#angsty draco

[siriusly-parker]

—flor de maracuja [draco m.] —prologue. [intro]

[series masterlist]

tags. [draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader, students came back to finish their senior year, after the war, fluff, angst, kinda grumpy x sunshine, series]

author’s note. [really really short intro, plz tell me if you’d actually like a series!! ꩜ i siriusly love you <3]

wc. [0.67k]

“Remember! The harder the growing, the higher the grading!” Growled the teacher as the rest of his class started to pack their things and leave.

Mr. Derwen Pembroke was Madam Sprout’s gloomier Welsh replacement after the war. Of the few teachers left, not many came back to Hogwarts. The lack of staff meant that he was the only herbology professor, one who hated teaching introduction classes, as he felt he was overqualified. He constantly reminded his students of it and only kept his rudeness to a minimum with his Advanced crew. As a Herbology 101 student, Draco absolutely despised him.

“Mister Malfoy.” Draco stopped at the door. “You are failing my class.” He turned around and walked deeper inside the class towards his incredibly bored-looking teacher. “Actually, I believe I am not, Professor.” Mr. Pembroke rolled his eyes and put his feet up on his already muddy desk. “You’re right, I’m sorry. You are not failing.” Draco felt he was being condescending. “Yet.” Of course he was. “But, if your thumb doesn’t get as green as that damn tie very soon, you most definitely will be.” He sighs “I would like for you to be tutored for this assignment. Mr. Longbottom should be at the AH2 greenhouse right about now. He’ll explain everything.” Draco nodded, keeping his groaning hushed as he turned to leave the classroom. “One more thing.” Mr. Pembroke stopped him. “Don’t ever try to correct me again, Mr. Malfoy. No one likes a smartass.” The boy didn’t argue, he knew better than to bargain with a snake. “Of course, Professor.” “Don’t be a suck up either.” He was taken aback. What did this man want? But, Derwen laughed before he had the chance to finish his thought. “I’m just kidding, Draco. Don’t be so uptight.” “Well, there’s not much left for me to be now, is there, Sir?” “Smartass.” He snorts.

AH2 meant Advanced Herbology II. Their greenhouse was farther from the castle and closer to the forest, and only AH2 students or personally approved ones, like Draco, were allowed to use it. The small runned down shack didn’t interest many students, anyway. It looked old and disheveled, nothing very appealing.

When he got there, the so-called greenhouse was empty and Neville was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t really in the mood to look for him, so he hovered around all the weird looking plants, many of which he had never even seen before.

As he walked, he noticed a small passage towards what seemed to be like an extension of the place. It ended up being much bigger than what it hinted to from the outside, probably by an Undetectable Extension charm, like the one he used for his bag. It looked more like a national botanical garden than a stupid herbology class greenhouse. Entering the room, a faint melody could be heard from what Draco assumed to be the solarium.

When Draco walked into the sunlit room, he saw her. He saw the bows in her hair first. They were yellow like her skirt and the laces on her shoes.

“Are you lost?” The girl asked without turning around. Draco’s taken aback. He didn’t think she had even noticed his presence. “What?” “I’m asking if you are lost.” She says matter-of-factly. “Oh. Well, I guess I kind of am.” He tries to find the right words by rubbing the back of his neck, “...Sorry.” but she turns to face him with a bright smile he definitely didn’t expect. “No worries! I completely understand. This place is an absolute maze!” Her laugh was warm and it made the boy dizzy. Haven’t heard anyone be so friendly to him in a long time, he tries to change the conversation, so as to not think about it too much. “I’m actually waiting for Longbottom.” “That makes sense.” She smiles. “You can wait here if you want. He shouldn’t take long.” Turning back to caring for her plants, she shifts on her feet. “So… what are you working on?”

‎𐦂 hope you enjoyed it!! comment what you think! ◡̈

‧˚ʚ masterlist + requests

taglist ; @daydreamteardrop @ell0ra-br3kk3r @missstratford [restarting my tagging list/system! plz send an ask, comment, dm to be added!!]

[dhr-dump]

One night, Potter arrives at the Manor, his anger evident, and Draco can only imagine why. He was just thankful that he didn’t jinx him on sight, given his set of skills as an Auror, given what had happened between him and Hermione. Due diligence, he guessed.

“Why are you doing this, Malfoy?”

His first words to him, fuming.

Meanwhile, he can only pretend.

“Please, Potter, I don’t need you coddling me.”

“I’m here for Hermione. And you hurt her.”

He flinches. He knows why he’s here, of course. He’d hurt her when she was the one who confessed first. He’d hurt her when he didn’t respond to her feelings. When he only stared at her. When he only retreated.

“Probably better now rather than prolonging it.”

Potter pulls him by the shoulder a bit too hard.

“What are you doing? You’re in love with her!”

Draco tries so hard not to lose the walls in his mind.

“I never said that.”

“I can see it in your eyes, Malfoy.”

He almost laughs, but there is only the unease in his breath. He seethes instead.

“There’s nothing in my eyes. Do you see images of her anywhere? What the fuck have you been drinking—”

“Arsehole! It’s when you’re with her, you’re happier.”

