#but tbh so is draco

[andithiel]

The secret language of flowers

Another contribution to the @hdcandyheartsfest for the prompt "bouquet". I was heavily inspired by the classic tumblr "fuck you" bouquet, and it's companion mentioned in the notes, the "fuck me" bouquet. As always, a massive thank you my lovely friend @crazybutgood for the beta and flailing and for making me blush 🥰

Drarry | 2,3k (!) | Teen and up for mentions of naughty things happening

“Draco, dear, stop fidgeting.”

Draco looked up at Pansy sitting across the table from him, a heap of textbooks between them. 

“I’m not fidgeting.”

“Okay. Could you then please stop this masturbation replacement and focus on our exam revision?”

He glared at her smirking face and stopped bouncing his leg up and down.

“Thank you.” Pansy smiled sweetly. “Now, could you please pass me the anatomy books?”

He handed them over with a sigh, when there was a tap on his kitchen window. A small brown owl with a flowery scarf tied around its neck sat waiting on the window sill. Draco bolted from his seat to let it in. It stuck out its leg towards him, revealing a scroll of parchment. Draco took it gently and let the bird perch on his owl stand while procuring an owl treat from his cabinet. He rolled out the parchment, chuckling in delight. “Oh dear, they really outdid themselves, this is perfect!”

“What is it?” Pansy got up from her chair and peeked over his shoulder. “A picture of a bouquet?”

He grinned. “It’s a drawn preview for a bouquet I ordered. Let me just approve it real quick and send it back with this owl. I want it delivered as soon as possible.”

He signed the form, dropped the correct amount of money into the owl’s pouch, and sent it on its way.

“Who’s the special one?” Pansy asked. “You haven’t told me you’re seeing anyone.”

“Oh, I’m not seeing anyone, it’s a bouquet of spite.” He turned to her, startling a bit at her demeanour with her arms crossed over her chest, leaning on one hip, eyes flashing. Pansy could be really fucking scary, and in any other situation, he’d be terrified now. But this time, he hadn’t done anything wrong, and she’d probably even enjoy his plan.

“A bouquet of spite?” She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Let me guess: it’s for Potter.”

“How did you—?”

“Oh, please, as if half the class haven’t seen you eye-fucking each other since we started healer training. It was only a matter of time before you made it official.”

“We’re not— I’m not—” Draco spluttered. “This is a bouquet of spite!” He waved the parchment at her, then forced himself to calm down. Being upset would only undermine his point, even if his indignation came from being horribly misinterpreted. “Look,” he said, more calmly now. “Look at this and tell me it’s not the greatest way to send Potter the Sanctimonius Prick a heartfelt ‘fuck you’.” 

He held up the drawing of the bouquet he’d ordered the day before, thrusting it towards Pansy, but she maintained her usual resting bitch face (although Draco knew perfectly well that the bitch was never resting).

“All I see is a collection of pretty flowers. Very striking, if I may say so.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t you see the symbolism?”

“What symbolism?”

“The symbolism of the flowers!” he said, suddenly feeling unsure. Was she playing stupid or was she really not familiar with the Victorian flower language? “Here, we’ve got geraniums for stupidity, foxglove for insincerity—”

“Have you met Potter? He’s the most sincere person in the world.”

“Yes, thank you, Pansy, I’ve noticed that. That’s the point,” Draco sighed. “Anyway, I also picked meadowsweet for uselessness, yellow carnations to say ‘you have disappointed me’, and finally orange lilies for hatred. Ergo: ‘fuck you’ in flowers.”

“Which secret language is this?”

“Pansy, my dear, the Victorian flower language is common knowledge, surely you know all of this already?”

Pansy was silent for long seconds, chewing the inside of her cheek, still with her arms crossed. She reminded him of a cobra waiting to strike. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“What?”

She shrugged. “Seems like an inordinate amount of money and time to spend just to tell someone you loathe them.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, sitting down again with his school books. “Let’s continue revising, shall we?”

💐💐💐

The rest of the day, Draco was in jitters. He couldn’t wait to see how Potter would react to the flowers. Would he be furious? Would he cry? Or worse, would he not care?

He got his answer later in the evening. He’d waved Pansy off and snuggled up on his sofa to read his favourite medical romance novel, when there was an urgent knock on the door. He groaned in frustration and considered disobeying his upbringing by simply pretending he wasn’t at home, but when there was another, even more persistent knock, he reluctantly left his cosy fortress and went to answer it. To his surprise, Potter was standing outside.

