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lazywonderlvnd · 4 years

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Hi, if you are still taking prompts; A magically powerful Harry not noticing that his magic does things to make Draco happy. This can be pre-relationship or established relationship. Like it starts of with his tea being exactly as he likes and always the right temperature. Then evolves to rooms changing colour or weather changing or people being unable to invade Draco’s personal space due to an invisible barrier or something ridiculous. Btw Draco doesn’t notice as well.

anon.....you really killed me w this one. i’ve been so emo over this wyugeahrwiw might end up writing smth longer tbh bc this concept is literally the only thing that matters to me!!!!!!! i hope u enjoy i had so much fun with it ❤️❤️❤️

“Harry, you do it. Please.”

“No.”

“Please!”

“We’re fucking watching something, Draco!”

“So just pause it!”

Harry grabs the pillow on his lap and slams it onto the sofa next to him. Hermione can see dust rise in its wake. He pauses the telly.

“Are you doing it?” Draco asks hopefully. Harry scowls at him.

“Well you won’t shut up until I do, will you?”

“Definitely not.”

Harry disappears into the kitchen and Draco sits there looking smug.

“It’s kind of sick how you get off on bossing him around,” says Ron, his tone one of simple observation. His fingers are idly playing with Hermione’s hair, but she doesn’t think he notices he’s doing it.

“If I’m not mean to him a few times a week I break out in a rash, Weasley,” Draco says blithely. “Besides, he makes it perfectly. I don’t know how he does it, it’s always exactly the right temperature and sweetness and all that. I s’pose his years as a house-elf for those Muggles gave him plenty of time to perfect the art.”

“You’re a twat,” says Ron. “And my mum makes tea better than him.”

“Well you’re just a pitiful little mummy’s boy, aren’t you, Weasley? We can hardly trust your opinion.”

“Hark who the hell’s talking,” Ron scoffs. “Least I’m not twenty-three and still calling my mum ‘mummy’ like the world’s biggest bloody ponce.”

Draco splutters but before he can retort Harry’s coming back into the room hovering four cups of tea that float placidly to each of them. Draco looks exactly like a satisfied cat as he takes his and Harry drops back down onto the sofa next to him. Not too close, but certainly not too far, either.

“Literally exquisite,” Draco declares after he’s taken a sip. Ron rolls his eyes.

“It’s just tea, Draco,” says Harry, and he grabs for the remote to turn the film back on. “You’re such a demanding little brat. Merlin’s fucking tits.”

But Draco looks happy and Harry looks suspiciously content as well. Ron turns to her and makes a silent gagging face. Hermione snorts and puts a finger to her lips. They’ve decided not to say anything yet.

“Wasn’t this place a lot … uglier last time?”

“What?” Harry says absently. He’s not listening — he’s got all his attention zeroed in on a stack of parchment he’s holding. They’d only barely dragged him along to lunch; earlier the captain of the English National Team had apparently owled him a great number of brand-new Quidditch plays and required Harry’s extensive thoughts and notes before their next practise, which was tomorrow morning.

“Uglier,” Draco says emphatically, and Ron mutters something she doesn’t catch. “Remember? The walls were that tragic egg-yolk colour.” He shivers. Hermione thinks it might have been an honest-to-god shiver of revulsion. She also thinks she knows what’s happened, even though the extent of it surprises her.

“Maybe someone heard you whingeing and changed it,” Ron apparently can’t stop himself from saying with a snigger. Hermione elbows him hard and he shoots her a glare, mouthing, he doesn’t know!

Harry would usually be the one to take the lead and get them a table when all four of them go out to eat together but today he’s too wrapped up in his Quidditch plays, so Ron steps forward and does it, which makes Hermione’s chest flutter pleasantly. He’d blush down to his bones if she ever said it aloud but he’s quite capable of being a leader in Harry’s absences.

“Whatever happened,” says Draco pointedly as they’re led to their table, “it’s a great bloody blessing, I was genuinely unsure I’d have the mental fortitude to survive another assault like that on my delicate senses. And, I mean, this —” he gestures to the walls, which are now an admittedly pleasing dark teal above a white trim “— is stunning. It’s my favourite colour.”

“Is it? So weird they picked your favourite colour completely by coincidence,” Ron says, and Hermione elbows him again. Draco notices nothing and neither does Harry, although he does finally set the plays aside once they’re seated at the table.