Draco blinks, then sighs when he looks down at his feet. He knows that. There's no need to tell him that.

“Why, Malfoy?”

Draco smiles, the saddest one he could muster.

“It’s because I don’t deserve her, Potter,” he says, shrugging Potter’s hand off his shoulder. “She deserves someone better.”

When Potter leaves the Manor, Draco pretends not to hear his last words to him.

“You’ve been better than you were, Malfoy. I just hope you see that.”

I just hope you see that, her voice echoes in his mind instead of Potter’s, and it accompanies him in his dreams until he sees her again.

[jittery-wisp]

[littlewinnow]

Wanted to try redrawing my first ever Dracos from 2023 to now!

[cassiopeiasdaughter]

To not leave Draco Malfoy out of this celebration, maybe an angsty fic with the prompt “Don’t leave me”?

Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

A/N:I've always wanted to write something in this format, thank you for the inspiration and the request 🤍 Draco Malfoy masterlist & celebrate my academic hardships

Warning: mentions of war and everything related to it

The five times Draco Malfoy needed you away from him and the one he was desperate to keep you close.

First Year; you found him with Hermione, you were both looking for Nevilles toad, asking around the students if they’d seen one.

He gave you a snobby look ,as you entered the room he was in, taking in your form. After introducing himself to you two and learning you were both Muggleborn he said “Leave us, we haven’t seen a toad.”, snickering with his friends- and driving you mad with the need to hex his pointy face out of the window.

Third Year; your interactions as the years went on, had gone from a quick sneer at the hallways, to insults and yelling after quidditch practice- and especially games- specifically the ones where he lost.

That wouldn’t happen that day, though, because Draco was determined to win. He had been practicing for this game for weeks, exhausting himself in the quidditch field.

The image of him rubbing it in your annoying face that he had won and you had lost, was the only motivation he needed.

He was confident, so confident that before the game he walked up to you, way too cocky and said “Good day to lose, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know Malfoy, you tell me.”,you replied smirking 

This was usual for you, teasing and taunting before matches. That, turned into a silent challenge between you two.

Who could fly the fastest? Who could impress the crowd more? You fueled eachother; your relationship was an endless competition. 

And secretly you both loved it.

In the midst of the game, he found you alone looking over the field, deeply focused on the game.

He doesn’t understand what frivolous thought resulted in him flying up to you; just for a few seconds, he said to himself.

“Go away, Malfoy, I am trying to focus.”

“Save yourself some trouble, maybe relax your forehead before you get wrinkles, and accept your defeat.”, he said with a smug face

“Stop buzzing around me like a fly, go spin around some more over there, will you?”, you said clearly annoyed and he laughed at that.

Before he could get the chance to reply, he noticed a strange movement behind you. He wrinked his eyes, trying to get a better look and realized it was a bludger coming straight to you- and you the complete idiot you were, were staring at the opposite direction.

He supposes there are many other things he could have done that day. He could just warn you, scream at you even. He could fly away and mind his business- focus on winning the game.

But if the bludger hit you, who would he make fun of, then? 

That, and only that, is why, he flew infront of you, with the bludger hitting him in the ribs- causing him to fall several feet to the ground.

As he laid in complete darkness, with a piercing pain in his chest, he thought he heard screaming and then your voice; you were okay, he could rest now.

He woke up to the sound of whispers, and pages turning. The room smelled of clean sheets and he felt cold. He shivered and opened his eyes groaning.

“Sleeping beauty is awake.”, he heard Blaise and before he could open his mouth, he felt Pansy rush to his side, grabbing his hand.

“Are you completely mad?”, she asked furious “What were you thinking, you-”

“Let him be, Pans, you can scold him once he is out of here.”, Theo interrupted her “How are you feeling mate?”

“M’fine, I feel stiff- and thirsty.”, Draco replied slowly, batting his eyes- preventing them from closing again.

His three friends looked at eachother, as if speaking silently, plotting together-specifically something only he wasn’t supposed to know.. 

“What?” He asked annoyed “We lost. Is the team mad? Just say it.”, he said between groans- moving his body to stand a little straighter- look stronger.

“Uhhh-”, muttered Theo

“We’ll get you some water.”, interrupted Blaise

“The three of you? Where are you getting it from exactly, the Lake?”, he replied annoyed at his friends- and himself for getting himself into this mess.

Pansy groaned impatiently and rolled her eyes at him “You have a visitor, see you later.”

With that, she walked out of the room- followed by Blaise and Theo, both smiling at him, the first mischievously and the latter sympathetically- holding his book in his arms.

He groaned then and threw his head back- staring into the empty ceiling, that looked as depressing, as his actions. Honestly, what was he thinking? He blew everything up, wasted so many hours of work and practice; in just one single second-

“Hi.”, he heard your voice, soft and gentle. He couldn’t recall, the last time you looked at him, without a sneer or a scowl. With your mouth relaxed and your eyes gentle.

“No need to gloat, I am not in the mood, right now.” You scoff at that, “I came here to thank you, you impossible twat.”