“Oh, Draco,” he said breathlessly, as if he was taken by surprise to see Draco and hadn’t just come over to accost him.

“Potter? What are you doing here?” 

Draco realised that Potter had probably come to fight him because of the flowers, and Draco had foolishly left his wand on the coffee table. 

“I, er… I came to thank you for the flowers, I…” Potter chuckled, looking down at his feet and then up at Draco with flushed cheeks and a glint in his eyes that Draco’d never seen before. Except when they were fighting. “Can I come in?” he said, and Draco wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or if Potter’s voice always sounded this… husky.

He was so flabbergasted by the request that it didn’t even occur to him to deny it, so he merely opened the door further and let Potter step inside. He closed it, and then Potter was so damn close, so much so that Draco could smell his aftershave and the hint of sweat underneath; it made his head spin.

“I have to admit I— I’ve thought about it, I mean, thought about us, but… I think I’ve been afraid to really think about it because I wasn’t sure if you’d feel the same,” Potter said, his lips so close to Draco’s ear that his breath tickled Draco’s skin, sending shivers down his spine.

“Sorry?” Draco squeaked. 

“The flowers,” Potter said, drawing back to look Draco in the eyes (and Merlin, this close, Potter’s eyes were mesmerising, with subtle golden hues in them that only emphasised the green). “I have to say that I was a bit angry at first, because I know the foxglove is poisonous. But then I looked into the meaning of it, and…” He chuckled again, biting his bottom lip. 

Draco’s head was spinning. It was like he’d been thrown into an alternate dimension, and he was too shocked by Potter’s behaviour to know what to say. 

“I thought that, as much as we fight with each other, you wouldn’t send me poisonous flowers just to be a dick, so I think ultimately, it was the foxglove that made me realise you were sending me a message. Which shouldn’t surprise me, you’ve always been full of layers and mystery, haven’t you? So, why not send me a message about your affection and fear of telling me outright?”

“Sorry?” Draco said again. Why were words failing him now, of all times?

Potter rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face made it look… fond. “Come on, Draco, I know you probably think I’m clueless when it comes to these things, but even if I don’t know the meaning of flowers by heart, I know how to look stuff up.”

Draco didn’t answer, he just stood frozen, gaping like a fish.

“I’ll admit I was surprised about the meadowsweet for courtship and matrimony, because it felt like maybe getting ahead of things, but—” he stepped closer again, his hands coming to cradle Draco’s waist “—the more I thought about it, the more it made sense, and… I wouldn’t want to rule it out.”

Potter was so close now that his breath ghosted over Draco’s face, and Draco’s eyelids fluttered closed. 

“Geranium for happiness,” Potter said, kissing the angle of Draco’s jaw, “foxglove and orange lilies for pride,” his lips glided along Draco’s jaw. “I shouldn’t be surprised you chose two flowers to symbolise your pride,” he chuckled, and Draco swallowed thickly, his breath quickening, heart beating wildly in his chest. “And the yellow chrysanthemums for joy and celebration were a nice way to sign the message off.” Potter’s lips had reached Draco’s chin, now.

“They weren’t—” Draco sighed.

“What?” Potter’s mouth was so close to his now that they were practically sharing the same air.

“Nothing,” Draco said, throwing all caution to the wind and tilting his head down to capture Potter’s lips with his. 

Maybe this wasn’t the reaction he’d planned, but he was certainly not complaining about the outcome of his scheme. Especially not when Potter grabbed his arse to press himself closer, which led to Draco grabbing Potter’s hair to be able to angle his head just right, which lead to Potter eliciting the most delicious moan Draco had heard in his life, which led to Draco deciding then and there that he needed to send the florist an extra big tip.

💐💐💐

“So, it seems as if the flowers you sent really paid off.”

Normally, Draco would hate to admit to Pansy that she’d been right, but today, the day after having been snogged silly by the Prat who lived, he felt generous.

“Well, I guess one of us had to nudge the other one in the right direction.”

“I think you did more than just nudge Potter yesterday, if that love bite is anything to go by.”

Draco’s hand flew to the part of his neck where Potter had been most persistent in sucking yesterday, but was interrupted by a tapping on the window. When Draco looked up, it was an owl with the same neck bind as the one he’d received yesterday with the drawing of Potter’s bouquet, but this one was larger, and it was clutching a big brown package in its talons. Draco hastened to let it in and set the package down on the kitchen counter. He gave the owl a little bowl of water along with the owl treats—it looked a bit tired—and then proceeded to unwrap what looked like a packet of flowers.

