#down bad Draco Malfoy

[bluekeyboardwrites]

An excerpt of Smoke Signals, Chapter 34 “The Black Sheep”

[faiell]

caught

[ecstarry]

regulus taking draco to the local bookstore where they read fun stories for kids expecting to see remus as always but it's james and regulus instantly melts when james does the silly voices and he's so adorable and then james rolls up his sleeves and reg is just like damn how are u so fucking hot and cute at the same time. and draco is like uncle reg i met this kid harry can u set up a play date? and reg is kicking his feet texting james like they are the ones going out on the date

[peterparkeeperer]

enchanting (Draco x reader)

There had been something extra ravishing about Draco recently. They didn’t know what it was, but their eyes had been hopelessly drawn to his long piano fingers and the slope of his waist between his pants and tucked in dress shirt for days now.

He’d probably noticed, as y/n was anything but subtle. They didn’t even try to be. They were usually a good student, having to focus solely on the professors speaking as to not get distracted (as they easily tended to be if they didn’t put effort into concentrating) but now they shamelessly sat turned to their partner as he wrote down notes with his rather expensive looking quill.

“What?”

He whispered to them harshly, before noting a quick dot at his paper and turning to them.

“What?”

They whispered softly, a grin tugging at their lips.

“You keep staring at me as if I’m some dog.”

Draco in a collar, they mused. Absolutely unheard of, but the image managed to send heat barrelling through their stomach.

They said nothing at first, instead inching a hand forward to smooth down a pale piece of hair that was falling out of place. Draco might’ve leaned away from this public affection, but they happened to be sitting in the very back. So he only sat still and let himself be coddled.

“Nothing, you just look very enchanting.”

Their hand, done from smoothing back his hair, trailed down the length of his jaw. He shivered. Either from the touch or the indescribable look in their eye. Or both.

“‘Enchanting’? Are you sick?”

They smiled, before turning back to their own quill and picking it up.

“What was it we were supposed to write about? Dragons?”

Draco spoke absentmindedly, “goblins.”

-

It continued, but it got worse. Y/n was beginning to wonder if they had some sort of werewolf gene, as they were acting rather animalistic.

They couldn’t help it. The protectiveness was strong. They sat next to Draco whenever they could, had a hand on his lower back whenever they were walking.

It didn’t stop. He still looked gorgeous. They were beginning to wonder if someone was spiking their food with love potion: but that wasn’t possible.

Why was no one else staring at him constantly? At this beautiful star of a boy who’s beauty clashed with every flower and mythological creature meant to lure people with their looks?

It didn’t matter what he was doing. When he was writing he looked so endearingly thoughtful, when he ate they felt nothing but satisfaction at the thought of him being nourished.

It hit a wall one afternoon when someone was actually looking. Pansy. She wasn’t competition by any means, Draco and y/n were in a committed relationship and communicated well enough, but they way she looked at him like he would ever look back, like he didn’t belong to someone…y/n grabbed dracos arm.

“I need you for something, come.”

He sneered, annoyed at being pulled away in the middle of conversation.

“Alright, you don’t need to rip my arm off.”

Y/n looked around subtly, still having a steel grip on dracos arm despite his tugging, before they entered a broom closet.

“What’s wrong with you?”

They smashed their lips together, hands immediately grabbing onto that cursed waist.

“How are you this gorgeous?”

“I..gorgeous?”

He was astounded. Never had he been treated like this. He had always been expected to be the man, to open doors and take the lead, but it was non existent here. Y/n handled him like he was something delicate, like he was some sort of girl.

“I’m not a girl, you know.”

They knew what he was referring to immediately, and the glint in their eye and the hand on the rim of his pants said ‘oh, I know very well.’

“No, you’re not. But can’t I treat you like something precious? Because you are.”

They looked down on him, a hand coming to his cheek, not much unlike how it had days ago in class. The look in their eyes wasn’t indescribable now. It was patient, adoring. Amused, and devoted. It was a lot.

