gone slack as he’s too busy readjusting himself under the thick, burgundy fabric that makes his hair seem more golden than usual.
“Well, I mean, she’s not going to check, is she?” Harry manages to say, despite the marked blood deficit in his brain. “Bloody hell, what am I saying, it’s Luna of course she’d check.”
“Right. So…” Draco murmurs , matter-of-factly, as he moves to stand close behind Harry, making eye contact in the mirror, “knickers off, Potter.”
Harry tells himself he doesn’t know what Draco is about to do, but the moment he feels the fabric shift against his arse he freezes, hoping beyond hope that he has guessed correctly.
“Alright?” Draco whispers on a smirk into his bare shoulder as an unsupressable shudder shakes through Harry.
Harry can’t speak, so he just nods.
Draco slowly gathers up the bottom of Harry’s robe in his fingers until he can slip his hands underneath it, letting it cascade down his wrists. He hooks his thumbs in the elastic band where it wraps around Harry’s hips.
Harry’s eyes fall closed as Draco’s fingers drag against his skin, down and down Harry’s thighs, until his pants fall to the ground.
Draco makes a soft sound. When Harry’s eyes fly open he realizes that Draco’s gaze is fixed to the tent in his loose robe, all the more obvious now that his cock is free.
“Steady, Potter. We haven’t even made it to the party yet,” Draco growls, before turning quickly and stalking out of the bedroom.
Harry groans and covers his flaming face, letting his head thunk against the wardrobe door. He doesn’t understand what it all means.
He and Draco have been living together for a year and a half. For the first six months they avoided one another almost entirely. The eight or so months after that had been punctuated by short, fiery conversations as they felt each other out, slowly arriving at some mutual understanding and even cautious friendship.
The last few months, including the very moment Harry finds himself in presently, have been an unending nightmare. He never realized how tactile Draco is with friends, but he touches Harry all the time.
When Draco needs a glass from the cupboard over Harry’s head, he plants one hot palm firmly on Harry’s lower back to steady himself. When they sit on the couch watching films, Draco always slides his cold feet under Harry’s thigh for warmth. It only takes half a pint at the pub before Draco’s leaning into Harry’s side, and another half before Draco drops his head onto Harry’s shoulder and presses his nose into Harry’s throat.
Draco also apparently has some aversion to closed doors. Harry is sure it has something to do with growing up in the Manor, being shut in for so long with such terrible people. It doesn’t really bother Harry, who also hates feeling trapped.
Though...he did accidentally walk in on Draco in the shower, mid-wank, last week.
Harry had stood, mesmerized in the doorway, watching for longer than he would ever admit (even to himself). He only averted his eyes when Draco noticed him, and said, “Are you going to stand there gaping, or are you going to help, Potter?” He laughed mockingly as Harry hurried down the hallway shouting apologies.
A tiny part of Harry’s brain recognizes Draco’s behavior as flirtatious. The other part--the louder part--knows that never in a million years would Draco Malfoy share Harry’s secret desires. This is just how Draco is with everyone. Harry only started to notice it once they lived in the same house.
“Harry...I know you told me to stop asking, but...you’re sure you’re okay with this? You want to go? The details of the ritual were pretty clear, and Luna did say that no one was obligated to--”
Gods, did Draco think he was that naive and squeamish? No, he would see this through, if only to prove a point.
“Yeah, yep...yes. I’m okay. I mean, I want to go. I’m...curious. NO! I mean, well...I want to...support Luna, so…” Harry trails off as he joins Draco on the front steps.
“Uh huh. Convincing,” Draco smirks, “if you want to leave, you can. Okay?” he finishes in that soft, pedantic way of his before taking Harry’s hand and apparating them to the coordinates from Luna’s invitation.
*
Luna had insisted everyone arrive rested and well-hydrated, and Harry was glad he’d taken her advice.
Before the sunlight faded completely, they set up the May Day altar together, followed Luna in a series of prayers for fertility and abundance, and danced around the maypole. Neville had even brought everyone a seedling to plant somewhere in the forest or take home to plant in their garden.
Harry would be feeling a little silly about all the neo-pagan pageantry, if his stomach weren’t tying itself into knots the further the sun falls below the horizon.
Before he knows it, Seamus is tossing a lit torch onto a giant pile of logs in the center of the forest clearing.
“Happy May Day, everyone!” Luna sing-songs as they all assemble around the bonfire.
She reaches into a fold in her robe and pulls out a small pouch.
“It’s time for the most important rite of the evening. I hope you all took the time to read the pamphlet I included with your invitation. If you’d like to forgo participation, I suggest you step away from the fire before we begin. If anyone is still unsure about what this part of the evening entails, please let me know now! There are no silly questions!”
Harry watches as a few people say their goodbyes and apparate away. He lifts one foot slightly as if to move away from the fire before catching Draco’s eyes across the circle. His brow is furrowed—he looks upset. His eyes are glowing in the firelight and he flicks his tongue out along his bottom lip. Harry plants his feet, nodding slightly as if to say yeah, I’m okay, I’m staying.
“Alright, everyone! Take the hands of the people beside you!”