“Oh, more flowers?” Pansy cooed. “A little thank you for your tryst yesterday?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco said, searching for a card. “And calling it a tryst makes it sound sordid, we didn’t even do anything under the belt.” Unless rutting counted, he thought, remembering with a thrill how Potter had shivered against him as he came. 

Once all the paper was gone, he admired the bouquet Potter had selected for him. It was an odd mix of colours and shapes of flowers, not as aesthetically pleasing as the one he’d sent, but one couldn’t put too much faith in Potter’s choice in beauty.

“Is that a message as well?” Pansy looked at the bouquet with a frown, as if she was personally offended by the messiness of the ensemble.

Draco snorted. “Highly unlikely, since he completely missed my message yesterday.” But out of habit, he started going through the different meanings of the flowers anyway, just to show Pansy how wrong she was. “I mean, look: this one is for “anticipation”, and this, “elope with me. Sure, he told me yesterday that he wouldn’t want to rule out—” He cut himself off, because that particular information was something he hadn’t shared with Pansy yet, because he wasn’t sure he hadn’t been dreaming the whole thing. “And this is for ‘Victory in battle’, which, okay I’ll admit that that could be a message considering how much we fight about things, but—”

He cut himself off again, because the meaning of the red poppies could not be mistaken for anything else. Pleasure. He studied the bouquet again, heat rising in his face as understanding dawned on him. “Fucking hell,” he murmured, feeling Pansy’s eyes on him. 

He fumbled for the card, which read “Hope you like them as much as I liked mine yesterday, XX Harry.”

“That fucking—” Draco crumpled the card in his hand and turned on his heel to go to his living room, where his Floo was.

“What?” Pansy said, bewildered. “What does it say?”

“It says I’ve been had,” Draco said, throwing a too big pinch of Floo powder into his hearth and spinning off to Potter’s flat.

When he stepped out, dusting himself off, Potter was leaning against the back of an armchair, arms crossed and a smug smirk on his face. 

“Did you like the flowers?”

Draco drew himself up to his fullest height, trying as best he could to stare Potter down.

“You—” 

Like yesterday, he was annoyingly at a loss for words, but this time, it was out of anger.

Potter tilted his head, eyes glittering, as if he was an innocent puppy waiting for a treat. “I, what?”

“You know of the Victorian flower language.”

Potter’s smile widened, but still with that sweetness to it. “Of course I do, it’s common knowledge.”

“So, you really sent me a bouquet telling me ‘I anticipate you to elope with me and conquer me in pleasure with much energy’?” Draco said, not sure if he should be offended or impressed.

“I was thinking more like ‘I’m anticipating you and me getting out of here so you can tackle me and enthusiastically fuck me cross-eyed,’ but, yeah, I guess your interpretation work as well.”

Draco choked on his own saliva. “So you— Yesterday— You knew— You understood what—”

“That you wanted to tell me ‘fuck you’? Yeah, I did.”

“But—”

Potter scoffed, pushing off the armchair and prowling closer. “Oh, come on, Draco. No one puts that amount of money and effort into sending an elaborate message like that to someone they loathe. Not even you.”

Draco crossed his arms as Potter stepped into his personal space and tilted his head up towards him. “Well, well, Potter. It seems like you have some Slytherin in you, after all.”

“Mmm. Though I have to say, I don’t think I have nearly enough Slytherin in me,” Potter whispered into his ear. “Care to help me change that?”

Draco nodded mutely as his cock gave a twitch.

“Good,” Potter purred. “And just so you know, you’ll call me Harry from now on.”

Following Harry into his bedroom, Draco swallowed any objection he had. “With pleasure.”

[elyonblackstar]

🎄🎁🌟M E R R Y C H R I S T M A S 🌟🎁🎄

Here's my little Christmas tribute to celebrate with you all! What's best that the boys and Teddy to a Christmas market?

Thank you for all the support to my art and for sticking with me! I appreciate every and each of you 💗

I wish everyone a serene time in these days and happy holidays 💗

[littlewinnow]

But you know what they say, you can't help who you fall for

And you and I fell like an early spring snow.

- I Bet You Think About Me by Taylor Swift

Continuation of the childhood au sketches!