He smirks, at your words, and how natural it feels to hear them from your mouth. He gives you a knowing look; slightly amused.

“Sorry.”, you mumble 

“Thank you for what you did there.”, you said and sat at the bed, next to his body, your hands almost touching.

“Uh- it’s not like I could have gone anywhere else.”

“You could have stayed still, it would have hit me, not you.”

“And you’d have fallen on me, we’d both end up here. Honestly, I did it to save myself from your voice, annoying me even here. It’s more peaceful this way.”

“Oh, Malfoy, shut up.”, you said trying not to look amused “We both know Pomfrey can’t stand your whining, I heard she’s considering resigning.”, you continued, fake whispering with a face that makes him laugh even now, remembering it.

He sees his friends enter, and quickly snaps back to reality. You are his competitor, the person he wants to show off to- they are his friends, the ones who want to see him do well, they care about him- not you.

And he cares about them, certainly not about you.

“You’re giving me a headache, go away, please.”, he said and noticed how your eyes saddened slowly.

Your face returned to its usual look, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly turned and hands crossed in front of you. 

“Ah- right, bye.”

And with that you left, leaving him with his best friends, who loved him and protected him from everything harmful.

But then again, why couldn’t he stop the throbbing in his head, every time he thought, of you leaving?

Fourth Year; he was perfect. His robes looked great on him, he knew the dances well- after all the training he had had through the years- and he’d gone with Pansy, who he trusted.

Then, why couldn’t he have fun? 

It was your presence surely- it drove him mad. You were dancing around with your friends- missing steps and then laughing at yourself. You were clumsy and graceless and laughed with your mouth open.

All the manners he had learnt to obey, were nowhere to be found when it came to you.

But then, why couldn’t he take his eyes off of you? 

“Excuse me for a moment, Pans.”, his mouth muttered despite his protests not to

His feet carried him to you, he begged them to stop- turn around and insult Potter or the Weasel, don’t go to her, not her. But they had a mind of their own and he cursed as he bumped into you.

You turned around and stared at him with a surprised look on your face “Malfoy.” ,you said confused and scanned his body with your eyes, your gaze lingering at his face before lightly shaking your head “Something wrong with your eyes?”

He didn’t answer though, not as he was taking in your form; your dress and how its color complimented you perfectly. Your hair loose, with strands falling across your face like a waterfall.

Your skin glowing as the colored light fell on it; making you look like you didn’t belong in this world, but in the fairytales he would read as a child.

He couldn’t breathe, maybe you’d thrown something in his drink- you’d love to ridicule him at the Ball, the whole school would talk about it- then again, maybe these thoughts had always been there, found shelter in a dark place in his mind he didn’t want to acknowledge. 

“Draco, are you alright?”, your voice worried then and his name falling from your lips felt like a spell shot directly at his chest.

“Ah-”, the sound of music cut him off and the image of his classmates pairing up and dancing, drove him to eventually ask “Dance with me?” 

And the moment you said yes and held his hands; a fire inside him started. It warmed parts of his soul that had never seen the sun, they were cold and dying, but your light healed them. 

Your moves were seamless and your hold was gentle. You let him guide you, with trust he secretly wished could last.

You could not help but giggle as he swirled you two around and the sound of your voice was contagious, the smile on your lips something he wanted to memorize.  

As the dance progressed you two moved closer; his hand was holding you tighter and your eyes were curious, as if you yearned for more.

And as your face tipped forward and your lips parted slowly- he felt a strange and unwanted force dragging him back to reality.

To his reality, the one filled with your differences and his friends and family. The reality that wasn’t the fairytale you two belonged in.

He pulled back, causing you to lose your balance slightly and almost fall on him. You looked betrayed and embarrassed, like a wounded animal showing trust, begging for help only to receive the opposite.

He didn’t say anything to you, as he exited the big room, and he didn’t acknowledge his friends who looked at him with a puzzled face. The only thing on his mind was how much he needed to get away from you.

Sixth year; the room was spinning. There were bandages all over his body and a sharp pain on his limbs. It was incredible how he had managed to end up in the infirmary again.

He remembered Potters face, filled with hatred and betrayal as he cast the unforgivable, directly at him. It brought him shame, how not even Potter could believe he would join the Death Eaters, it was low even for him.

He felt shame and fear, It’s not my fault he wanted to scream, I didn’t choose this, he needed to let everyone know- but he was too scared of everything that would follow.

Myrtles screams and cries were ringing in his ears “Please stop”, he whispered with his eyes closed- tears falling down his cheeks.

“Stop what?”, he heard your voice ask, hoarse as if you were crying and he cursed himself then.

His mind played cruel tricks on him. Not only did he see you in his dreams every night but now he could also hear you in his wake. He couldn’t protect you in his dreams; the Dark Lord used you against him- made him do things that he wouldn’t even imagine prior to this summer.

And after doing everything the Dark Lord asked of him, he would see you die in front of him.