He felt lost for words, swallowed, and their eyes caught the movement like a shark in love with a particularly small fish.

“I haven’t been able to concentrate.”

They said, and slowly pressed wet kisses to his pale swan neck. He trembled, but snorted to the best of his nervous ability.

“Have you ever?”

They tugged at his waist in tease. “That’s not the point,” they stopped by his ear, breath low and hot, “I love you, more than anything. I love everything you do. I wish I could…crawl inside you and live there forever.”

Draco shivered, and the heat in his gut was making him dizzy, “you sound crazy. Demented.”

“Only for you, my love. Only for you.”

[autumnweeen]

“His eyes searched the room as if the answer was plastered on the walls, written in between the lines of the parchments—

In between the lines.

What if she had been giving him clues all along? What if she, too, wanted more?”

Draco Malfoy was obsessed, there was no point in denying it, and he had accepted this was all it could be. Really, he had.

But, what if…

What if his wishful thinking wasn’t wishful thinking at all?

Was he hallucinating, or had Hermione Granger been giving him signs?

There was only one way to find out.

[seleneprince]

Since I can't stop thinking about it, more memes about the Snape's werewolf daughter au! :

Part 1

(Because only SHE can call him out of his bullshit. Pisa off Potter)

(Basically her mind during most of PoA)

[jomiddlemarch]

With you nothing is simple yet nothing is simpler 

Rose stood before her, drooping, her braids coming undone, shoes scuffed, a new rip in her overalls, giving Hermione a look of absolute incredulity when faced with the undeniable truth:

Hermione had forgotten to pack snacks. 

She didn’t even have a bloody Polo mint somewhere in the recesses of her beaded bag, Transfigured to look like an ordinary mum’s ordinary leather handbag, designed to carry her through her day at the Ministry and any trips she might make to Muggle London. 

Forget about something healthy. 

She had planned to rely on the water fountain, that wasn’t another complete miss on her part.

She opened her mouth to begin the explanation-slash-apology that would not satisfy either one of them. Rose already had that furrow in her little brow that meant she planned to invoke Nan, which only ever meant Molly, and how important Nan said it was for growing human beans to have good homegrown food and not that muck Mum bought from Tesco’s.

“I have plenty, if she’s hungry. The fruit’s already cut, it won’t keep, and these pesto egg muffin bite things he said he liked yesterday, so of course I’ve gone and made far too many.”

That was Draco Malfoy, sitting on the bench just next to hers, a rucksack and some sort of sport-inspired hamper beside him, unable to resist rubbing it in, that he was a better prepared and more attentive parent than she was, the he his neatly and comfortably dressed five year old son Scorpius, who somehow made the jersey and shorts he wore look like the ideal outfit for a Wizarding child. His fringe was the proper length and not slicked back with some imported pomade like Draco’s had been for the first three years at Hogwarts, and he was busy constructing something tower-like from the stones, twigs and other assorted detritus he’d scoured the park for while Rose ran around, screaming like a banshee and climbing halfway up a tree before scuttling down again before Hermione had to call out to tell her too high, Rose!

Hermione turned her head to convert her explanation-slash-apology into a far more gratifying coldly cutting retort that she had to trust to inspiration to supply, since she had nothing approaching the moral high ground, when she actually looked at Draco’s face, which was tilted in an encouraging and frankly kind manner, and consider the tone of his voice, which had been commiserating and not the least judgmental. Hermione was quite familiar with the myriad shades of judgment and Draco’s voice hadn’t held even one.

He was also incredibly fit.

(That wasn’t really relevant to her decision-making, but it was note-worthy as a general fact.)

“Rose, Mr. Malfoy has some fruit if you want a snack. And something else tasty and homemade, just like Nan would have given you for tea,” Hermione said. Rose sized up Draco in an instant, pivoted to rifle through the sporty hamper, retrieved a little baggie of apple slices and another of the unexpectedly attractive pesto egg bites that reminded Hermione she’d also forgotten lunch and a stale ginger biscuit at her desk was going to have to hold her until after Rose was asleep.