Pt.1 here

[itsphantasmagoria]

Soft boys and summer ✨

Honestly just wanted to mess around with some procreate brushes I forgot I had 😃

[winn-wynn]

Percy Weasley fans finding out who Percy married too: WHO THE FUCK IS AUDREY?

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

Standing in the town square ringing my bell and yelling like Harry is the special one!!! Draco is the one who is just some guy!!!! Harry literally saved the world twice and had a prophecy made about him!!!! Draco is simply mean, blond, and rich!!!! Harry is the bold, adventurous, and self directed one!!! Draco is the one who does exactly what is expected of him!!!! Draco is a bad person, but he is not a bad boy his behavior sucks but it’s not subversive in the context of their culture!!! Harry literally overthrew the government!!! He robbed a bank and stole a dragon!!!! Hello?? Hello???

[danimalsk8r2]

WHYYYYY do we not have yakuza boss!draco and undercover cop!harry AU yet??????? And if we do where is it????

[oflights]

wip snip 4.2

thank you for the tag, @elskanellis! your snip is so intriguing 👀

in return, have some more of time travel fic: extremely gooey and tender and basically what the next 10k or so words are going to be (the fic is currently 20k lmao) before things get Bad again. still heartbreaking in its tenderness, though, because baby harry is heartbreaking (a contextual reminder that he is 7 in this snip!!! adult harry is henceforth "potter" from draco's pov).

“This is for me?” Harry asks, doing another turn, clutching at the still unnamed dragon in his hands. “All of this, the bed and—I can—”

“Harry,” Draco says softly, coming closer and dropping to crouch again, ignoring his protesting thighs starting to truly feel all the activity of the day. “Yes, all of this. You can sleep in the bed, you can name your toy—it’s all yours. This is what looking after you means; everything that I can offer is yours now. I promise.”

“Do I have to—” Harry starts, and Draco simply doesn’t want to hear where that’s going.

“No. You don’t have to do a single thing. It’s just yours. Because—because you’re a guest, and a kid, and kids deserve these sorts of things no matter what.”

“Oh,” Harry says, sounding genuinely startled in a way that makes Draco want to punch—someone. Perhaps Vernon or Petunia Dursley, or perhaps Albus Dumbledore. He did not ever imagine he would one day find new and more infuriating reasons to resent Dumbledore this long after his death, but he supposes life is surprising that way.

Harry breaks up his surprised, revelatory stance with another yawn, and this time Draco makes sure his tone brooks no argument when he directs him to the bathroom with the pajamas. To keep busy and shove down the punching urge, he resizes another set of clothes from the wardrobe for the morning, startling himself when he leans too far in and his hand disappears through the back wall.

“Oh, right, I should warn you,” Draco says when Harry returns, changed and padding gingerly towards the bed. “The wardrobe is a portal to the treehouse, so be careful if you go too far into it.”

“You have a treehouse?” Harry asks with a gasp, and Draco smiles at him, striding over and pulling the quilt back for Harry to settle in.

“You have a treehouse. I’ll show you tomorrow, if you’d like.”

He waits as Harry clambers onto the bed and settles against the mound of pillows, smoothing the quilt over him and then making sure the dragon is tucked in, too. “Any ideas on a name?” Draco asks softly, tweaking the dragon’s snout. “Do you want to sleep on it?”

“Can I name him after a—a con—a constellation? Like you?” Harry asks, frowning in concentration.

“Yes, of course you can. Which do you fancy?” Draco sits on the bed near Harry’s feet and leans back on his hands, gazing up at the ceiling as it cycles over them. “There’s Cygnus, the swan I was telling you about—he was my grandfather, you know, and right by Draco, so that’s convenient. There’s Pegasus, too, a type of flying horse, and Cepheus, he was a king in Ancient Greece—well, he chained his daughter up to a rock, so maybe not the best role model, but a cool name nonetheless. Just stop me if anything grabs you, really.”

“What’s that one?” Harry asks, squinting up and pointing; Draco makes a mental note to solve the glasses issue as soon as possible. He looks where Harry’s pointing, southwest of the quadrant he’d been explaining, and spots the most recognizable constellation there is.

“Ah, that’s Orion. The hunter. He was a Giant, you know, and he got pretty boastful, so Gaia—super powerful Earth mum, you did not want to get on her bad side—sent a great big scorpion after him. They fought, so you’ll never see Orion and Scorpius—that constellation all the way over there—in the sky at the same time. But Ophiuchus—he was a Healer, that one over there, see how he’s sort of between Orion and Scorpius? He gave Orion some medicine and saved him from Scorpius.”

