#hpfearfest2021

[shah-writes]

bring him back

for the @hp-fearfest day 9 prompt: mad scientist. no warnings! | on ao3

Draco mixes in the lavender leaves carefully. They’re thinly sliced and the scent seeps into his fingertips.  

“What will that do?” Harry asks. He sits on the counter, like he always used to, swinging his legs and chomping on an apple. He’s faded around the edges, but then again, dying will do that to you. 

“Lavender leaves have been proven to facilitate communication across great distances,” Draco replies. He tsks when Harry leans forward, his enormous head hovering over the cauldron. “Don’t breathe in the fumes, you loon,” he says, pushing him away. 

Harry just chuckles and takes another bite out of the apple, sticky juice shining on his lips. Draco wishes he could touch him. 

“And that?” Harry asks, when Draco pours in a vial of green liquid. 

“That’s lizard bile,” he replies. “Good for opening channels to other realms.”

Harry hums. There’s a look in his eyes that Draco can’t quite comprehend, but it fades quickly. Harry smiles again and rests his head on Draco’s shoulder. It’s cold and light, but not for long. 

“I didn’t even know lizards had bile,” Harry says. He plays absentmindedly with the bottles lined up on Draco’s tables. 

“Of course not. You spent every Potions class staring at me.”

Harry laughs loudly, his head bent back and eyes wrinkled. The ache in Draco’s ribs stings, carving itself closer to his heart. 

“I’m going to bring you back, Harry. I promise, I’ll bring you back to life.”

Harry stops laughing. “Draco,” he whispers. Then, he startles, steps back. “Oh, that’s the door,” he says. “Probably Hermione, I’ll get it.” He drifts away, chasing a nonexistent noise. 

He gets like this sometimes, Draco knows. It’s a symptom of his death. Forgetting that he hasn’t seen Hermione in weeks, that he can’t answer doors, that he’s not alive anymore, just a ghost in Draco’s mind. He sighs and gets back to work. 

-

Hermione steps inside cautiously. She’s holding tupperwares filled with food and a bouquet of yellow roses. Draco’s favorite. “How is he?” She asks softly. 

Harry bites his lip and frowns. “Fine. He’s in the lab.”

“You’re letting him work on his potions?” She asks anxiously. 

He clenches his jaw. There’s an ache in his throat, pouring into his heart. “No,” he whispers, “it’s just water with food dye and weeds I found in the garden.”

Hermione steps closer, settling into Harry’s chest and wrapping her arms around him. “Oh, Harry. I’m sorry.” She asks softly, “What is he doing?”

“He’s trying to bring me back to life,” Harry replies into her hair. 

Hermione looks up incredulously. “He… he thinks you’re dead?”

Harry glances back at Draco, surrounded by fake ingredients and fake memories. 

And Harry doesn’t regret a thing. He turns back to Hermione. “I had to do it, Hermione. I had to bring him back.”

#ohno harry bby what did u do #hpfearfest2021 #hpfearfest #shah-writes #drarry fic #drarry fanfic

[hp-fearfest]

HP FearFest

2021 All Hallows Challenge

Are you a fan of Horror? Love a good slasher flick? Haunted houses more your thing? Maybe demons and exorcisms are your style. If so, we want to share your spooky work!

HP FearFest is a tribute to all things Horror in the Harry Potter Fandom. This year, we’re running an open challenge throughout the month of October. All creative Horror-inspired submissions (fics, art, etc.) are welcome!

See below for guidelines and participation info!

Guidelines

🎃 On September 1st a list of 31 Horror-themed prompts will be shared: one for each day of the month of October

🎃 Create for as many or as few as you like, whenever you like, or use a self-prompt! Want to tackle all 31? Amazing! Feel particularly inspired by just one? Perfect!

🎃 Submissions must be HP-related, but all pairings and all eras are welcome!

🎃 Because the horror genre can be particularly challenging for some people, please pay special attention to your tags and TWs. If your post isn’t properly tagged we may not be able to share.

🎃 Your contribution should engage in some way with horror genres and tropes (whether related to the prompts or not).

🎃 Fluff, smut, and happy endings (and everything that goes along with them) are very welcome! Just because something leaves you feeling creeped out, that doesn’t mean it can’t leave you feeling warm and fuzzy, too!

🎃There is no minimum or maximum word count for fics!

How to participate:

--->On Tumblr

🦇 Follow HP-FearFest

🦇 As you create, post your work and tag us @HP-FearFest and use the tag #HPFearFest2021. We will reblog your work here (with credit!) as we’re tagged!

🦇 Beginning November 1st through November 30, we will post roundups and highlights here!

--->On Ao3 HPFearFest

🧛‍♂️ From October 1st through November 30th, add your work to the HP FearFest Collection.

🧛‍♂️ All submissions to the Ao3 collection will be reblogged here (with credit!) and included in roundups and highlight posts beginning November 1st.

👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻

Send us an ask with any questions!

Happy Haunting,

Your mods:

@corvuscrowned & @m0srael

#HPFearFest2021 #HPFearFest #SpookyScary #hp fanfic #hp fanart #fandom challenge #halloween #all hallows eve #harry potter #drarry #wolfstar #linny #hp fic #hp horror

[e-vangeiion]

Tarot version of my favorite HP Fearfest 2021

top: version 1

bottom: version 2

So I did a tarot card version of my favorite fanfics in this year’s HP Fearfest !! (All of these are Drarry fics) and I enjoyed making every single one of these. Hopefully, I did the best of what I can in making it minimalist as much as possible (it was hard for me since this is not usually my style). I would like to thank the authors for giving me inspiration in making these tarot cards. Their works are the reason why I made the tarot themed work. Links are down below:

(NOTES: PLS LOOK AT THE TAGS FIRST)

1. The Willing Flesh by @corvuscrowned

2. Poisoned by @triggerlil

3. Silence on the 7th floor by @fw00shy

4. Slimy Yet Satisfying by @m0srael

5. Hands, Red. Hands, Red by @starlitsilvereyes

6. You Cup Will Never Empty by @starlitsilvereyes​

Happy spooky month !! :D 

#drarry #hp fanfic #drarry fic #hpfearfest2021 #tbh i was supposed to animate these but ae in my laptop is sht :) probably in the future #drarry fic rec #horror #tarot cards

[cavendishbutterfly]

What is lost stays lost

For the prompt “Forbidden Forest” for @hp-fearfest | rated T | 454 words | Read on AO3 | MOD Harry

Draco knows about Harry’s nighttime wandering into the Forbidden Forest. They’re new professors at Hogwarts this year. It’s the crest of fall, the air is crisp. And when Draco rolls over in the ungodly hours of the morning to find an empty bed, he snatches Harry’s cloak and walks into the gloom of his boyhood nightmares. Trees that choke out the sky above, gnarled brambles and bushes that sway even without a breeze. It stinks of dirt, and rain, and rot. He follows Harry from a distance. And Draco knows, this is where Harry lets go. Harry allows leaves to shrivel and shudder around him. Tree bark devours itself to black craters around him. The chatter of creatures in the branches above scatters or falls silent. Only the cloak keeps Draco protected from it all—that much he’s figured out. 

Some nights Harry simply comes to the forest to be—other nights to purge, black waves rolling off his shoulders, down his back, tempestuous. And then one night, he seems to wander. He paces here and there as he stares intently at the earth, scattering withered leaves and dirt until he reaches down and picks up something indiscernible from a distance. Harry hefts it in his hand. Turns it once, and a woman stands before him, translucent and ethereal with a kind smile and piercing eyes. Twice, and Draco is able to catch the profile of Sirius Black before it dissolves into a cluster of faces. Thrice: Andromeda’s daughter, a Gryffindor with a camera. Again and again, Harry turns the object in his hands as ashen figures wink in and out, a crowd forming, a throng of pale bodies writhing for space. They swallow him; Draco cannot see Harry but still the number of bodies swells as the object turns and turns and turns. The air is thick with unfinished business, urgency, yearning. The figures innumerable flock toward Harry with incoherent need.