Again.

“Ta,” Rose said, about to fly. It was impossible that she wouldn’t be Quidditch-mad. 

“Rose,” Hermione said. 

“Thank you, Mr. M’Foy,” Rose said. It was anyone’s guess if she would have gotten Malfoy correct without her mouth half stuffed with Braeburn. 

“You’re quite welcome,” Draco said.

Hermione nodded and Rose scrambled away, as fast as her hand-me-down trainers could take her.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. Her wild magic on an empty stomach is terrifying,” Hermione said. Was she bragging about Rose’s magic, when she’d heard rumors Scorpius Malfoy might be a Squib? Probably and she wasn’t proud of it, but that wasn’t unfamiliar either.

“I find them terrifying full-stop,” Draco said. “Adorable, would lay down my life for him in a heartbeat, makes me question every decision my own parents ever made on my behalf, but terrifying nonetheless.”

Hermione laughed. It was the first time she could remember laughing at something Draco said without there being any seething vitriol or tearful desperation she’d had to tamp down or put aside. It felt…nice.

“I have a bit more sympathy for my parents,” she offered. “My wild magic started when I was a toddler and they had no idea what to make of it. No context at all. My mother told me, during out sixth year, that she’d thought she was losing her mind. I was well on my way to inventing Leviosa before I got a hold of the first year spellbooks.”

“Yes, I can see how that might be where one would go. Madness, that is,” he said. There was a frankly companionable silence between the two of them and then he spoke again. “Sometimes, I can’t help regretting it.”

“Regretting what?”

“I love him, with all that I am, my heart and soul and magic. And I can’t help regretting sometimes I agreed to it, having him when I, when we did,” he said. He turned away slightly, so that she saw him in profile, a face like a god’s on a coin, the straight nose, the full lower lip, his jaw held tightly. 

“Why are you telling me?” she asked.

“For one, I don’t think you can think any worse of me than you already do, so that makes you perfect for such a shameful admission,” he said, shrugging. “Secondly, you let your daughter eat the snacks I made. Not that I’m trying to make you feel like you owe me something, that I’ve caught you out. You trusted me with your child, that’s what I meant.”

“I think you underestimate how I think of you,” she said slowly.

“Is that better or worse? Do you mean you think well of me and now I’ve dropped in your estimation? Or did I somehow go from sniveling worm beneath your heel to abysmal slime-mold you wouldn’t use your wand to scrape off with magic from said heel?”

He sounded resigned, amused, self-deprecating. His voice was low, a rich baritone, only a little of that drawl he’d had at Hogwarts left. The perfect amount. 

“I wear flats unless I’m in court,” she said. “I don’t hold the past against you anymore, we were children, child-soldiers, pawns moved around by people who should have known better. Played a better game of Wizarding chess, given that it was our lives they used. I regret it, myself, having her so young, though I don’t let myself think it if I can help it. I can’t, if I want to keep being a decent mother.”

“You are clearly an exceptionally fine mother. Why did you do it? You’re Hermione Granger, you don’t make decisions you regret,” he said.

Now she laughed, a bitter sound, that kept the tears in her eyes from spilling. 

“Don’t believe everything you hear. Or read,” she said. “I lost my parents in the war. They were both only children, my grandparents were gone a long time ago. Rose was my one chance to have a family, someone who belonged to me.”

“I’m terribly sorry. I hadn’t heard they’d died,” he said.

“They’re alive. Just…lost. Turns out, if you do a thorough enough Obliviation, there’s no return. The person they were before is effectively dead. They’re just not sad about it. That’s for other people,” Hermione said.

“Astoria told me it was her dying wish to have a child, even though it would kill her,” Draco said.

“That’s why you agreed?”

“No. I refused when she said that. She used blood magic, from the binding. Once that was done, it was either lose them both or just her,” he said. “She didn’t know that for sure, there was plausible deniability and we’d said someday. She made someday happen sooner than I thought possible.”