His cries grew stronger, but a hand strongly closing on his stopped him. He tried to open his eyes and turn his head, “Does it hurt? Do you want me to call Pomfrey?”, you asked scared with swollen eyes and dark circles under them.

“No.” He whispered quietly and felt your grip on his hand and your thumb tracing the skin there.

Your eyes landed on the inside of his sleeve, where the Dark Mark still lies and you looked at him with sorrow in your eyes. “I am sorry.”, you said and let tears fall.

He wishes he could have been strong and push them away, but more than that he wishes he would had prevented them in the first place.

However, you were neither his lover or his friend, so he had no place wishing any of the two. 

“What are you doing here?”, he turned his head- staring at the cold empty ceiling, once again.

“I heard what happened, Draco-”, you stopped, didn’t know how to continued- what to say.

“Why are you here?” , his voice was angry now “I don’t need your pity, after all those years, how can you still not understand that? You are supposed to hate me.”

“Well I don’t. I-”, care about you, you almost confessed- but he couldn’t let you.

“Leave! Leave me alone.”, he said closing his eyes and forcefully removing his hand from your grasp.

And, sadly you did. But not for long.

You returned that same night, with books and notes in your arms and a look of determination on your face.

You placed everything on his nightstand and sat at the same place as earlier. 

“You have missed too many classes, you need to catch up. Come on.”

He stared at you confused and tired, so so tired of handling everything by himself, of protecting his family and everyone he loved. And he was so tired from convincing himself that lowering his walls and letting you in would result in his distraction. 

Because at that moment, the only thing that had managed to offer him relief from the ache in his chest was you.

“I am sorry.”, he said ashamed.

“It is fine.” You replied sincerely and then shook your head lightly “Charms, page 431, chapter 18.”

It shouldn’t have been this easy for him to fall in love with you. You helped him with schoolwork and then with adjusting to normality again. You teased him, like before, but the look on your face now and the gleam of your eyes were completely different. 

You would talk outside of class and quidditch practice. He would often meet you, to study together and talk about your days.

And the most important, at night, after proving his loyalty to the darkness he was forced into, he’d run to you. You would remain silent, on top of the astronomy tower, thinking about the future and the past; of all the actions and choices that led him up there, with you. 

“I am sorry.”, he said one night, turning his head to look at you

“What for?” ,you asked back     

“I don’t know, for being a jerk? For treating you terribly?”, he let out a deep sigh before continuing “For everything I guess.”

“We both treated echother shitty. We are fine now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, I suppose we are.”

“Just.” You started “Be careful, with them, I know you say you have everything under control, but be careful.”

“Why- why do you care? You shouldn’t care.”, he said amused and annoyed by how you would open your heart for anyone to find shelter in, even him.

“Because I want to, that’s is why.”, you held his hand and turned your head to look at the stars in contrast to the night sky- lighting up the darkness.

June 30th 1997;he wished he hadn’t grown closer to you, that day. Dumbledore was dead, and the Death Eaters were coming, the castle was in danger and there was nothing he could do about it.

As he ran down the halls, begging his mind to focus and not panic at the madness around him, he kept wishing you were safe.

He found you, looking around scared- terrified. And as your gazes locked you ran into eachother.

“Go away! Leave!”, he said, but despite his words, his hold on you grew stronger.

“What about you, I can’t leave you.”, you shouted back

And he knew you meant that, but he couldn’t come with you, couldn’t put you in any more danger; that was his excuse for what he did next. 

His hand moved to your face and he grabbed you; smashing your lips on his. You kiss was filled with longing and years filled of your pushing and pulling. Your dance around eachother.

It was filled with his gratitude for you, for being the safety he longed for, while nothing in his life was safe or stable. He kissed you for being his friend, when he had to distance himself from his- to protect them.

But, he also kissed you, because if he were to die in the moments to follow, the selfish- twisted parts of him wanted to at least have known how you tasted, how your lips felts against his, and how your body would mould against his.

You parted, your lungs aching for oxygen and he said again, in a gentler voice “Leave.”

And you did.

May 2nd 1998; he is tired. He doesn’t know how long he has been running for, screaming; your name the only sound falling from his lips.

His vision is blurry from the dust, the building around him slowly collapsing; his home for the past seven years will soon be nothing but a ruin.

And the thought of you buried under it, stops his breathing as he picks up the pace and runs faster.

“Draco?”, he hears his name being called, the voice entirely familiar. 

He turns around and sees you, with your hands around your waist and ashes all over your face.

He doesn’t have to think twice to sprint to you, not caring who he bumps into or if a spell hits him right there in the chest- not if it means that the last thing he'll see is you, alive.

He crushes you in his arms and breathes in deep, your scent hovering over him and his hands around you, shielding you from the battle.

He wishes you two could stay like this forever, he should apparate you both somewhere far away from this hell, somewhere where he could protect you, keep you safe, and show you how much you mean to him, how much he lov-

The voice you let out, filled with pain and regret crushes all his dreams and he pulls back in an instant.

“Are you hurt? Where does it hurt?” He instructs and uncrosses your arms from your body, to reveal blood all over your clothes.