Harry’s eyes are drooping closed, but he still murmurs, “Really? Is that all true?”

“Well, sort of. They’re stories, myths; all the stars have stories. There are different versions and they change depending on who you talk to, but I have my favorite versions because they’re the ones my mum told me.”

Draco checks in to see that Harry’s eyes are almost completely closed, and keeps talking hoping they’ll close further; how many times had his mother talked him to sleep?

“If you’re in the sky, it means you’re pretty important, right? So that means lots of stories. I’ll tell you all of them, if you’d like. I think you’ll enjoy this room, and you’ll be happy here. I hope so.”

That’s all verging on a ramble, but he thinks it doesn’t matter because Harry is asleep. So Draco gets up gently, patting Harry’s foot over the quilt, shoots the still unnamed dragon a grin, and starts to leave the room.

He stops only when he hears Harry mumble, “Orion. That’s his name,” and curl around the dragon, breathing going smooth and even, arms clutching it tight against his small frame.

Draco smiles at them both. “Goodnight, Harry and Orion.”

tagging @teledild0nix @phoebe-delia and @thehoneybeet, fully randomly chosen so absolutely no pressure!!

[oknowkiss]

Song drabbles???? 😭😭😭😭 26 please (or 10 if you can’t do that one.) I’m obsessed with this. 🥹❤️❤️

for you, darling? anything. have some pub night drarry & the gang, 595 words, rated T for language and mentions of sex.

always be my baby - mariah carey

“The line is: side canter is a feeling so strong,” Draco says, leaning victoriously back in the booth, arms and legs crossed. Everyone groans.

“No, it isn’t. That makes literally no sense,” Harry says. He’s got a point, but Draco has no interest in feeding his morbidly bloated ego. 

“Go on then, Mr Recently Out,” Draco says, flourishing in Harry’s direction. “Impress us all with your homosexual expertise in Mariah Carey lyrics.”

Harry’s mouth goes flat, but Draco can tell by the creases near his eyes that he’s trying not to laugh. 

“By that logic,” Harry says, leaning forward on his elbows, “Considering how wrong you are, you’re the straightest person here.”

Ron snorts into his beer, sloshing foam over the rim. 

“Shall I play the song again?” Neville asks, already half out his seat, coins in hand.

“That won’t be necessary,” Harry says, “Because—”

“Too late!” Neville calls, sings practically, halfway to the jukebox, at the same time as Draco makes pointed eye contact with Harry and says, “Gaaayyyy.” 

“We’re going to be thrown out if he plays that song again,” Hermione frets. “And don’t say gay like that, Malfoy. It’s rude.”

“I’m allowed!” Draco insists, eyes wide. “You can’t, but I can. It’s my agenda.” 

“He’s just learned that term today,” Harry says in a fake whisper. “Act impressed.” 

Draco sticks his tongue out. 

“I’m going to be ill,” Pansy says from beside Draco. “Can you two fuck already, and spare us all whatever this is?” 

“They already are,” Luna says, looking up from her gin and tonic with a confused expression. The table falls silent. “Oh,” she says, taking in Draco’s face. “Was that meant to be a secret? Only, you did it on my couch. And then also in your room very loudly. And also—”

“Yes alright,” Draco says primly. He adjusts the cross of his legs.

“Oh yeah…” Harry says, scratching his chin as he looks up towards the ceiling. “I knew there was something I’d forgotten.” He returns his gaze to the group. “I meant to say earlier: I’m fucking Draco Malfoy, li—” 

“If you say literally,” Ron warns him, motioning with his pint. “I’m going to finish the job You-Know-Who started.” 

Harry clamps his mouth shut. “No comment, then.”

A plucky guitar melody sounds over the pub’s speakers, followed quickly by Mariah Carey vocalising. 

Oh fuck off you fucking cunts, someone calls from across the pub. 

“What’d I miss?” Neville asks, settling back into his chair. “Has Harry figured out the lyrics yet?”

“Thank you, Neville,” Harry says, somehow managing to bow grandly whilst sitting down. “I have. It’s: the sun can’t hurt her, fellas so long.” 

“Alright,” Ron says, standing forcefully. “That’s me finished.” 