“You loved her,” Hermione offered. She’d never met Astoria, who’d been a few years behind them at Hogwarts and in Ravenclaw, had only a dim memory of the photo that had been in the Prophet when the marriage was announced, a slim, dark-haired young woman wearing a lot of lace standing next to Draco, who’d been all in black. Wizards wore all sorts of things to funerals. Only Hermione saw him in mourning at his wedding.

“In a way. I hated her too. I didn’t want to be either of my parents and I didn’t know how to be anything else,” he said. “My parents were overjoyed, a Malfoy heir, no miscarriages, no stillbirths. A healthy Pureblood baby. That’s quite rare, all the inbreeding, you understand. They think Astoria was a paragon of virtue and also, they didn’t give a damn about her.”

Scorpius ran over and stretched out a hand to show Draco a stone. It was an unremarkable piece of quartz, though it did catch the light.

“What a find, love. You can bring it home if you like or leave it here. You could even hide it, like goblin treasure,” Draco said, studying the stone, reaching out to straighten the collar of Scorpius’s jersey. He touched Scorpius’s cheek fondly, but he didn’t try to wipe the smear of dirt there, nor did he say anything about his son��s grubby hands. Hermione recalled what a pristine child he’d been, all silver and green, how he’d stand between his parents, very still, as if a portrait were being painted. 

“Hide it—” Scorpius said and darted back over to the field, just at the edge where a copse of trees stood, shadows beckoning. The whole playground was heavily warded and there were monitoring spells St. Mungo used for observation. It was safe enough to let him run away.

“That’s what I thought,” Draco said, shooting her that familiar parental glance, proud and powerless. 

“Ron begged me not to end the pregnancy. It wasn’t planned. The Healers said the curse damage I suffered from Bellatrix was unpredictable, the interactions with contraceptive charms and potions would have made them less effective. It wasn’t my fault, except I never told them I hadn’t bothered with any spells or potions, so it was, in a way. I didn’t care and then I did. I told Ron I was pregnant and he told me he was gay and in love with Theo and it would break his mother’s heart if he never gave her a grandchild. My parents were gone. Harry and Ginny were expecting, Andromeda was raising Teddy, Bill and Fleur just had Victoire. It was easier to say yes. It made so many people happy and Ron did what he said he would,” Hermione said. Andromeda knew most of it, but Hermione had never told anyone all of it, certainly not in one sitting, not sitting on a park bench in the weak English sunshine, without a Polo mint to her name. Augusta Longbottom had said Hermione should do as she liked but it was rare to see such a strong magical signature in the first trimester, though likely it would happen again, for a witch of her abilities. Likely hadn’t seemed like a good enough bet, not when Ron’s blue eyes had pled with her and he’d held her hands in his instead of touching her completely flat stomach. 

“What he said he would?” Draco repeated. He sounded encouraging, not nosy. Not prepared to made a rude remark about Ron or the Weasley family as a whole. It felt…good.

“Molly wanted me to name her Frederica. Winifred. Or Elfreda. It was ghastly. Even I knew Fred would have loathed it. Ron put his foot down and told her we weren’t doing that to a baby and that I had final say on her name. Then he came out to them, Molly and Arthur, so the name part receded as something anyone cared that much about,” Hermione said. “I don’t have to tell you how Purebloods feel about that, however warm and Muggle-forward they seem to be.”

“Bloody hell,” Draco said.

“There was a lot of screaming. Arthur finally told Molly to be grateful she had a son alive to tell her what made him happy and she piped down,” Hermione said. “She started knitting a jersey for Theo as soon as Ron let it slip they were involved. It was a little forced, but I think the knitting settled her down, let her feel like she was back in charge of the family. Molly had a great need for that.”

“Ah, the famous Weasley jersey,” Draco said.

“Infamous is more like it,” she replied. “Fleur won’t wear hers at all. But she’s married to Bill, so she can get away with it.”