And then after a long while, just as suddenly, the forms vanish. The sound of a small object dropping into the underbrush. Harry’s shoulders slump, his dark hair shading his eyes. Draco knows he hasn’t much time. He walks quickly back to the castle and folds Harry’s cloak perfectly off-center, just as it had been before. He slips into bed. He dutifully closes his eyes, breathes evenly. In, out.

When Harry wakes him at daybreak with a kiss on the forehead, Draco merely smiles. Accepts the tea that is offered to him. Chats about small things, assignments, quidditch standings. When Harry leaves their quarters, Draco sneaks his worn copy of Beedle from his bedside drawer and does some light reading.

Harry will tell him in his own time. And until then, Draco will wait.

Thank you so much to @written-in-ash for the lovely beta! And a little tag for @starlitsilvereyes and @moonstruckwytch since this is now posted :)

#MOD Harry #hp-fearfest #mourning #ghosts #Harry spooky but mostly he sad #Draco following Harry via cloak this time how the turntables #Just cute hogwarts professor things #drarry #my writing #hpfearfest2021

[steampunkserpent27]

Voices

For @hp-fearfest ’s prompt haunted house.  CW: slight spookiness and the attempted murder of a plant.  “Draco.” Draco lifted his head from his reading,” Yeah?” Harry must be home. After no response he raised his voice,” Yeah, Harry?!” Sighing, he set his book down and got up to go find him. The entrance hall was empty and so was the kitchen. “Harry?” It was then that he noticed the clock. Harry wasn’t due home for another three hours. It was just him. He must be hearing things. An hour later it happened again. “Hi.” Draco again, looked up from his reading expecting to see Potter coming home and froze when he saw the time. What was going on? Deciding that he no longer wanted to sit in the living room he grabbed his book and climbed the stairs that led to their shared bedroom. Hopping onto the bed he shook himself out of it. He was just tired. That had to be it. He was sure if he got some sleep all of this would go away. Draco awoke to Harry gently caressing his face,” Hey, sleepyhead.” He said with a bright smile. “Hey.” He mumbled back, completely forgetting about his earlier worries. “What happened to your plant?” Harry asked innocently. “My plant?” Draco was now sitting up, his eyes darting to the windowsill that had held his aloe vera. His poor plant was now sprawled across the floor, dirt spilling out of the pot,” Oh no.” He dumped as much of the soil back into the plastic container as possible and then carefully buried the exposed roots. He’d been taking care of it for months. He really liked that plant. Of course, Harry teased him for it but it gave him something to do while he was alone. Harry placed his hand on his shoulder,” I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Draco carefully placed it on the windowsill and pushed it as far back as it could go,” Yeah, maybe.” Later that night Draco was lying awake in bed, tucked against the nook of Harry’s arm. It was warm and he was extremely sleepy. “Draco.” “Hmm?” he mumbled, shifting so he could look up at Harry. He felt a shiver run up his spine when he saw that he was fast asleep.

#hpfearfest2021 #drarry #drarryshortstory #draco malfoy #harry potter #harry x draco #draco x harry #haunted house #ghosts #voices #spooky #short story #drarryfic #ironically this might be one of the fluffiest things I've written. #whoops #prompt

[m0srael]

Each Conflagration, a Confirmation

For @hp-fearfest's day 9 prompt: Mad Scientist. CW: Mentions of arson and immolation, Mention of Fiendfyre.

(Read on Ao3 | 539 words | T)

“Shay. Shay!”

Seamus drags his dry eyelids over his rough, heated eyeballs and turns away from the fire to find Dean standing in the sitting room doorway, half dressed. He’s holding two different colored ties up to his throat, switching them back and forth.

“Sorry, what?”

“Which one goes best? I’m horrible at matching colors. Blue or red?”

“Erm—red. Looks nice on your skin, love.”

Dean flushes and rolls his eyes, but loops the red silk around his neck. “We need to go in five, we can’t be late!” he calls as he walks back down the hallway toward their bedroom.

Seamus kneels on the hearthrug and pulls a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket. He tosses it into the dying embers and watches as the edges curl in on themselves, falling to ash until there’s nothing left.

That’s one thing he loves about fire, out of many—the way it consumes and consumes, eating and swallowing until there’s nothing left. It purifies and cleanses, burning away imperfections and mistakes and reducing everything in its path down to its most elemental form.

He knows, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that magic is fire. Why else would spells erupt from a wizard’s wand in swirls of heat and light? Why else would his magical core burn inside of him, hot and roiling? Why else is Fiendfyre one of the most feared and respected curses in the magical world?

Magic is fire, and fire is magic. Pure, unadulterated magic.

He’s seen that magic at work so many times. He knows from his own experiments: to be kissed by fire is to be marked as sacred. To be consumed by flames is to be saved, wholly and completely.

He’s known it since before he could properly cast. His first burst of accidental magic set his mother’s prized roses on fire. They were dying, there was some disease they’d caught from another plant in their garden, and he only wanted to help. What could be more alive than fire? What could save each perfect, delicate petal more quickly than flames? He would burn out the disease and his mother would be so proud.

He had been wrong. She wasn’t proud, she was furious. He didn’t understand. But, then, the rosebush came back the next spring and it had three times as many blossoms and he knew. It was because of him, because of his fiery magic.

His theory had been tested and proven time and again, since.

First, leaves and twigs that popped and danced in the blue-white inner cone of a flame. Then, already-alive things that twitched and rejoiced, crying their gratitude for the chance to be so tenderly devoured. Each conflagration was a confirmation.

His explosive pyrotechnics even saved his friends during the Battle—sheltering them behind the smouldering ruins of stone and wood and metal, keeping them safe from the cold evil of Voldemort’s followers.

And then he’d witnessed Voldemort himself reduced to ashes by Harry Potter, the brightest and most blazing person he had ever met, whose magic warmed every single person around him.

Yes. He knows for sure that fire is a gift, to burn is to be loved.

And Dean looks so good in red.

#hpfearfest2021 #hpfearfest #hp fanfic #deamus #seamus finnigan #dean thomas #cw: arson #cw: immolation #cw: Fiendfyre #mosewrites

[corvuscrowned]

play god

read on ao3 | 100 words | written for @hp-fearfest‘s day 9 prompt: mad scientist.  thanks to @cavendishbutterfly​ for, like, the most helpful beta ever.

Being alive the first time was bad enough. The second time around is absolute hell.

When Harry promised him forever, this isn’t what Draco had in mind. He hadn’t envisioned spending eternity with hasty stitching between his joints, bolts keeping his limbs from falling off. He hadn’t pictured Harry keeping him locked in the dark like a curious specimen. 

It takes months for Harry to believe Draco can love, can forgive, can see the light of day.

The moment Draco is freed, he has a wand to Harry’s throat, a Kedavra at his lips.

“Want to know what it’s like?”

crow’s fearfics

#tldr what if frankenstein and frankenstein's monster had hella UST #drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry drabble #drarry fic #drarry fanfiction #hp fic #harry potter horror #hpdm #harry x draco #hpfearfest2021 #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #mine #my fearfics

[moonstruckwytch]

written for @hp-fearfest day twenty seven: nightmares | T | No Warnings Apply | thank you to @starlitsilvereyes for the beta and the reassurance

It always seemed smaller in his dreams. When he could think rationally the forgone conclusion was that there was a pretty sizable difference between eleven and twenty one. Logically he knew it wasn’t real, he wasn’t really locked in. It didn’t matter. He would sit, knees pressed to his chest, and wait for the screaming and banging on the door to start. Most nights it was the familiar voices from his childhood, the insults so predictable he had them memorized. The worst nights were when he found himself begging his husband to be let out, promising he’d behave this time.

cor's fearfest🎃

#cor writes #cor's fearfest #hpfearfest2021 #drarry #drarry fic #draco x harry #harry x draco #draco/harry #harry/draco #hpdm #h/d #hp fic

[phoebe-delia]

i wish we'd met before they convinced you life is war

I have...never really written horror before. I generally don't like horror as a genre, but I want to branch out, and my friends have done such incredible work for the @hp-fearfest that I wanted to give it a try.