Harry’s hand closes around Neville’s on one side and Pansy’s on the other. He makes eye contact with Neville and can’t stop the manic, high-pitched laugh that ekes its way out of his throat. Neville just smiles warmly and squeezes his hand. Harry’s stomach flutters.
“Have you all got the kits we sent with your invitations?” The group murmurs affirmatively. “Good! Just in case, there are extras in the basket over there! Can’t be too careful!” says Luna as she opens the pouch and dumps sparkling powder onto the fire.
The flames turn a brilliant deep purple color and leap up six or seven feet, giving off thick plumes of lavender smoke. Neville inhales and sighs deeply.
Harry closes his eyes and lets the fragrant smoke overwhelm his senses. He feels a soft breeze caress his hot skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He gasps as his robe rustles around his thighs.
Every ounce of nervousness melts out of him and into the earth. He’s distantly aware that there are people moving around him but he can’t be bothered to open his eyes and look at them; he feels better than he’s ever felt in his life.
Gentle fingers slide into his hair, making his mouth fall open to receive an eager tongue.
“Harry…” Neville whispers into his mouth before kissing him soundly. They stand for a while, lips sliding over each other’s mouths and palms moving over each other’s bodies.
“Mm, s’good…” Harry slurs as someone unties the rope around his hips and slides his robe off. He shivers at the sudden kiss of cool air and curling smoke.
When he finally pries his eyes open his view is full of the top of Neville’s head, now on his knees in front of Harry. Harry rolls Neville's head in his palms until their glassy eyes meet. Harry hadn’t realized he was so hard--he groans as Neville takes him in hand and begins to stroke him lazily.
A hand slides around his chest from behind and a soft, warm body presses flush against his back.
“I always thought you were fit...” Pansy mouths against the back of his neck. Her small fingers tease his nipples as she rolls her naked body against his.
Harry shivers again when the thick smoke parts and his eyes land on Draco across the fire. He’s kissing Seamus deeply, one hand wrapped around the back of his head, as he strokes them both with one hand. He gasps when Draco opens his eyes and turns his head slightly to look right at him.
Making sure he didn’t chicken out, probably.
Harry’s head falls back onto the top of Pansy’s as Neville takes him into his mouth, inch by inch, humming around him. Harry’s first orgasm rolls through him almost without his knowledge, every cell in his body pulsing as Neville moans and licks him through it. He watches as Neville pulls off and strokes himself to completion, one hand gripping Harry’s thigh tightly.
*
He’s on his knees in front of Pansy, who he’s backed into a tree at the edge of the clearing, his face wet and hot, when he hears that voice.
“My loves,” Draco purrs. The clearing is filled with the sounds of heavy panting and urgent moans.
As Draco leans over Harry’s shoulder to kiss Pansy, his cock rests hot and heavy on Harry’s shoulder. Harry slides his tongue out of Pansy, replacing it with two fingers, to press his mouth to Draco’s throbbing flesh. Draco curls his fingers in Harry’s hair, pulling hard.
“Harry...need you…now...” Draco pants, pulling his head further back so they can make eye contact. Pansy moans loudly and Harry can feel her tighten around him, hips rocking forward onto his fingers.
Draco pulls Harry away from the clearing, the light and sounds from the bonfire growing distant and muffled. He urges Harry onto his back on the forest floor before straddling his hips.
“So...beautiful,” breathes Harry as he runs appreciative hands over Draco’s scarred chest, “want you so much…”
“Want you too, for so long, Harry,” Draco replies as he pops open the cap of the little bottle of lube Luna had sent them. The handmade label reads ‘A Happy May Day is a Lubricated One!’ complete with little drawings of butterflies.
“What?” replies Harry, hands stilling in confusion.
Harry can’t temper the sound that tears out of him as Draco wraps his wet hand around them both and begins to roll his hips. Harry thinks he’ll come again from that alone, but before he can Draco’s hand is gone.
“Aren’t you glad, now, that you listened to the no-pants rule--ah--Potter?” Draco quips as he lowers himself slowly onto Harry.
“Mmmm, yes, yes you were right,” hisses Harry as waves of heat and sensation roll up his spine.
“There, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Draco teases on a breathy laugh that quickly becomes a low moan.
Harry’s hips press up to meet Draco’s every slow, languorous thrust. Harry drifts, pulled under by Draco’s fingers and his lips at Harry’s ear whispering all kinds of incredible things.
You’re all I want, Harry. Need you, all the time, not just tonight. Please, I’m yours, I’m yours, Harry.
When Harry comes, he cradles Draco’s face in his hands, open mouth pressed against the corner of Draco’s mouth. Draco immediately follows, breathing out Harry’s name again, and again.
Harry can’t stop the laugh that forces its way out of his chest, and he’s delighted when Draco laughs along with him, folding forward to rest his forehead against Harry’s.
*
When Harry wakes up the next morning his memory of the night before is complete in his mind, but it feels wrapped in a purple-tinted haze. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s not alone in his bed--Draco is tucked up against his side, breathing gently.
Harry turns to watch him sleep in silence for a moment, finally admitting to himself that Draco really had been flirting with him the whole time. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but he doesn’t want to wake Draco.
It takes him a moment to notice that Draco’s eyes have blinked open sleepily.
“Mine?” whispers Harry.
“Yours, Harry.”
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