“I gather you don’t have the same option,” he said.

“Molly watches Rose when Ron and Theo and I are all working or busy, always sends home dinner, invites me to Sunday lunch even when Ron and Theo have Rose. She’s Rose’s only grandmother. She means well,” Hermione shrugged. “Fleur wears cashmere and Molly sniffs. I Transfigured mine into a cardigan. Molly didn’t mind that, as long as the H is all on one side. I hid the pockets I added.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” he said, squinting a little against the light, the sun lower in the sky. Rose had approached Scorpius and now they were working on something with less height but a larger area. Hermione suspected St. Mungo’s had tracking spells to evaluate wild magic. At Rose’s last Healer’s visit, Hermione had been advised to stock up on Easiheal and beginning Arithmancy books, as if she and Ron hadn’t already done so (plus the Wizarding chess set Theo had brought out to let Rose watch them play.)

“It beats the alternative,” Hermione said. He shifted, faced her full on. They both looked older than they were, Draco with shadows under his grey eyes that spoke of broken sleep, Hermione with a streak of white in her hair like a ribbon, neither of them partial to glamours. He’d grown a fair amount after Hogwarts, his shoulders broader, his lanky frame filled out, and he dressed the part of an older man, much as Hermione had her mum’s uniform on. For a moment, she only saw the boy he’d been, too clever by half, preening, insecure, nervous he’d be caught caring. He’d taken the Dark Mark or rather, it had been forced on him, hidden by the sleeve he had securely fastened with monogrammed cufflinks. He could be the Dark Lord’s deputy, she could be dead in a ditch, both their first wands broken.

“I don’t think that’s as true as people say,” he replied. “We could have been given a chance to grow up. To put ourselves first, not the survival of the Wizarding world or the Noble House of Black. We could have found ourselves here in another ten years or twenty, with children we had chosen to have. Had wanted to bring into existence from dreams. We wouldn’t have to be alone, here, and at home, sitting by ourselves with a drink after we put them to bed, wondering what happened—”

“It’s hard,” she said, to stop him, because he was so right it hurt. She drank tea at night, even though it kept her up, because drinking wine or whiskey alone was worse. Ron and Theo encouraged her to go out when they kept Rose, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to explain who she was and she couldn’t bear it they already knew. She drank oolong, Darjeeling, PG Tips, always black, and she never read the leaves.

“What if it were easier?” he asked.

“Easier?”

“What if you told me what happened and I told you, after we put them to bed. What happened that day, not just what Rose did and what Scorpius said, but how you dealt with that stroppy minister from Croatia and how I heard back from Damaris, in Alexandria, about that manuscript revision, and what we could bring to the potluck Neville’s insisting on hosting instead of getting a proper caterer,” he said. “Samosas, for the record. Though I can manage vol-au-vents in a pinch, if you wanted to be Muggle retro about it.”

“That’s a lot happening,” she said. It was a leap, an enormous, across-a-chasm leap, he was describing and also just words, a possibility she could dismiss with a shake of her head, a slight frown, some politeness he’d accept instantly. His eyes, though, were hopeful, watching her.

“Scorpius will probably interrupt. He usually wants a glass of water exactly when I’m at a good part,” Draco said.

“Rose talks in her sleep. In French. It’s quite distracting,” Hermione said. When had she ever backed away from something daunting? Granted, she usually did some research first. Draco knew what a vol-au-vent was; she clearly wasn’t the only one who prepared. “It’s better than mine. She talks to Fleur and Gabrielle a lot.”

“I’m fluent,” he said. “In French and wheedling.”

“I’m good at pouring a glass of water wandless. I make the water take the shape of a dolphin going into the glass but I can do a Hippocampus too,” Hermione said.

“Are you hungry? I have apple slices and pesto egg muffin bites going begging,” he said, smiling. He had a sweet smile and a gleam in his eyes that was positively, gratifyingly filthy. She blushed, dropped her gaze from his.