Here's mine for one of the less, at least to me, scary prompts: "They've killed before, they'll kill again!" I'm also not entirely sure this counts as horror, at this point, because it's...not that creepy in retrospect. Still, I will be relying on a song from the Heathers musical, "Dead Girl Walking (Reprise)," but this isn't a Heathers AU.

Thank you so much to @corvuscrowned for the extremely helpful beta! CW: MCD, heavy angst, accidental murder, blood, kinda ominous ending.

"Put your wand on the ground and step away from the cabinet."

Harry watched as Malfoy froze, his hands gripping the wood; the other boy let out a low, deep chuckle as he drew his wand and turned around to face Harry.

"Oh hello, Potter. Come to see the show?"

Harry's jaw tightened, the hand holding his outstretched wand trembling slightly. "You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't!"

"You don't get it, do you?!" Malfoy spat. "If I don't do this, he will."

"We won't let him get that far."

"He already has!"

"How do you know that?"

Malfoy gestured around them. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Harry started toward him, but Malfoy aimed his wand at Harry's chest. Harry stopped, raising his hands placatingly. "It's not too late. You don't have to finish fixing it. We can destroy it—together. And then we can go to Professor Dumbledore."

"I won't trade one power-hungry narcissist for another!"

"At least Dumbledore isn't trying to commit genocide! Voldemort has killed and will kill again, and you know it."

"At least the Dark Lord won't kill my parents if I'm successful. I'm fairly certain your side doesn't care whether we live or die."

"I do. I care. Is that not enough?"

Malfoy's jaw twitched. "It can't be. Not anymore."

Something in Harry's chest twisted painfully. "I wish that we'd been friends sooner."

"Potter—"

"I wish you'd let me protect you and your mother. I wish you'd make the right choice, for once!"

"I wish you'd leave me the fuck alone!" Malfoy growled, forcefully casting a defensive spell, which Harry blocked.

They hurled hexes and jinxes and curses at one another, streams of magic flying around the room and singeing random objects in the cluttered Room. Finally, after dodging a particularly nasty spell, Harry snarled, "Sectumsempra!"

Malfoy immediately collapsed on the ground, blood seeping through his clothes. Harry watched in horror as Malfoy's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. He ran over to Malfoy, kneeling next to him.

"Malfoy, I'm sorry, I never meant —let me—"

"No," Malfoy croaked, grimacing.

"What–what are you—no! Malfoy, I'm going to get help—"

"Don't."

"But—"

A hand wrapped around Harry's wrist. "Don't."

Harry gaped at him. "Malfoy, you could die!" His eyes welled with tears. "I won't kill you, I can't kill you, I never meant to—"

"Better..." Malfoy wheezed, his voice strained. "Better you than him."

"What—Malfoy, I’m going to get someone, you probably don’t have much time, just—”

"Harry, shh. Wait. Promise me."

Harry froze. "What?"

"Promise you'll kill him."

Harry breathed in sharply. "I'll try."

He moved to get up, but Malfoy's hand gently covered the back of Harry's hand, nimble fingers touching the words carved into his skin. "Promise me, Harry," he whispered so softly Harry could hardly hear him.

"I will," Harry's voice cracked.

Malfoy closed his eyes. Finally, his chest rose in a deep breath. He exhaled, his lips forming the word "Hi," just before his body stilled.

"No!" Harry cried, shaking him. "No, you're not dead, Malfoy — Draco, come back! Draco." Harry let himself fall over the limp, bloody body, sobbing into his own arms.

After it felt like hours had passed and every tear had been drained from his eyes, Harry stood, cleaning the smeared blood from his skin and clothes. He knew he should call for help, but for the moment he felt himself walk to the cabinet, running his fingers along the smooth wood.

Before, the idea of facing Voldemort head-on, once and for all, seemed like something abstract, yet inevitable. He'd known on some level since fourth year that it would come to this, but with all the sleepless nights and odd meetings with Dumbledore and finding out about the prophecy last year, it was becoming increasingly clear that only he or Voldemort would come out of the war alive. Before, the idea of taking a life, of killing someone, was so abhorrent and unthinkable that Harry had never let himself come to terms with the possibility.

But with Draco's lifeless, bloodied body crumpled on the floor, Harry knew he had no choice.

He's done it before; he can do it again.

#HPFearFest2021 #drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #draco and harry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic #drarry fanfiction #drarry squad #hpdm #harry and draco #draco x harry #harry x draco #cw: mcd #cw: death #cw: blood #cw: accidental murder #cw: ominous ending #cw: heavy angst

[xgardensinspace]

HP Fear Fest

Day 4 - Blood Magic

Hi! Hello... here is my entry for the @hp-fearfest​ Yes, I am aware that my entry is RATHER LATE, but to my defence, I was away on holiday the first couple of days of October :’) And then once I was back and started sketching, I was IN LOVE with the idea for this piece, but as I started adding colour I liked it less and less. I tried fixing it, but still ended up being “Meh” about it. It’s rather difficult to make things from my brain come out as I picture them, okay?! xD Plus I’m such a slow artist...and I definitely need practice with lighting...

Either way, I think it’s best I just put it out there before November rolls in and I have zero entries for this fest! Hopefully my remaining 3 entries can come by quicker than this one! I hope you guys like it, even if I’m iffy about it! Here is my art, under the cut because...trigger warnings, I suppose :b They are more difficult to avoid than writing.

Cheers!~

#hpfearfest2021 #HPFearFest #hp fanart #fandom challenge #Halloween #all hallows eve #Harry Potter #hp horror #Luna Lovegood #Prompt: Blood Magic #day 4 prompts #tw: blood #tw: scars #tw: gore #cw: blood #cw: scars #cw: gore #satanist symbols #wiccan vibes #pentagram #leviathan's cross #cross of st. peter #sigil of lucifer #traditional art #coloured pencils #black paper #my art

[dracopetal]

A Cursed Child

@hp-fearfest

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34852108

Draco overheard his Mother calling him a difficult child sometimes. Not to his face, but to her friends, the Mothers of children that were supposed to be his friends but weren’t. He was six the first time, playing hide behind a rosemary bush. Draco remembers the sharp sting of betrayal the first time brought.

By the second, it was a dull ache and he was seven.

By the third, Mother’s eyes were wet, Draco was eight and three quarters, and there were pieces of a shattered vase scattered between them.

By the fourth, Draco was at his ninth birthday party, and Mother seemed numb to him. It was said like more of an afterthought.

Nine was a bad birthday. It was early June, and the sun should have been shining, but instead the heavens opened and all of his parents' friends and the children that weren’t his friends had to stay inside the Manor.

Draco didn’t like strangers in the Manor. Neither did Tom.

Outside, Tom and him could sneak away by themselves, hide while the others played, and go unnoticed. Inside, Draco could feel Father’s eyes following him, like a hawk following a squirrel, waiting for Draco to misstep so he could dig his claws in.

Draco managed to find a spot on a landing where he could overlook the crowded hallway, peer through the balusters and be hidden by them.

There must have been nearly fifty people at that party. Draco kept losing track of them when counting, so he couldn’t be quite certain.