You give him a tired look and his scared eyes beg you to stay close to him, but your body is weak and you fall to the floor taking him with you.

He lifts your shirt carefully and gasps when he sees your wound, bloody and open, your body emptying, losing blood dangerously fast. 

“It’s okay.”, you whisper “It is going to be okay.” You smile weakly 

“No, no, no.”, he repeats unable to accept what’s happening.

His hands are stained with your blood, leaving your face crimson-red and sticky as he cradles it for dear life- as if his hold on you will keep you alive.

“Don’t leave me.”, he begs “Please.”,and he leans in your hand, caressing his cheek lovingly, as he cries.

Only when your touch loosens and your hand slips to the floor does he stop to let out a haunting scream.

I love you, he meant to say, “I love you.”, he says now, wishing you could hear it.

sorry for any mistakes; comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated 🩶

[perciren]

Conflicted

[lilithofpenandbook]

au where when a Death Eater is killed, they can actually not die, on one condition:

Their heart must be pure.

This doesn't mean they never ever did anything wrong. That's impossible if you're human. No, this means that whatever they've done, it's for a selfless reason. That whatever bad they've done for selfish reasons, they've fully regretted, repented, and set out for redemption. That in their heart of hearts, they are no true Death Eater, because true Death Eater have no compassion, or selfless love. Selfless Love is a pure thing, and if that exists in the heart, then they may survive being killed.

And there's another thing: they return to the physical state they were in before taking the Dark Mark. It's all effectively "wiped clean", as it were. Of course, the actions remain, as do the mental scars, but the physical body is now back to when it was still pure of this evil as a little nod to the purity of their heart.

During the second war, then, there are a few Death Eaters who do not die. But only the fewest:

The most famous example? Severus Snape, who is all but a mere child, barely touching adulthood. Who's small and underweight, whose body is still riddled with scars from the Good Guys. Who's so young it's frightening to think he became a death eater at this age because there's something so broken and fragile about him. How did he manage to survive through that?

And then... And then there's Bellatrix. Bellatrix Black.

Who... Who's a literal child.

[vimusiohc]

Name the hardest line in fiction?

THISSSSS:

fic: Dwelling by aideomai

[tommythaechalamet]

Father

My father will hear about this

He'll hear

How much you mean to me

How much I love

Your glasses, sliding down your nose

Electric green eyes

Piercing my heart

I'll tell him

How much I want to make you mine

Every part of you

Your foolish bravery

You always had the heart of a lion

And the body of a Greek god

My father will hear about this

But he won't listen

[runningwithmyeyesclosed]

Draco pulled out a box of cigarettes, terrible muggle things, but they calmed him.

"So you're dating muggleborns now?" the voice surprised him but he refused to let it show.

"I thought it was I who was meant to be the prejudiced Death Eater not you." Draco raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Harry.

"I guess I'm just trying to figure out what you are doing with that guy." Harry shrugged.

"I am dating that guy." Draco rolled his eyes and crossed his arms holding his cigarette away from him.

"C'mon Draco he is a tool."

"He is fine. What is your problem? You know what? I don’t care." Draco threw his cigarette on the floor and stepped on it as he pivoted back to the entrance of the pub.

"You picked him but you wouldn't pick me?" Harry had grabbed Draco by the arm and held tight.  Draco spun back and yanked his arm out of Harry's grasp.

"Are you taking the piss right now?" Draco looked into Harry's eyes trying to read him.

"No, I really want to know what has he got that I don’t?" Harry stepped closer to Draco.

"You called me a deathtrap! Did you expect me to pick you when it was so obvious you couldn't stand the idea of being with me?" Draco could feel a knot growing in his throat and could hear his voice crack.

"I didn’t call you a deathtrap…" Harry's voice was low, angry.

"A moth drawn to the flame. I was the flame that was going to destroy you and its okay because you were right. We were two trains heading straight for each other. We would have wrecked each other, destroyed each other, it wasn’t a risk you were willing to take but I WAS. I was ready to take that risk I was going full speed when you pulled out of the race. So I was left in the wreck all by myself. I was hurting and alone while YOU were happy and in love with Ginny and I had to watch it ALL and now I'm beginning to be happy, and you? you what? You can't stand that someone can resist saint Potter? We are not going to happen  you missed your chance. So run back to your girlfriend." Draco's vision was blurry now, he blinked hard.