“Are you complaining about the wall colour again?” he asks drily. They would both be extremely displeased to know they sound like an old married couple. Draco snatches haughtily at the paper napkin on the table and unfolds it to place over his lap. The first time he’d ever done this at a regular, decidedly not upscale restaurant Ron had taken it upon himself to spend the entire meal adopting a posh accent to match Draco’s and saying things to the waiter like “Don’t you have crystal?” while holding up a glass cup full of Pepsi and then commenting “These aren’t real silver, you know” after making a show of inspecting the titanium utensils.

“I can complain about hideous design choices if I want to,” Draco tells Harry with his nose in the air. “Thankfully they’ve rectified it this time.”

On the other side of the restaurant, Hermione sees two employees talking, one of them gesturing at the wall with utter bewilderment. She doesn’t point it out.

“Twelve o’clock,” says Ron, nodding past Draco’s shoulder. “Some bloke staring you down hard, Malfoy.”

Draco looks excitedly behind him, but what Hermione takes more notice of is the way Harry’s face falls a little. She can’t help but wonder if he even realises it’s happened. She’s almost certain he’s aware of his feelings for Draco even though he still hasn’t said anything to her (and she’s been waiting months now, the effort of holding her tongue growing only more difficult by the day, and she knows Ron’s always seconds away from shouting at him) but she doesn’t think he knows how obvious he is. Draco doesn’t seem to know either, but she thinks that’s because Draco feels exactly the same way. She’d have called them morons, but she remembers too well how long it had taken her and Ron.

“What the fuck, Weasley,” Draco hisses, turning back around with a scowl that makes Ron laugh and Harry perk up again a little bit. “He looks like he hasn’t washed his hair in weeks.”

“Now, now,” says Ron, “mustn’t judge books by their greasy covers.”

“Then you go shag him if you think he’s so fit.”

“Maybe I will,” Ron says airily, as if he really is considering it, and Hermione can’t help chuckling and kissing his cheek. Then his expression changes to one of wicked amusement, which makes all of them look round to see the bloke coming their way. Hermione glances at Harry to find that — oh yes, he looks flustered and vaguely upset.

“Hullo,” says the greasy bloke to Draco as he comes up beside him at their table. He’s really not terrible-looking, but if she’s learned anything about Draco in the last couple years it’s that his standards amount to models and Harry Potter, so this man has almost no chance.

“Hello,” Draco drawls, reminding her fiercely of his younger self at Hogwarts. “I’m not interested.”

“Right little narcissistic bugger, aren’t you?” the man says. And now, finally, he’s begun to look as revolting to Hermione as he’d done initially to Draco — a repellent personality can do that. “Maybe I just wanted to come and have a chat.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at any of the rest of us?” Ron asks, sounding halfway between amused still and a little put off.

“Can you leave, please?” Draco interjects, cringing away from the man encroaching slowly on his personal space. And suddenly, as he looks on the verge of antagonising Draco further, he shifts his feet and slips, landing right on his bum with a yell of surprise. All four of them get to their feet to see, but there doesn’t seem to be any liquid or even slimy food for him to have tripped on.

“The fuck ...?” the man says, getting back to his feet. But when he moved towards Draco, he only slips again, on absolutely nothing at all. Something clicks and Hermione looks at Harry: he seems as confused as anyone else (if obviously pleased).

She looks at Ron then, who catches her eye and lifts his brows like he’s thinking the same thing.

Draco’s suitor gets up once more and steadies himself, looking a bit dazed. Some deep animal instinct seems to tell him to stop trying, and with a wary glance at Draco he finally leaves.

“Well that was a bit of a fucking scene,” says Harry. Draco, coming out of his own startled daze, laughs.

“Yeah,” Ron says sarcastically, “wonder what could’ve possibly happened.”

“I really thought it was going to rain,” Draco mopes where he’s standing at the window. It’s grey outside but it definitely doesn’t look like rain and Draco appears so upset about it that Hermione actually feels badly, even though she’s quite glad for the clear weather.

“Just shut the curtains,” Ron suggests from his place on the floor. He’s sorting through Harry’s collection of VHS tapes, trying to decide on a good Halloween movie. Not that he’s ever seen any of them, and Hermione suspects he’ll end up choosing whichever cover he likes best.