“It’s a farce, anyway.” Tom said to him, his hands on the railing, knowing he wouldn’t be spotted. He never was.

“A fast?” Draco questioned. Tom used big words sometimes, and it made him sound so much older than he looked. Draco thought he might be ancient.

“A farce . It means that it’s just a charade, Draco. You don’t like these people, and they don’t like you. Yet here they all are, supposedly celebrating your birthday, but they haven’t noticed the absence of the birthday boy.”

Draco nodded in agreement and worried his bottom lip with his teeth. Tom was always right, but it didn’t make him feel better.

“I don’t like these people.” Draco repeated. He saw Tom nod.

“Exactly. And they don’t like you, do they?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t care. You like me.”

Tom smiled and showed off razor-sharp teeth. “I wouldn’t be able to live without you, Draco.”

Draco felt the air around him move and felt a heavy warmth next to him. He leaned his head on Tom’s side, not tall enough to reach his shoulder. Tom wrapped an arm around his neck.

“I don’t remember ever living without you. Will you be here forever?”

Tom was watching the party below through the gaps, and the light from the ballroom danced madly on his grey face.

“Of course.” Tom whispered.

Draco spent the rest of his party watching the other children play with an ache in his chest. Mother found both of them when the last of the stragglers had left, but she looked through Tom.

They always did. But not Draco. He was special.

*

Draco could not truly remember a time without Tom. By the time he turned seven, imagining a world without Tom was like imagining a black sky with no moon to light it, a sea without waves to pull you in, a shark without teeth to consume you.

He knows that there was a time before Tom existed in Draco’s life. However Draco was very little, and when he thinks about it, even really hard, Tom is creeping at the corner of his vision in every memory he can recall.

Tom told him that it was the diary he found under a broken floorboard in the attic over the west wing, when he was exploring where he wasn’t meant to. Draco does remember finding the diary, it was wedged under a snapped piece of wood, but not like it had been forgotten, like it had been hidden. Like Tom was waiting to be found. But even in that memory, Tom’s steady voice is whispering in the back of his head, telling him to take take take.

*

“You’ll be going to Hogwarts soon.” Tom tells him when he’s a week away from ten. There will be no party this year. Draco cannot help the relief he felt upon being told he was too much of a disgrace.

“I dunno.” Draco says as he sucks chocolate from his fingers. Dobby can never say no to him. Literally. “Father said I won’t if I don’t sort myself out. He says I can’t risk embarrassing the Malfoys. They might… Father said I have to see a lady. He said she’s going to sort my head out. But I - I,”

Draco swallows heavily, and wraps his arms around his middle, a poor imitation of a hug. Twigs snap and leaves crackle under his shoes. The woods on the Manor grounds are Draco’s favourite place to go. He and Tom can disappear together and Father won’t come out that far to look for him. At most he’ll send Dobby, but the house elf is so stupid that he never stands a chance of finding them.

Tom grabs his arm suddenly and spins him around so fast Draco gets dizzy. It’s a second before Draco can focus on his face. When he does Draco sees that Tom is bursting with a rage that came from nowhere, his face twitching horribly.

Draco tries to take a step back. Tom’s fingers lock around his arm like manacles. Draco hates it when Tom gets like this.

“You’ll be going to Hogwarts soon.” Tom tells him again, as if Draco hadn’t heard it the first time. Draco opens his mouth and then closes it. This far away, Draco can’t run. He can never run from Tom.

“I-I want to go, Tom! I do! But Father said -”

“Damn with what your pathetic father said, Draco! Have you no dignity? Do I mean nothing to you? You’re going to let this woman try to banish me, to hurt me? What does your father think I am, is he really so thick-headed?!” Tom hisses out the last part like a snake, and a phantom glob of spittle hits Draco’s cheek. Draco doesn’t think the last part was a question he was meant to answer.

“Tom, you’re hurting me, please.” Draco cries, squeezing his eyes shut at the ferocity in his expression.

The pressure on his arm vanishes, but Draco still can feel the hurt under the skin. Tom shakes him lightly, and Draco cracks his eyes open.

Tom doesn’t look regretful, but the rage has been pushed back from the forefront, and now he bends down so they are at eye level. Tom’s eyes are grass-green. His breath smells of something rotten.

“You’ll be going to Hogwarts soon, Draco.” He repeats for the third time, this time calmly, as if commenting on the grey skies above.

Draco nods.

“No matter what your father does, you want to go. So I’ll get you there. It’s important for me too, that you go. A proper Slytherin you’ll make.”

“I want to go.” Draco says, though he’s not sure. He likes the quiet of the Manor when it’s near empty, and hates the way strangers look at him as if he’s diseased. “But everyone thinks I’m mad. I think Mother wants to tutor me.”

Tom sighs, and pulls Draco to him. It’s not exactly a hug, but it’s as close as they get. Tom standing stiff and patting his back as if he’s just going through the motions, Draco standing still and wanting to suck up Tom’s warmth.

“I’ll get you to Hogwarts.” Tom makes it sound like a promise. Draco feels a little better.

Tom takes his hand, and together they run deeper into the woods until Tom finds a dead rook laying between trees. He gives it to Draco, a present, and Draco holds it close until the sky turns blacker than the dark.  

*

Tom likes to give him presents, but not in the way anyone else does. Tom’s presents come from the gardens or from the dark places of the Manor. Sometimes Tom brings him a dead silky moth or patterned wings torn from a butterfly, or fox bones or bird beaks, or snake skin or frog eyes. Draco stashes them under his bed, never leaving them in the open for his parents to see.

The things Tom gives him make Mother upset and Father angry, but Draco cherishes them, and sometimes crawls into the small space under his bedframe just to stroke the wings or touch the smooth bones.

*

Draco asked him once, years and years ago when he was five, where he came from and why he couldn’t leave Draco, and how a book brought him to life but only for him. Tom just put a finger to his and shushed him, and so he didn’t ask again.

Draco asks Tom for the second time in his life on the night before he’s meant to be leaving for Hogwarts. The question is hushed by the thumb between his teeth and the nervousness of his voice.

“I came from an orphanage, Draco.” Tom confesses, and Draco rolls over to face him. Draco had always imagined Tom as a King of a powerful nation or a politician, or a Minister of Magic but one that doesn’t let other people decide on laws.

“Oh.” He whispers. “How old are you, Tom?”

In the darkness of his bedroom, Draco thinks he can make out Tom smiling, but it could be a snarl. “Older than I look. Far older and wiser than you.”

Draco gulps, and asks the question he has never wanted to ask. It’s easier that he can’t make out Tom’s face properly.

“Can you die? Will you die before me, if you’re that old?”

Draco feels Tom sit up in the blackness, feels him looming over him. “I won’t ever die, Draco. Not truly. I am the world’s most powerful sorcerer. Some people may think that they could vanquish me, but some part of me would always remain, ready to grow again and again. I am a poppy on a battlefield.” Tom’s voice is a hushed whisper, but the power in it makes Draco tremble.

Draco doesn't truly understand what Tom means, only that he won’t ever leave him.  He opens his mouth, but the door swings open.

Father stands in the doorway, the light from his wand flooding the room. Father is frowning. Father is usually displeased when Draco is involved.

Father didn’t knock. He never knocks.

“Who are you talking to?”

Draco glances at Tom, who’s glaring at Father. Tom greatly dislikes Father. Draco doesn’t completely understand why, but he thinks that maybe in another life Tom and Father knew each other. Tom says that Father is a coward. Draco thinks that Father can be scarier than ghosts sometimes.

Draco shrugs, bunching his covers up by his chin. “No-one.”

Tom moves closer to him, and licks a stripe from his collarbone to his ear. Draco shivers. Tom likes making him do funny things in front of Father, likes to make Draco goad him into shouting, even if Draco gets in trouble after.