Draco knew he  needed to say it, but it hurt to turn him away Draco was still in love with him. Draco blinked again he couldn’t be in love though. Harry hurt him and he didn't think he would be able to put himself back together. He closed his eyes and walked away he had to or he would be destroyed all over again.

~~~

A conversation I imagine happening after Harry gets jealous of Draco when he brings a new man to a party. I imagine that they dated in secret during 8th year after the golden trio decides to befriend the Slytherins who returned; however, they break up because Harry can't be dating a death eater(is what he constantly says). Since they all become friends Draco has to see Harry get back together with Ginny and they attend all the friend parties together. Pansy finally decides to get Draco to start dating again.

[siriusly-parker]

—harry potter masterlist.

“it’s where we go, it’s where we’ll be.”

꩜ draco malfoy

ily, bye

flor de maracuja — series, hufflepuff!reader

꩜ headcanons

random lightning era hcs

[citrusses]

“We’re all going to keep fighting, Harry. You know that?”

A Dress with Pockets by @pacific-rimbaud (E, 25k, Neville/Pansy)

Pansy Parkinson needed a drink. And a shag. She didn't care in which order. Enter: Neville fucking Longbottom and his rolled up sleeves.

Call Me Friend, But Keep Me Closer by @tackytigerfic (M, 4,164, Neville/Harry, Drarry)

"Neville Longbottom had always loved plants, but he loved Harry Potter more." Neville's got a good thing going with Harry... or so he thinks.

Five Women Neville Longbottom has Loved and Lost by @gyzym (Not Rated, 2,036, Neville/Various)

"I think," Luna says, "that pain can be a beautiful thing, but only on Tuesdays."

Helios by toomuchplor (E, 7,576, Neville/Harry)

Think warm thoughts.

Like a Hero by @aibidil (T, 1,818, Neville/Ginny)

Perpetually stuck on the periphery of Harry's inner circle, Neville has always felt like an onlooker. But when Harry leaves and war comes to Hogwarts, it's up to Neville—and Ginny—to redefine what a hero looks like.

Love to Give by @kittycargo (E, 9,542, Neville/Harry/Draco)

Neville and Harry are in a relationship when Draco moves back from Italy and needs a place to stay. Neville never knew how much love he had to give.

Mistakes by sebastianL (M, 148k, Neville/OMC)

Professor Neville Longbottom is on the verge of becoming Head of Gryffindor. If he has a summer fling before that happens, it won't affect anything that comes after, right? Right? A story about the road not traveled, refusing to bow down to dark forces, and finally learning that no one should ever underestimate Neville Longbottom.

The Boy Who Could Have Lived by yourorbitaround90 (M, 215k, Neville/Ginny)

Seventh year at Hogwarts from Neville's perspective. While Harry, Ron and Hermione are f*ing around in the woods, Neville, Ginny and Luna are starting a full on rebellion.

Trying by aideomai (T, 12k, Neville/Draco)

Neville had hoped when he left Hogwarts that he’d never have to see Draco Malfoy again; he’d barely even seen him in that last, terrible year, when Malfoy had dropped out somewhere around the Easter term. But then Harry, Ron, and Hermione came back from their delayed seventh year and with them, pale and sneering and sharp-tongued as ever, came Malfoy.

Bonus: poor Neville is dead in this one but he's so wonderful in the flashbacks!

When It Returns by @academicdisasterfic (M, 7,501, previous Neville/Harry, Drarry)

‘You’re late, layabout,’ Malfoy drawled, pushing the whiskey over to him. ‘I’ll have you know that I am very busy maintaining a whole house and garden by myself now.’ ‘Oooh, the dead husband card. Before any alcohol. Is that a record?’ Harry's husband is dead, and Malfoy is the only one who gets it. Or, the one where they drink at a straight man pub, renovate a house, and learn how to find joy again.

[thomasbrodiesandwich]

hello tumblr!

anybody in the mood for some ~drarry angst~ in this fine day? i mean don't we all need a bit of HurtTM from our ship from time to time??? (pls say yes)

i present you... my drarry oneshot fic inspired by fleabag the series :D

me, a genius, choosing a title for this fanfic:

Title: This is (not) a Love Story

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter (Drarry)

Words: 1,386

Additional Tags: Infidelity, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Inspired by Fleabag (TV), Fleabag (TV) References, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter-centric

Summary: He was alone. And that was a fact, and a fact that will never change.

Until Harry met blue-grey eyes like storm clouds and white-blond hair that glows under the sun, with pointy nose and pointy chin and pointy cheekbones. Pale skin and little freckles under his eyes and on his forehead. Long eyelashes that rest on his cheek beautifully when he laughs from his belly, eyes closing, nose wrinkling, laugh lines visible, and tense jaw relaxed. Draco Malfoy, all grown-up. It gave Harry hope.

And it ruined him, too.

[jomiddlemarch]

While You Were Sleeping

Chapter 5

The chandelier was enormous, each crystal perfectly clear, tier after tier, every facet brutally sharp. An enormous peony with petals made of knives, Hermione saw it as a kaleidoscope, shifting and reassembling, every time with the same purpose: illumination. And death.

(She did not know one single person who was still speaking with her who knew what a kaleidoscope was.)

The angle should have been unfamiliar. She’d never looked at the chandelier in the Malfoy ballroom from the threshold, not long enough to observe it in such detail. When she lay beneath it, the agony of the repeated Crucios had blurred it, the smallest compensation for the devastation, which itself was too large and splendid a word for what it was: pain. Pain that was not intended to be borne. That took a person and made them into a carcass to be carved. Bellatrix was most efficient, combining the actions. She’d done something to the spell, so that Hermione didn’t hemorrhage from her arm, but the incisions were far deeper than they appeared and in the waning of the Crucio, there had been the undeniable sensation of being consumed, not by the heat of an acid but the more noxious, irresistible bitterness of base. 