The table agrees, sinking their pints, grabbing for coats. The door closes behind them, firmly. 

It’s begun to snow in the time they were inside and Harry, the handsome yet feckless idiot, hasn’t got any mittens. Draco grabs one of his hands, shoving it in his own coat pocket. Harry’s other hand will just have to freeze and fall off. Serves him right.

They walk ahead of everyone. It’s nice, holding hands like this, where anyone could see. Where their friends could see. Harry hums to himself as they walk, hmm hmm HMM hmm. HmmhmmhmmHMMHMMhmmhmm. Draco elbows him in the side. Harry grins, hums louder.

They don’t talk. They don’t need to. For once, Draco feels no pressure to rush. No need to force years into months, weeks. There will be plenty of time for talking, in the days and nights to come. 

[im-bored-so-i-draw]

i saw a very great tamplate by @justp34chy and decided to make one :DDD

vtsom and twdak impacts my art style so much i dont draw artline that much anymore

😔ily vtsom and twdak

also bonus relationship chart between the two of them and henry (oc by my friend, @nocturnalzhagreus)

heheheh i love these three

[mxlfoydraco]

selection of draco and his parents moments from deathly hallows bc its think about the malfoys night

[greenerteacups]

Hi! I made this account just so I could interact with you like this and tell you that your writing got me back out of a reading slump! Should you ever choose to author and publish a book please let me know, I will be the first to pick it up at the nearest bookstore available. I'm very excited to see where you take us in the fifth installment of your rewrite for this series! And quick question, which Hogwarts house do you align yourself with? ∼ Cheers and much love from an anonymous Hufflepuff

You're so incredibly sweet, thank you for warming my heart on a very cold day. Hearing someone say 'I would pay for your work' is kind of the highest compliment a fanfic author can receive. In the meantime, it's my honor to give you something that you can enjoy for free!

I waffle on the House question, since my view on Sorting is very contextual and volitional. Like, Sorting happens when you're eleven, right after you're boated up to the castle in this big stinking display of magical grandeur that's probably shit-slapping levels of scary, and then you get stood up in front of every peer you have and asked to decide what you want your place in that universe to be. That makes for some panicky, spur-of-the-moment decision-making! No wonder a lot of pureblood kids default to the House their parents picked! No wonder Harry ends up Gryffindor basically by default after blurting "not Slytherin" (which is the Hat's first suggestion — remember that the first two things Harry wants to do when he finds out he's a wizard are (1) jinx Dudley (avenge himself) and (2) buy a pure golden cauldron (status symbol). Canon!FirstYear!Harry is like, probably a Slytherin by temperament, being a neglected eleven-year-old child who's almost violently desperate for safety and approval and love, but that's okay, because being in Gryffindor turns him into one. Ron Weasley, in particular, turns him into one, but that's too much for me to get into right now.) Obviously, this all informs a lot of how I write character and socialization in Lionheart. House isn't destiny, it's culture! I could go on.

So like, if you sorted me right now? Gryffindor. Because I think bravery is the most important value in my life, it's what reminds me to be kind and patient and thoughtful, because it takes bravery to do those things in a world that is, frankly, much easier to navigate if you shut yourself off to others' feelings and ideas. But it's also a much worse world. That doesn't mean I'm not ambitious or curious or loyal, it just means that bravery is the value I consciously try to practice. But if you Sorted me at eleven, I'd probably get Slytherin, because I was — without doing The Backstory of it all — not the most jazzed-to-be-alive child, and I really, badly, desperately wanted to GTFO of my hometown and like — I dunno, succeed so hard it retroactively justified every time I was ever lonely? Somehow?? Details of that plan were always a bit unclear. But general "I am going to get a good grade in Life, something that is reasonable to want and possible to achieve" type vibes. Horrendous. Point being, I'd have likely asked for the House I identified with at eleven — Slytherin — because I considered "ambition" the most important virtue of my (again: eleven-year-old) life so far. (This is assuming that I don't run into a Hermione- or Ron-type character who warns me away from all the pureblood/classist nastiness; if that happened, I'd probably end up in Ravenclaw.)

I have no idea whether the Hat would have agreed with me. In canon, we never see it actually veto a choice, only grant requests. Which makes me wonder — if someone asked for a House that they were really, profoundly ill-suited for (as I think some of the canonical Slytherins might have done), what would it do?