Father’s eyes flicker to the spot on his bed where Tom rests, and for a moment his frown deepens, and his fingers go white around his wand, and Draco thinks that maybe, just for a second, he saw a shadow next to him.

However Father just shakes his head at him and leaves, taking the light with him.

Draco rubs at the wet with his sleeve. Tom laughs. Draco rolls over, determined to ignore him for the rest of the night so he can be well rested for the train, but Tom taps his shoulder. Draco doesn’t turn but he inclines his head slightly.

“I have a task for you, Draco.” His voice is back to the hushed whisper, and Draco shivers.

“I’m tired, Tom.”

“You must get close to Harry Potter.”

Draco fingers the diary under his pillow, and wonders what would happen if he threw it into a fireplace.

“Harry Potter won’t want to be friends with me. You’re the only friend I’ve ever had.”

Tom sneaks a cold hand up Draco’s pyjama shirt and pinches his side. Draco jumps, and grabs his hand. There will be another bruise when the sun rises.

“I will guide your hand, Draco. Just follow my orders, and all will be well.”

Draco nods tiredly. I already follow your orders, he thinks as he drifts away to sleep.

*

Tom’s hands are heavy on his shoulders as they guide him through the crowded train. Some of the younger students move out of his way, aware of the reputation Draco has garnered for being off the rails mad. Draco has managed to only nod or slowly shake his head when Tom speaks; he hasn’t yet been caught talking to Tom, and Tom said it’s best Draco and him don’t speak in front of Harry Potter.

Draco is a little excited at the prospect of meeting Harry Potter. Of course, Voldemort was right in wanting to rid the world of mudbloods, but the immense power his core must hold, to defeat such a powerful wizard as a baby. Tom warned him not to expect much, though.

Draco is glad for Tom’s warning when he’s pushed into Potter’s compartment. Draco isn’t sure what he was expecting, but a skinny, small boy dressed in clothes that were too big and looked like hand-me-downs wasn’t what he had in mind.

Potter looks at him curiously, but not resentfully, and Draco knows then that Potter doesn’t know a thing about him.

Draco sticks out his hand, and then falters. His mouth opens and closes like a koi fish.

Father always taught Draco to introduce himself with his last name first, so the other wizard would always know he came from a powerful family, but given what people know about him, he thinks that maybe it isn’t the best course of action.

Tom’s fingers are like claws when they dig into his shoulders. His breathing down Draco’s neck feels like a dragon.

“I’m Draco,” He says pathetically, unsure of how other children introduce themselves. Potter nods, and smiles slightly. He doesn’t move to shake Draco’s hand, so he drops it awkwardly.

“I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

“I know,”

Potter’s smile dims a little.

Draco glances at the window and in the reflection sees Tom glaring at Potter. His sharp fingers travel up from his shoulders to squeeze his neck lightly. Draco knows it’s a warning.

“Can I sit here? I don’t… know anyone.” Draco lies. He knows at least half the children on this train.

“Of course you can,”

Draco struggles when Tom squeezes tighter. “Want to be friends?” His voice is higher than it should be. Potter cocks his head, like a dog checking him out, and then to Draco’s relief, nods happily.

“Sure,”

He sticks out his hand like Draco had before, and Draco takes it with little hesitancy. Tom pats his knee, and he digs his nails into the back of Potter’s hands. They won’t really be friends, Tom only wants to get close to him, Draco reminds himself.

“I don’t really know much about Hogwarts though, I only found out I was a wizard in July.”

Draco tries to gape at him, but his face is stuck. He can’t quite move his muscles. He feels himself squeeze Potter’s hand.

“Don’t worry, Harry.” The voice that flows from his lips is far more commanding and grown up than his. Draco tries to shout but he can’t make anything move. Tom’s voice echoes throughout his head.

“ I can help you there.”

Harry smiles. Draco smiles back like one of Mother’s porcelain dolls, Tom’s nails like claws sinking through his skin.

#hp #draco malfoy #tom riddle #harry potter #my writing #hpfearfest2021

[shah-writes]

love sick

for the @hp-fearfest day 10 prompt: don’t let it in. cw: body horror | on ao3

Don’t let it in, Lucius had murmured, several years ago. In Draco’s memory, they walk through the Manor’s gardens, Lucius’ hand overwhelming Draco’s little fingers. The trees swallow his words, so he repeats, louder and clearer: Don’t let it in. It’s dangerous, vicious. 

Draco was still young then, powdered sugar on pink cheeks and a wayward heart. He looks up at his father with adoring eyes and waves grandly to his mother. And so, it creeps in until it floods his veins, rebellious and permanent. 

Whispers swarm the Malfoy family. A curse, they say. The men, driven to insanity; the women, deranged. 

With every generation, it grows stronger. A poison, a perversion of their most human instinct. Their love, twisted to drastic lengths. It strangles their hearts and pollutes their minds until it runs wicked, mean and obsessive and undying.

Don’t let it in, Lucius would say, incessant. Don’t let love in. 

But when the Mark is carved into Draco’s arm, all he feels is his father’s hand around his own, and all he sees is his mother’s smile in the garden as she waves back. 

His father was a fool, softened by Narcissa’s grey eyes and sweet words. And then again, by Draco’s toothy smile and cornsilk hair. He dared to love and it corrupted them all. 

Don’t let it in, Lucius whispers now, from his cell, eyes wild and breath sour. Don’t let love in. 

Draco nods. He knows better now. The Malfoy line will end with him and their sick, twisted love will fade in a grave. 

But perhaps Draco is a fool too, swayed by Potter’s green eyes and juvenile flirting. 

He feels its venom surge within him again. It moans in his veins. Anything, it says, anything for the one you love.

“No, this isn’t love,” Draco lies, loud and desperate. It’s not, he begs later, quiet and unsure. 

It rests then, rarely rising for years. It knocks about in Draco’s bones when Harry is gone for too long. Danger, it whispers, you love him, you love him. Protect him. 

But Harry always returns, arms filled with groceries, or flowers, or orange-spotted kittens for them to raise together. And the curse sleeps again, uneasy, waiting, anticipating. 

It wakes on the day Harry doesn’t return. 

It’s a mission gone wrong, the Aurors tell him. Nothing to do but sit and wait.

The curse screams, scratching at Draco’s heart. It wails, You love him, you love him!

And Draco thinks, I love him. 

He’s strapped to a chair in a warehouse, when Draco finds him, his captors leering and slashing at his skin. 

The curse builds like bile in his throat, clutching at his breath until, finally, he steps forward. Harry sees him first, shakes his head, frantic. Then, the men turn, their smiles dripping away. They reach for their wands but Draco’s faster. 

It rejoices in its awakening, erupting from Draco, relentless and unmerciful. It rips them apart, limb by limb, until the men lie in pieces, strewn across the floor. Some are still alive, whimpering, begging for forgiveness, prostrate at Draco’s feet. Their arms have been torn away or their eyes burned out. Draco kicks them aside and wraps his fingers around their throats. Anything, it says gleefully, anything for the one you love. 

“Draco.” A rasp, from the corner. 

Draco stills. Harry. He strides forward, reaching to untie him, but his fingers, slick with blood, slip on the knots.

“It’s okay,” Harry whispers. He knows Draco’s burden and they’ll never speak of this again. He grips Draco’s wand and frees himself. Then, clutches Draco close to his chest. 

The curse settles, sinks into his veins, satisfied. 