And then there was the reawakening of previous curses, the weight of Dolohov’s incantation beginning to collapse her lungs, constricting around her pericardium like a fist. She’d had every reason to gasp and could not manage it. 

Draco, at least, must be spared that.

For he was the one lying on the floor, writhing and then limp, looking like a child again and then like the man he was becoming, his jaw tight, his legs pulled up close to protect his genitals. His scream she felt more than she heard, the tenor warped by his anguish, resonating along her every nerve, within her spinal cord, but the torment in his grey eyes held her; she could not mistake his desperate plea for some relief, the tears streaking down his cheeks and into his hair tinged pink with blood. He’d never called her name like this, she’d never heard it, and it was as familiar to her as her heartbeat, as her voice reciting the simplest charms. Lumos, the blinding light of the chandelier irradiating. Annihilating. His voice, crying for her, crying out—

“Hermione—"

“Hermione, wake up,” he said. He sounded close, the words brushing her cheeks and then his hand was, the one that was not jostling her upper arm. She opened her eyes. He was right there, healthy, his bright hair mussed, his brow furrowed.

“You were—I couldn’t,” she said, floundering. She tasted salt. She must have wept in her sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“It was a dream. A bad dream, that’s all,” he said.

“You were hurt—”

“I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine and you’re safe,” he replied, the hand at her cheek reaching to stroke her hair.

“She was hurting you. You were screaming, screaming for me and I couldn’t stop her. Bellatrix,” Hermione said. Draco would want her to stop, no one ever wanted to listen to someone’s nightmare, but she couldn’t help herself.

“She’s dead,” he said. Somehow he’d known that was what would make her calm down. Make her feel her own steadily beating heart and the warmth of his palm against her skin. “She’s dead and we’re safe. She never—not like you, she never dared with me—”

“The chandelier was about to fall. I could see it happening. You knew, you wanted it,” Hermione said, the words spilling out but without the same frantic terror, the dread that she hadn’t woken up after all.

“Did you want it to come down? In the ballroom?” he asked.

“Maybe. It’s hard to remember. It would have been an ending and I wanted that. I wanted it to end,” she said. There was no one else who’d ever been willing to talk about the torture with her, no one she trusted. Harry had to be blithe, to go forward, and Ron couldn’t bear it. He’d cry, choking back sobs, wordless, and then she had to comfort him. Like Draco, he’d grown noticeably after Voldemort died and trying to stop the trembling in his large hands with her own smaller ones was difficult.

“I know,” he said. She wondered if he meant he’d wanted Bellatrix to stop cursing her or was remembering how much he had wanted it all over then, by any means. She shivered and he squeezed her shoulder.

“C’mere.”

He took her into his arms fully, without any awkward fumbling, and settled her with her face pressed to his chest, held in a loose embrace. She could smell a hint of the cologne he put on in the mornings, cedar and sandalwood, the clove of the tooth cleansing potion he used at night, the faint musk of his sweat. She felt she ought to pull away, back to her side of the bed, but her nightmare was still potent, the sound of his screaming ready to overtake her. The brilliance of the chandelier blinding when she closed her eyes.

If anything, she wanted to be held closer, tighter. To feel how wrong the dream was, to be convinced by his words.

“It didn’t happen, what you dreamt,” he said.

“It was worse,” she said. She meant it was worse than what had happened. What she recalled. Draco, cursed, tortured, calling for her, believing she could do something to save him.

“No. I don’t think so,” he said. He had been there, when Bellatrix was breaking her. “But terrible, in its own way. Devastating. To watch. When you want to help. When you can’t help.”

“I didn’t blame you,” Hermione said, very low, nearly a whisper. “I don’t.”

“You could,” he said. “I do.”

“Don’t. Don’t let it be something that keeps going,” Hermione said. “You said, we’re fine, perfectly safe, she’s dead. Don’t feel guilty, don’t let it still be alive between us—”

“Shh,” he murmured. “I won’t. If that’s what you want, I won’t. It was only a bad dream and anyone can have a bad dream. I have nightmares too.”

“Tell me,” she said. More than anything, she wanted to have him keep talking to her, to listen held close to him, discovering what it was like to feel his voice through his body, to overlay the melody of his baritone atop the bass of his heartbeat. She was beyond analyzing the rightness of her desires, whether she would feel a fool in the morning.

“Failure, when I was younger. Losing a Quidditch match, potions exploding, my father’s face when I had to tell him you’d come first in the exams. Again. Snape disappointed, always disappointed in me,” Draco said, seeming to recite a list he knew by heart.

“Snape never seemed disappointed in you,” she said. 

“Maybe not in front of a bunch of Gryffindors. He wasn’t just my Potions professor, he was my Head of House. And he and my parents were almost friends. If anyone could be friends with Snape,” Draco said. “He didn’t mince words when we were in the Slytherin common room. Or when he called me into his class early for a dressing-down before I’d even done anything.”