“It’s not the same!” Draco wails. “The thunder and lightning is all part of it, you uncultured pillock! The atmosphere is all wrong.”

“It’ll be just as good when we shut off all the lights and draw the curtains,” she assures him, but it doesn’t remove the look of disappointment from his face. It’s a pouty sort of thing that echoes the brattiness of his youth; she imagines a five-or-six-year-old Draco giving his parents similar looks when he wasn’t getting what he wanted.

At that moment the front door opens and Harry walks in carrying two grocery bags, one of which contains alcohol, which Hermione can tell by the way the plastic is bulging around the cans.

“The fuck are you all doing here?” he says by way of greeting.

“You said eight o’clock, fuckhead,” Ron tells him without looking up. “But it’s fine, I’ve had time to pick a film and Malfoy’s had time to moan about the weather.”

“What’s wrong with the weather?”

“I wanted a storm!”

At that exact moment, a flash of lightning lights up the sky behind Harry where he hasn’t even closed the door yet. Seconds later a downpour begins, and then there’s a rolling crash of thunder.

Hermione’s eyes widen and once more she finds Ron’s gaze, who looks about as shocked as she feels. Draco, meanwhile, has his hands over his mouth and looks like a child on Christmas morning.

For the first time since his magic had begun picking up on Draco’s wishes and granting them of seemingly its own accord, Hermione sees Harry look suspicious. He peers behind him at the storm suddenly raging outside his house before slowly closing the door. When he turns back he looks directly at Hermione, who looks away quickly.

They set up the food Harry had gotten — all kinds of Halloween-themed sweets — and once everyone has their drinks (“Make mine,” Draco tells Harry, “you do it best”) and is comfortable on the two sofas in the room (Harry and Draco are, as usual, as close to each other as they can get without actually touching) they start the movie: The Thing, which Harry swears is one of the greatest horror films of all time.

Funny thing is, an hour and a half into it she looks over and, with a jolt, realises the two of them are kissing half-covered beneath a blanket. She elbows Ron, who positively beams when he notices.

“Fucking finally, dear sweet Merlin,” he whispers, the sound muffled by the continued rain and thunder. “I nearly hit him upside the head when he made it rain, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Shh!” Hermione hisses, though she’s smiling. “They’ll hear you. We’ll rag him about it tomorrow.”

A soft sound of laughter comes from the other sofa that Hermione identifies as Draco’s, and when she risks another peek after a moment she sees that Harry has a hand on Draco’s jaw, and that he’s smiling.

#anna writes #this prompt rly sent me into a tailspin of emotion #Anonymous

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shadowdianne · 2 years

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-.-

For anyone who feels interested in reading this. Top surgery news:

Yesterday I got the sticthes out: yay! I fainted while showering for the first time: not so yay! My bet is that due to my blood pressure and a mix of the heat of the shower itself and after being binded for so long taking everything out didn't exactly help with anything.

I feel better today tho, did a re-dressing of the wounds just as instructed; I have my third appointment february 8th and since I'm doing a masters bc the work prospect here is as shitty as you can get I also got an extension on a paper whilst translating a few things from the safety of my bed. Which is not bad really as tuesdays go. [getting a paycheck is always good xd]

Mental state wise and pain state wise: I have read that it hurts, seen so many people stating that it hurt for them that I was quite nervous about that. To me it hasn't hurt and in fact what bothers me the most is the feeling of being binded because a) at the end of the day your brain is telling you that you are still using a binder so there's the faint inner voice of: you should take the binder off, it's been hours, you are going to hurt yourself, yaddah yaddah yaddah and b) there's a lot of movement restriction going on which makes you basically unable to move freely and that doesn't really fly by me well. The first week and a half I was mostly ko due to the meds so I didn't suffer too much but the last half a week it's been quite harsh for my mental health and I needed to re-check with myself this past weekend. It's also quite isolating as I cannot go for a run or other things I normally do to trick the serotonyn. Having a solid group of people asking and doing checks up truly helped to that and whereas I'm not 100% out of the woods on that having a shower even with how terribly that went and feeling my energy returning is helping lots. Will probably need to be careful as to not relapsing to a more serious darker take on bad thoughts but still something totally doable from my side of things without requiring external help.