The Malfoy line may end with Draco, but it’s not dead yet.

honestly, i could write a thesis on the dichotomy between how harry’s love saved him and draco’s love doomed him. come scream with me about it

#god tbh this one was a struggle babes #literally forgot how to write halfway through #but its here fucking finally #a day late lol #ya know when ya have a creative vision but just can't execute it for some reason #hpfearfest2021 #hpfearfest #cw: body horror #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #shah-writes

[hp-fearfest]

To help you get inspired as you prep for the All Hallows Challenge, we’ll be sharing a few existing horror and Halloween-themed fanworks every Friday! Mind the tags on these, pals! This week, we recommend:

🎃 On The Last Day by @thusspoketrish (53K | E | Drarry)

Draco is still mourning the recent loss of his mother when the Wizarding World is struck with the tragic news of Harry Potter’s untimely death. It’s just his luck that Potter not only comes back as a ghost, but seems intent on haunting Draco as he’s the only one that can see him. It’s a race against time to retrace the last few days of Potter’s life in order to find his body before he’s lost to the living or spiritual realm forever. On their journey, they’ll uncover secrets, betrayals, and a horrific truth that will disrupt both the living and the dead.

🎃 Wraith by @goldenzingy46 (1.2k | M | Tomarry)

A disrupted ritual, and Harry's perfect life spirals out of control as he is (literally) haunted by Voldemort once more.

🎃 Dress You Up (In My Love) by @nerdherderette (2k | M| Drarry)

Draco had always been known for his beauty. [excerpt]: It was your looks which allowed you to catch the eye of the most eligible bachelor of the Wizarding World, your body that seduced him into embarking on a whirlwind relationship with a former Death Eater—public opinion and his own golden reputation be damned. For two glorious years, you discovered what it meant to be truly happy. How it felt to be loved by him. The one who calls you his sweet, his beautiful boy, his darling.

🎃 Watching by @fangqueen (1.5K | T | Gen)

He didn’t realize he’d frozen in place until Ron jostled his shoulder and asked if he was alright. He said nothing in return, simply nodded and continued on their path. The truth was, he didn’t know what to say. How could he describe the sudden immeasurable dread he’d felt upon acknowledging what it was he was looking at?

🎃 The Heart of the Manor by @kedavranox (4k | M | Drarry)

In his efforts to remove the taint Voldemort left on the Manor, Draco hires a team of Curse-Breakers. But what will happen when they stumble upon something older and more insidious than simple Dark magic?

🎃 Transubstantiatio by @glittering-git (516 | M | Drarry)

Draco needs to show his devotion to Harry with something more than words.

Send us your favorite, existing HP horror works so we can share (self-recs encouraged)!

#hpfearfest2021 #hpfearfest #hp fic fest #hp fest #hp horror #hp fic #hp fanart #hp fanfic #hp fandom #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter horror #harry potter fanart #harry

[cavendishbutterfly]

“I’m wasting away in here. I want to be of service.” Then, in a lower tone: “Use me, Potter.”

Potter’s eyes dropped to Draco’s lips, then back up. A scattered raindrop slid from his temple down to his cheek.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“That’s the exciting part," said Draco. “You don’t.”

On this day of @jalesidor​‘s birth, I would like to shout about this INCREDIBLE fic of theirs that grabbed ahold of me as soon as I started reading and refused to let go. It’s incredibly hot. The banter is perfectly balanced, the moral grayness is addictive. It uses the last prompt of last year’s fearfest to incredible effect--the plot and power struggle of this fic are clearly established and then they slowly, gleefully, slide out from under you. The writing is superb. So is the ending.

Andra, I’m so grateful to have gotten to know you. It’s a joy to get to shout over discord with you, to be co-conspirators, and to team up to bother @corvuscrowned​ in all possible ways. Thank you for being one of the absolute coolest cats around.

And hey, for the rest of you? Read their amazing fics. Starting with this one:

Deal with the Devil | Rated M | 3k | Moral Grayness, Spooky

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANDRA #you are the bestest ever #high five for being so cool #cav recs #drarry #hp fanfic #hpfearfest2021

[steampunkserpent27]

Love potion

for @drarrymicrofic 's prompt: beguile CW: love potion “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today.” Harry began, trying to keep an air of professionalism. Draco stared at him apprehensively from across the table, “You said you’d give me one hundred galleons if I did.” Harry let out a hearty sigh, “Yes. Now, can we begin?” Draco shuffled uncomfortably in the chair. His clothes were cheap and they hung off of his slender frame. Almost all of his inheritance had been spent trying to keep himself and his mother out of azkaban. He’d lost the mansion and could barely afford to rent with roommates. “What did you want to ask me?” Draco straightened his shirt, realizing it had slid to the side, revealing his shoulder. Harry thanked the waiter as they brought two cups of steaming tea. “I just wanted to get your side of the story.” Harry insisted, “I’m tired of all the lies and fake reporting.” Draco bit his bottom lip nervously, “Alright. Although, I don’t see why you’d care.” “I’m more than familiar with what the Daily Prophet gets up to. I simply want to give another angle.” Harry smiled tightly. He’d known this was going to be a chore when he wrote to Malfoy, but he still wanted to follow through. Harry took a sip of his tea, letting the warm liquid calm his nerves. It was sweet but subtly spicy. Draco also picked up his cup and took a sip, his fingers pressed tightly around the warm glass. Harry found himself staring into his old adversaries eyes and noticed that they seemed to dilate, the silver dissipating behind the black of his pupils. Draco suddenly blinked, his mouth falling open, “Potter.” He gasped. “Yes?” Draco suddenly reached across the table, trying to grab onto Harry’s hand. Harry flinched and jerked his hand away, causing Draco to fall forwards onto the table, knocking his cup of tea over. “What are you doing?” Harry hissed, jumping up to try and escape the spilled liquid. Draco’s shirt was drenched with tea, but he didn’t seem to notice, “Oh, Potter. I think I love you.” “Excuse me?” Harry gasped out. A bright smile overtook Draco’s face, “I do. Oh, I do.” Harry stared at the spilled tea cup, which was now shattered on the floor. Had someone spiked Draco’s cup? “Okay. I’m taking you to a healer.” Harry decided.

“Why? I’m not sick. I feel perfect. More than perfect, now that I’m with you.” Draco swooned, his eyelids droopy. Harry shook his head, “No, but you’ve been beguiled. Come along.” Draco blinked, “Oh. That doesn’t matter! I’ve got you now, silly.” Harry wanted to scream, “Okay. Yes, I’m so very great, but we’ve got to go.” Draco beamed and immediately tried to grab onto Harry’s hand. Harry yanked his hand away, “No. Just walk.” Draco frowned, “Why not? I love you.” “Because you don’t! Someone spiked your drink with Love Potion. Let’s just go, please.” Harry insisted, starting to become increasingly agitated. “No! That’s not true. I do love you. I do! I can’t believe you’d say something like that!” Draco’s lip wobbled as he became more and more upset. Harry started to walk away and watched with a mix of amusement and disgust as Draco trailed after him like a lost puppy. He watched Draco reach out and attempt to grab his hand again, but Harry was ready and he swiftly moved his arm away. Draco’s eyes began to water, “Why won’t you hold my hand?! Don’t you love me?” Harry sighed angrily and roughly grabbed Draco’s hand. He didn’t need him sobbing in the middle of the street. “There’s an apparation point up ahead. I’ll take us to St. Mungos.” Harry explained. “Oh. Wait. No. I can’t afford a healer.” Draco stared up at him with wide eyes. “I’ll pay for it.” Harry would pay any price to get Draco back to normal and have him stop staring at him like he wanted to snog his face. Draco beamed again, “That’s very nice of you. I’m so lucky to have found you.” Harry slowed to a stop, “Alright. We’re here. Don’t let go.” “I’d never let you go.” Draco looked extremely confused that Harry would think he would. Harry nearly vomited as he flicked his wand and felt the churn and twist of apparation. They both landed in the middle of St. Mungo’s apparation point. He rushed forwards to meet the wizard that handled intakes. She was wearing a soft blue robe and looked busy sorting through a stack of official looking papers. “Mr. Potter,” She glanced up at him from behind a pair of glasses, “How can I be of assistance today?” Harry glanced over at Draco, who was currently clinging to his arm and gazing up at him with loving eyes, “I believe Mr. Malfoy has been given a potent dose of Love Potion. If you could help with that, I’d be very much appreciative.” “Yes, it certainly appears that way. I’ll get him signed in, you can head into the first room on your right. A healer will be in to see you in a moment.” “Thank you.” Harry turned and dragged Draco towards the designated room. It was clean but small. A small potted plant sat in the corner. Every few seconds it would pulse and glow, giving off a calming effect. Harry led Draco to a chair and guided him to sit down. Harry moved to sit on the opposite side of the room but stopped when Draco immediately got up and followed him. “This healer can not arrive soon enough.” Harry muttered under his breath angrily. Sitting down, Harry rested his head on his hand, glaring at the door. Draco immediately tried to sit on Harry’s lap. Harry flinched and pushed him off, sending him to the floor. Draco sat back up and started crying, large tears rolling down his face. “Oh, don’t cry.” Harry cursed under his breath, “Just come sit next to me.” “C-can we h-hold hands?” He gasped out. “Fine. Just stop crying, please.” Draco nodded and scrambled back to his feet, plopping down on the seat next to Harry. He grabbed onto Harry’s hand and leaned against his shoulder. Harry stared at the door, begging the healer to get in here. Finally, after what felt like forever, a green robed healer walked in. He looked between both Harry and Draco, smiling cordially, “Love potion?” Harry grimaced, “Yes. Can you fix it?” The older looking man smiled, “Certainly. Although, it will wear off on its own.” “Well, I’d rather it wear off now.” Harry pressed. “Of course.” He pulled a bright green vial out of the far cupboard and handed it to Draco,