[sparkzclo]

Haven’t drawn hp in a while……lawrd

[quuma]

“SILENCE SPEAKS THE LOUDEST”

[not proof read - just forewarning you LOL goodluck,, there's likely many mispellings and inconsistencies in structure and past/present tense]

“silence speaks the loudest.”

a phrase that the boy had never fully understood. how could the lack of noise ever make comment? ever express itself? [he was never one to enjoy symbolism – preferring the objectiveness of facts. unfortunately, symbolism was something he needed to know for his final assessments. when one does not understand, they can do nothing but learn. alas, he had to try.]

sitting together in the common room one late night, air weighed down by the pressure of the upcoming O.W.L.s - silent, still; thinking. him, gaze fixed straight ahead, enraptured by the glowing fire in front of him, parchment and quill long abandoned and spilling in waves onto the cold floor below. [his hand aches, as does his head. unintelligible words bounce around, vaguely connecting to others before disappearing. he can’t remember anything he’s read in the past 2 hours.] you, tucked away in a corner, scribbled work illuminated only by a curtain of reflected moonlight creeping through the alcove windows and the lone candle melting above. drip, drip. the flame almost tickles the end of the wick – forewarning of the late hour. but neither of you make any sudden movement that suggests the intention of leaving anytime soon.

the room had once been full, bustling with frazzled teenagers and their shared confusion. shouts of questions juxtaposing aggressive hushes for silence. his friends had once been there too, now long retired to the comforting confines of their bedsheets. he cannot help but be jealous. [but a small part of him is guiltily glad to be away from them. don’t get him wrong, he loves his friends and fellow housemates, but sometimes he just needs space.]

seconds pass. minutes pass. wax drips to the floor one final time, announcing light’s departure. his eyelids struggle to remain open - fighting a losing battle - but his hands are still. his gaze is finally torn from the hypnotic fire, lethargically flicking around in a half-hearted attempt at waking himself of the enticing trance that orange light brings. they eventually reach you. you, now staring back at him.

the two of you had never been particularly close. it was no personal slight against one another, of course. you were friends of friends - skirting the edges of one another’s social groups, but never each other. there was simply no need to. no magical spark, no unexplainable invisible might bringing you together, no forced proximity in classes – he didn’t think he’d ever even accidently locked eyes with you before this.

silence. a heavy sigh escaped a pair of lips [he couldn’t tell if it had been yours or his, mind too fuzzy from hours of memorising equations, wand movements, and literary techniques.]

no words passed through that night air, but the message was still clear.

you looked away. so did he. movement ensued once more; quills flicking lethargically, eyes hesitantly blinking, the crackle of the fire filling the air.

silence, silence.

time had continued to run its course.

the night (or morning, as the faint light of dawn had replaced the moonlight) had ended with you suddenly rising from your chair, startling the boy from the half-asleep daze he hadn’t even realised he had slipped in to. upon realising that you were leaving, he too clumsily collected his things and stood. by the time he was done (which, admittedly, took an embarrassingly long amount of time. but who could blame him? he was attempting to function off less than an hour’s worth of half-conscious sleep) you were long gone. the sound of the common room door thumping gently behind you, paired with your fading tip-toed footsteps were all that reached him.

in the hours, days, months after that moment of eye contact, that moment of mutual understanding, nothing eventful followed. there were no sudden deep discussions, there were no shared inside jokes – but there was that passing moment. there was that presence. there was that tranquillity. there was that shared struggle of staying awake. there was the recognition of unspoken words; “i’m glad was not alone. i’m glad it was you. no expectations, no forced discussion, no preconceived notions. just two people, sitting, experiencing; living. normal, together. thank you.”

no words ever of acknowledgment of that moment ever cross either of your lips – no one admits the comfort of that silent scene. [but there are now locked gazes. there are now small smiles shared. there is now proximity. the social circles you two skirted are now closer, closing in on one another.]

but you both know. you know, he knows.

he thinks he understands now.

[marscellaneous]

Happy valentines day!

Whole thing is based on the veela scene from @leahrocky / @dracoandthehounds 's draco malfoy and the fall of icarus (or eleanor capulet and the abandoned plans)

The whole series is great ngl so if u wanna check it out

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

I KEEP GETTING RECOMMENDED SO MANY DRAMIONE TWEETS HELP

I don't understand where they're all cOMING FROOMM why do they all HATE ASTORIA WHAT DID MY GIRL DO TO YALL BFFR LEAVE HER ALONE 🗣🗣