For the piece of resistance: How are you feeling Di? Well xD I haven't cried yet and the longer time it passes the less I think I will. It wasn't the shock I was expecting to see myself with my normal clothes but I honestly believe that that's because rather than the utter elation what I'm feeling is recognizement of the person that is at the other side of the mirror. Dysmorphia can be a hell of a thing because sometimes it's on 24/7 and some other times it creeps by you and so your mind is set on how you feel you look like, you pick a shirt, you try it on, you look at the mirror and then you realize that the image doesn't correlate. I feel calmness when looking at myself now, everything is still fresh and new and I'm only a little in within the whole healing process so I'm sure that when I start getting the sensation back in my skin and I'm able to truly dress myself without the banadages I'll sing a different tune but so far the feeling is more about "ah, there you are". Which I believe it to be as equally valid.

I won't go and search for new clothes until I'm told by the doctors I can take the bandages for some periods of time since I want to relearn how to pick things my new size but so far I have a couple of things on my own closet I'll probably donate and I also need to find a way of donating my old binders. Those things are in my top priority list atm.

So yeah, I'm alive, and as well as one can possibly be after having spend a long-ass time in bed with little social interaction xD

But the scars look good! Well, I lie, they look gnarly af but they look good for the time that has passed so I'm going to squash that inner critic of mine and give them the boot :P

Di out!

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witchofeindor · 7 years

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ghost-hermione replied to your post “All I did today is the front page + content of tables/outline for one...”

*huggles* babe, that's already something! you need to realise that if this is your pace, forcing yourself to do more will just lead you to come crashing...

Yeah, I guess you are right :(

But I need to finish this paper by Oct the 22nd, and argh, I won’t make it at this pace (and I can’t ask for an extension bc it’s a paper from last year, oops)

And in addition to that, I have another paper due on that date but 1) I can ask for an extension for that one 2) I am actually passionate about that one and I will be motivated to write it so I am less worried about that one. But still, I have two papers due in a week and a half and I’m working very slowly and pls kill me

#ghost hermione #reply

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academla · 7 years

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Update

Well it's now 1:15 am but I thought I would update you. I have not been productive today. At all. I've procrastinated and forgot my laptop charger when I babysat, which resulted in my shit laptop with less than two hours battery life dying. I did almost finish my soc essay. What I did not even fucking start is my English essay. I'm at that point where I actually feel sick dealing with school. It ain't easy. But I'm going to do my absolute best to be positive and push through. I trust myself. I trust my brain. I trust that I'll know when to stop. So my plan is to get as much done tomorrow as I can, and I will ask my teacher for an extension if necessary. She is understanding and loath as I am to do that, I gotta do what I gotta do. This week, I have three tests. I have a study group on Monday, but I haven't even reviewed my soc notes at all. I got a 99 on my last test tho so I'm not too worried, and I won't let myself be. What I *am* worried about is English. It's an honors class, and it's got an intense workload. Problem is, to stay in the honors college I need an honors class. And I do want to minor in English (specifically writing). My prof said that I can take an incomplete if it's too overwhelming. But I'm really determined. This isn't me abusing myself as a student, because I HATE the "don't stop when you're tired stop when you're done" thing. This is just me really forcing myself to BELIEVE in my abilities. It's gonna be a long week. But I can only take it one step at a time. And I can only do the best I can do. Tomorrow I'm going to lunch with @eclairestudies (finally! We've discussed meeting up for ages) and then we are going to study. The essay is due online at 11:59 pm. If I'm not in good shape by 9 pm, I'll email my prof. All I need to do for Monday is format my soc paper, smooth some transitions, and I'll be golden. That means I then have to focus on the poetry questions I sent some of you guys to look over and help me with when I can get around to them, and I need to memorize a lot of Chinese characters. It's not easy taking five classes and struggling with depression. But I'm gonna do it. And I do get help when I need it, and I can't be superwoman, and I will never role model or advocate pushing yourself too hard. I accepted an 87 the other day simply bc I was so burned out and I didn't check my work and that's okay. I can still get an A without getting all A's on individual assignments. And even if I don't get an A I'll survive and go on and have a fulfilling life. I'll check in with y'all tomorrow! Thank you to all my silent supporters ❤️ I know some URLs of people who consistently comment and message me, and I'm so sorry for not being as responsive (altho I'm not checking my snap inbox at all, but you can still add me), but I'm sure that there are more of you out there who hopefully are also inspired or touched by my content. We will get through this together ❤️

#academla blogs #update #mental health #academlets

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