“Drink this, please.” Draco sniffed at the contents warily and looked towards Harry, “What is it?” “It’ll fix everything. Just drink it. Please?” Draco nodded, “Okay.” He tipped the vial back and swallowed, grimacing at the taste. His pupils slowly contracted back to a normal size and he blinked, looking around in confusion. “What..?” Draco gasped. Horror finally overtook his expression.

#hp fanfic #drarry #hpfearfest2021 #short story #love potion #drarry microfic #prompt #microfic #draco malfoy #harry potter #angst #beguile

[m0srael]

Slimy, yet Satisfying

For @hp-fearfest's day 19 prompt: It's Alive!

Summary: Harry notices that his husband has developed quite a...unique craving, as of late.

[2.5k | T | cw: insects, bugs, lots of crawling flying things, some of them get eaten by humans] Thanks, @crazybutgood for the exceptional beta! This is at least 50% @corvuscrowned's fault.

The first time Harry caught him at it, Draco was crouched over the kitchen counter in the dead of night in only his pants. Something had pulled Harry from a deep slumber only to find Draco’s side of the bed cold and empty, and he’d trailed sleepily downstairs, seeking warmth.

The cold moonlight raking across Draco’s wiry body made him look like a cheap, Muggle Halloween decoration, with his pale face thrown into deep shadows and his silver eyes glowing like lanterns. With his platinum hair bed-messy and sticking out in all directions, Harry thought he looked like the bloody Crypt Keeper.

In the long moment it took Draco to notice Harry’s presence, Harry watched him lift a large, struggling cranefly into a shaft of moonlight by its wings, tenderly pluck one wriggling appendage, and slide it into his mouth.

When Draco did finally wheel around—the unfortunate insect darting out of his grasp to knock frantically against the glass of the window—he didn’t even look startled or guilty. He just said, “Can’t sleep, love?” in that soft, vulnerable way he said anything when it was just him and Harry, alone in the dark.

The whole scene was so bizarre, Harry’s brain resolutely refused to process any of it. He blinked stupidly, and shook away what was surely the weirdest hallucination he’d ever had—and he’d had plenty. But then there it was: the fly limb, waving weakly like an electrified pubic hair, caught in the gap between Draco’s two front teeth.

He just grabbed Draco’s lovely hand, dragged him heavily back up the stairs to their lovely bedroom, pushed him down onto their lovely bed, and settled his weight nearly on top of him before falling right back to sleep. As if he was subconsciously trying to ensure Draco couldn’t scuttle off for a cockroach complement to his late-night leg.

—

In fact, it would have been like nothing had ever happened had Harry not, several weeks later, found him out a second time.

Draco was working on a particularly challenging child welfare case that had kept him at the office, pulling all-nighters with his partners at the firm and their coterie of interns and clerks regularly for weeks. After one particularly challenging day in court, he thundered in through the front door shouting something that sounded like I will burn the whole Merlin-fucking system down, I swear on Salazar Slytherin’s scaly balls, shoved his briefcase into Harry’s chest with a hissed sorryloveyoudon’tyoudareopenyourmouth, and slammed into his office at the end of the hall.

Harry went to set Draco’s bag by the front door where he usually left it when something fell from the open front pocket. He bent down and lifted a transparent, resealable sandwich bag full of chocolate covered raisins. He sighed. He was trying to get Draco off sweets; apparently, robust dental hygiene education was just as lacking in Pureblood Wizarding families as sex education. Maybe he just needed to get Draco off of his “we’re doing it the Muggle way at least once, just to see,” kick instead—he didn’t think Draco could survive a root canal.

He laughed at the prospect of Draco, mouth half numb and drool dribbling unnoticed over his chin, trying to insult him without the full force of his perfect enunciation, as he slid his hand absently into the bag of candy. He had a piece nearly to his lips when the pillbug uncurled between his fingers and its microscopic legs began rippling.

He yelped embarrassingly and dropped the bug and the bag onto the floor, then watched in frozen shock as a tsunami of tiny, black arthropods rolled out across the hardwood floor and disappeared beneath the baseboards.

“What was that?” Draco said, popping his head out of his office door and looking murderously harassed.

“Erm—” Harry replied, stepping onto the now-empty bag to cover it with his foot “—stubbed my toe?”

“Clumsy arsehole,” Draco muttered darkly, and disappeared back into the office. Harry thought he heard loveyousorry illrubyourfeetlater float out from under the door.

—

That undeniable event was followed swiftly by several more, similar ones that left Harry no longer able to deny what was becoming sickeningly obvious: Draco Malfoy, Harry’s own husband…eats insects.

There was, for example, the time Harry watched in horror as Draco licked the tip of his bony pointer finger—a usually pleasing sight for Harry—and pat it onto a parade of ants snaking across the park bench they were sat on, before swiping them onto his tongue, like spilled sugar. He did it all while never breaking his rant about the Wizarding World’s archaic Child Custody laws. He just kept on waving his hands about for emphasis, as if he wasn’t at that very moment digesting a handful of live bugs. Harry wondered deliriously if he was able to feel them crawling about in his stomach.

Once, while at the beach with Andromeda and Teddy, Harry saw Draco slap a mosquito so unfortunate as to land on his forearm, then lick its bloody remains from both his arm and his palm.

Another time, Harry watched through the window as Draco—placidly drinking a steaming cup of tea on the back patio before bed—reached up, as casual as anything, and plucked a fat, fluttering moth right out of the air beside the lantern. Harry didn’t hang around to watch the end of that one, lest he be sick all over the patio door and incapable of ever looking his husband in the face again.

It was this final incident that drove Harry to seek help. Or, specifically, it was the fact that he nearly vomited in his husband’s face when he leaned in for a goodnight kiss later that evening.

—

“He...oh god, Hermione, I don’t even think I can tell you.”

“Harry, whatever it is, you know I love you both and am always here to help, however I can.”