“I set him on fire, when we were first years,” she said. “His robes, anyway.”

Draco laughed softly. “And he never knew it was you, did he?”

“I don’t think so,” Hermione said.

“I had dreams I could speak Parseltongue,” Draco said. “That I could understand Nagini, that we’d have long conversations and I’d start to agree with her. To try and please her—”

“Is that why you like Neville better than Harry?” Hermione asked when Draco broke off, the disgust he’d felt with himself too real; it needed to be cut and he had a dry sense of humor, he’d respond to her remark as she intended.

“Because he’s the Snakeslayer? Partly. And because he’s so kind. Also, he’s never vanquished me in Quidditch and he knows how to make a proper cup of tea,” Draco said. The fondness he felt for Neville was clearly audible and had dispersed the revulsion his memories of Nagini had conjured. She smiled to herself. “Potter stews the tea, every bloody time.”

“What about now? What are your nightmares?” she asked.

“Perhaps they won’t seem that bad to you,” he said. 

“Is that a reason not to tell me? You and I, we disagree on any number of topics,” Hermione said, lifting her head up so she could look him in the eye. It wasn’t the lack of light—she would have found his expression unreadable at high noon. “I won’t judge. I won’t think you’re silly or daft or, or—”

“You ran out of words to mock me with?” Draco said. “How the mighty are fallen.”

“To reassure you. I’m not the best at that, comforting someone,” she said.

“I dream it’s real. This. Us,” he said. “And then I wake up.”

“You—what? I don’t—” Hermione felt like she was falling, except that Draco’s arms were still around her, the bed beneath them completely unchanged. Her wild magic had been relatively sedate, confined to books and the iced biscuits her parents had rationed like World War II had never ended, but maybe some children caught themselves jumping off a roof, falling from a tree’s highest branch. Maybe it felt like this.

“I dream we’re together, married. That you ask me to help with a necklace’s fiddly clasp, to make you a cup of coffee, to find the right volume of Ortolanus in our library—”

“Why wouldn’t I just use magic?” she interrupted, trying to keep her wits about her.

“Because you want me to help you. It’s easier than magic. Better,” he said. “I dream we have dinner and talk about what happened during the day, that you fuss at me for skipping lunch to work on a brief, that we have Neville over for tea with Luna and we get…held up in the kitchen.”

That pause. She knew what it meant, what he’d sidled around saying, even though she’d never imagined such a moment until he’d shared the briefest outline with her. Her back against a cupboard, his lips at her neck, his tongue on her carotid, his hand at her waist knowing, wanting. Her grasp on the Wedgewood tea-cup tenuous and then hard enough to break the slender china handle. Neville calling out that they didn’t need honey that badly, Luna hushing him, Draco laughing into the hollow at the base of her throat.

“Just that?” she asked. 

“No,” he said. “No, not just that.”

“And it’s a nightmare, being with me,” she said. She knew she was wrong, but it’s what she would have thought before they came to Eguzkik. She was greedy or uncertain or both, but she wanted him to declare himself, as if he hadn’t already said enough, her remark somewhere between bravery and utter cowardice.

“The nightmare is waking up. Finding it’s a lie, a fantasy. Something I have to let go, unless I give in to being a man I can’t stand, can’t respect,” he said.

“Maybe it’s not a lie,” she said. His hand near the small of her back tensed and so did his jaw.

“Maybe it’s not something to decide after you’ve had a bad dream. When you’re tired,” he said. “Maybe in the morning, it will be nothing worth talking about.”

“You’re daft,” she said. He smiled then, a small smile that meant he understood what she was offering.

“You’re right,” he said. She felt hopeful and excited and soothed. She felt tired, like she could sleep again, the morning beckoning. “You’re pants at comforting someone.”

[dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3]

The monster that lives inside of my chest.

There’s a monster that lives inside of my chest. I don’t notice it often. It lives in the shadows, In the hidden spots. Lurking, creeping, hiding. In the spaces between and apart, It has made a home for itself.

There’s a monster that lives inside of my chest, And every day it grows a little bit bolder. It leaves its marks upon my heart, Deadly claws dug into my soul. It makes me scream and cry and beg, Gasping for every breath, Wondering when I’ll see it again.

There’s a monster that lives inside of my chest, And it’s overtaking all of me. I feel it growing from within Taking and taking and taking. I try to fight it but it’s so very strong; I try to refute it but it always wins. I don’t know how much longer I can resist.

There’s a monster that lives inside of my chest, And it has outgrown its home. To find more space it consumes more of me. Parts of myself once sacred, now lost, To the monster from within. My friends refuse to talk to me now. They don’t like the monster I’ve become.

There’s a monster that lives inside of my chest, Except it doesn’t live inside anymore. It’s made a home for itself inside of my eyes. Inside of my hands. Inside of my words. There’s a monster that lived inside of my chest, And I lost my fight against it.

[tinkrbell]

"why did it take you so long to tell me? how long have you been holding this in?" draco felt faint. a mixture of anger, resentment, and devastation simmered in the pit of his stomach. it felt like it had just begun for them, and it was all crumbling before they could even appreciate it. / @ircnwrought