“I don’t know. This might be the lone exception to that fact.” Harry knew he must look like shit. He hadn’t been sleeping well for days, sure that every creak and groan of their old house was really Draco on a nocturnal prowl for slimy snacks. He rolled over every time to double check Draco hadn’t actually gotten out of bed. He’d also been avoiding Draco. It wasn’t difficult, since he was so busy with work, but during the few moments they did have together he made excuses left and right. He watched Draco trying desperately to puzzle out what he could have done to make Harry withdraw, and the guilt was eating away at him.

“Oh, Harry. Now you’re starting to scare me. Please…”

“Fine. I’m just. Going to say it, and then it will have been said, and it cannot be unsaid. Draco...eats bugs.”

Hermione blinked at him slowly. Her face remained blank for several terrible, long moments, before she broke into loud laughter.

“Sorry, I just...is that what you meant to say? Is that all?” she said, still laughing, as Harry’s already stricken face crumpled even further. She sobered when it was clear that Harry had no intention of laughing along with her.

“Oh. Oh, Harry. Loads of people eat bugs. As in, many cultures around the world incorporate insects into their cuisine in all sorts of interesting, and often delicious, ways. Didn’t you know that?”

“Well, er—no, actually. Um. But, this isn’t exactly a case of adventurous cooking. I mean. Merlin, ‘Mione, I walked in on him slurping down a live worm from the garden like a piece of cooked spaghetti the other evening. He does it in secret. I mean, I’m not meant to know, I think. That he just picks up the occasional arachnid and pops it into his mouth like a cashew. Oh god, I think he might be fattening up our airing cupboard spider, I just thought she was pregnant but bloody hell…”

“Harry,” Hermione says firmly, interrupting his little spiral. “Listen. There are actually scientifically-studied reasons why people might develop a habit of eating… non-traditional foods...”

“Non-traditional…” Harry breathes, going a bit wobbly.

“Yes, as in—oh, well, I can send you home with some information for later,” she said at the sight of Harry’s increasingly ashen face. “The bottom line is this: most insects are actually highly nutritious—they’re full of vitamins and incredibly protein-rich. Of all the things for Draco to develop a secret taste for, insects are one of the most harmless. Have you talked to him about it?”

“What?! No. Of course not.”

“Well, why, Harry?”

“I don’t want to...I don’t know, embarrass him. What if he doesn’t want me to know, ever, and I just barrel in and ruin his private thing and he can never trust me again? I honestly wouldn’t even know where to start? Morning, lamb, eaten any good locusts recently?”

“Good lord. It’s a wonder you two have stayed married at all, the way you both seem to thrive on miscommunication. Harry, what if he keeps it a secret because he’s worried you’ll be disgusted or ashamed? Are you? Disgusted and ashamed?”

“Well, I do think it’s pretty gross, but if I hadn’t caught him that first time I may never have found out. So, it isn’t like it impacts our daily lives all that much. And of course I’m not ashamed of him. Not for this, anyway…” he trailed off, a fond smirk overtaking his frowning lips. “I just don’t know what to do with this knowledge now that I have it. Seems wrong to just ignore it.”

“Yes. I think you’re right. I think you need to just ask him about it. Be kind and open to what he has to say, don’t make any moral or value judgments, and definitely don’t use words like ‘gross’, or ‘disgusting’. Make sure he knows you’re asking from a place of love and concern, and not derision.”

Harry sighed heavily, “Ugh. Okay. I’ll take those articles, or whatever.”

What Hermione sent him home with, however, were several travel books, two issues of two different scientific journals, and a couple of thick cookbooks.

—

Harry decided he couldn’t just barrel into a conversation with Draco about his ‘non-traditional’ eating habits completely blind. So, while Draco spent hours locked up in his office working thorough appeal after appeal, Harry set himself a course of study on entomophagy. Hermione had been right, there was virtually nothing ‘wrong’ or worrisome about Draco’s eating bugs. With his most pressing concerns put to rest, he turned his mind to his conversational strategy.

Draco’s head appeared suddenly around the door frame of the sitting room. “Love, last day in court tomorrow, I’ll be home much earlier than I have been. Just wanted to remind you before you went up to bed.”

“Going out to the pub with the team, after?”

“No. No way. I’ll be set if I never have to look at any of their ugly old faces ever again, after tomorrow.”

“Be hard once they name you partner, don’t you think?”

“Don’t jinx it you bloody, reckless, stupid Gryffindor,” he groaned as he retreated down the hall, his voice trailing off so Harry barely caught, “...my bloody, reckless…”

Harry thumbed the glossy page of the cookbook he’d spelled to look like a Quidditch supply catalogue, and had an idea.

—

“Harry, what’s all this?” Draco said tiredly as he slumped into the kitchen just before dinner-time the next evening.

“I know you didn’t want to go out, but I thought we should celebrate your win, anyway,” Harry said as he ushered Draco to a chair and passed him a glass of red wine.

“You cooked. And you think that’s an appropriate way to celebrate anything?”

“Shut your cranky mouth,” Harry said, capturing said mouth in a lingering kiss. “I think you’ll be particularly pleased with my efforts tonight.

It was now or never.

Without another moment’s hesitation, he levitated a polished, silver tureen from the hob to the kitchen table. He flicked his wand theatrically, as if he were a stage magician revealing that he had, in fact, stitched a bisected woman back together, and the lid of the tureen slid back.

Draco’s eyes went wide.

“Are those... Harry, what is…”

“Mealworm Arrancini,” Harry said, a bit proudly. “And,” he continued, flourishing his wand again, “summer salad with caramelized grasshoppers, and fresh french bread, made with cricket flour.”

All the color had drained from Draco’s face. He didn’t lift his gaze to meet Harry’s. Suddenly, he shot up from his chair and turned as if to flee the room.

“Draco!” Harry said, commandingly, making Draco pause in the doorway. “Please,” he said, more softly. “I love you. You don’t have to explain it, although I would love to learn more. Please. It..I don’t understand it, but I don’t know that I need to. It doesn’t bother me. Well. I’d rather do it like this, for you, than leave you to your own meagre devices, honestly. Plus, I tried a caramelized grasshopper earlier, and I think Wizard-kind has intentionally manufactured so-called sweets that are loads more disgusting. Sit back down?”

Harry watched, ready to argue his case again at any moment, as Draco rejoined him at the table. The look of bliss that crossed Draco’s face as he slid a forkful of cheesy, mealworm arrancini into his mouth bled the anxiety right out of Harry’s body. That—that was all he really needed. In the end he became quite certain that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to put that expression on the face he loves so dearly.

—

They didn’t intend to announce Draco’s newfound insectivore identity to their friends in such a spectacular way, but Harry figured Draco never did anything halfway and without drama.

Hermione, conscientious as always, hadn’t told a soul what she’d learned, and had even promised to borrow a few more insect-based cookbooks from an environmentalist friend of her mother’s for him. So far, they’d all been very subtle about it, he’d even charmed a whole section of their pantry to disguise the shelves of dried larva, ground grub meat, and butterfly wing crisps Draco liked to snack on.

That was, until Harry made the mistake of inviting all their friends over for a barbecue.

He was fishing a cold beer out of the back of the fridge when a scream—so high pitched and ear-splitting, Harry thought they might be under attack from a particularly angry banshee—tore into the kitchen from the backyard. He rushed out to find Ron doubled over, hands on his knees, trying to suppress a gag. Draco stood nearby, waving a pair of grill tongs about, and rolling his eyes.

“That one’s mine, obviously, Weasley. Honestly, I knew you were uncultured and uncouth, but this is extreme, don’t you think?”

Harry finally drew close enough to see over Ron’s heaving shoulders to the fuzzy, black tarantula that Draco had speared through the center of a large pineapple round, sizzling away happily.

He only stifled his laugh until his eyes met Draco’s, shining with mirth.

You’re a bastard, he mouthed, grinning.

Draco only winked and reached a long arm out to flip his spider-kebab.

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