“You’re a very pretty mummy, Hermione,” he said softly. “But it can be whatever you want, however you want. It can be maybe later, after you look at your calendar. Half-past never. Whatever’s easier—”

“I didn’t bring any snacks to the park and I have nothing planned for dinner unless we get Indian takeaway again. For the third time this week,” she said in a rush. “It would be easier to have someone else take care of dinner. I’m not picky, Rose isn’t either.”

“Bolognese or carbonara?” Draco asked. “Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy is made 98.2% from pasta. Don’t be deceived by the organic apple slices and pesto egg affectations.”

“Carbonara’s faster,” Hermione said. 

“But what do you want?” Draco hit the you and want with a perfect balance of emphasis. It made her remember she was only twenty-four years old. Hermione, not only Madam Granger and Mummy and ‘Mione.

“Bolognese,” she said. She reached over, touched his hand where it rested beside his leg. He couldn’t mistake her intention. “Everyone calls her Rose, but I named her Roseline, from Shakespeare. Roseline’s the one Romeo liked first. She goes away. Lives her own life off-stage.”

“I had to pick a constellation. I wouldn’t do it again,” he said.

Ten years later, after a long day and a longer night, he arrived, only a little later than they’d planned and just as they’d hoped. They named him Hugo.

[sweetcatteahp]

Draco: You are the most jealous man I know

Harry: You know other men?

[blondecandyboy]

Hello, i'm not gay.

But

I am going to make Draco Malfoy smuts

But just for the chicks

Cuz i aint gay

Okay?

[scattermeamongthestars]

"Oh, I'm more than done." He moved swiftly across the room, took her hands in his and pulled her up. She shivered as he bent close to her, leaning to whisper in her ear. "But you're not. You wanted to shove me against the wall? Do it."

[sapphia]

sometimes i think about how the harry potter sorting system was about pubescent children being divided into social groups based on often-pretty indefinite traits, and then the story was about how those children were not just fed the prejudices of their parents and of history, but how they often actually found themselves grappling with the narrow definitions of self the houses placed on them and on others around them, and specifically the jarring presentation and diversity and boundary-blurring within those groups, and also how the overall message of the books was one of self-determination and hope that people would gradually grow past those prejudices and hard distinctions

and then somehow the author still became a fucking terf

[bluekeyboardwrites]

The story of how the reluctant Death Eater and Gryffindor’s Golden Girl learned that hate isn’t all that different from devotion.

Voldemort gives Malfoy a task, but it isn't killing Dumbledore. In the summer before sixth year, Draco Malfoy shows up in Hermione Granger's muggle suburb to warn her that he has been sent to kill her parents. Everything changes.

Smoke Signals is a three part epic WIP, starting in sixth year and continuing into the war that follows. Expect a hyper-competent, bold Hermione and clever, intensely morally grey Draco.

[fazcinatingblog]

Who will get there first: Pendles reaching 10,000 disposals or Todd Michael Goldstein reaching 10,000 hitouts

[catgriller]

Year 8 Drarry has my heart…. As well as YURI DRARRY

Spreading the purple eye Draco agenda

[bentovertheviolets]

before bed i re watch poa just so i can listen to him whimper and whine.

[dramaticals]

DRAMIONE FIC RECS + WHY YOU SHOULD READ THEM — 100k+ words edition

hogwarts: a home by coralcollective — reimagined horcrux hunt. draco is so down bad for hermione and the smut is crazyyy. theo/hermione friendship. pansy is the breakout character and you'll love her. there's nsfw art and inappropriate use of the malfoy signet ring. please check the tags! (it says incomplete on ao3, but it's only missing epilogues so don't be afraid of starting it)

word count: 372,978

chapters: 67/70

the commoner's guide to bedding a royal by olivieblake — god, this fic!!!! it's a modern royal au and the ensemble of characters make this whole world feel so alive. it's inspired by will/kate and harry/meghan and it's sooo cute. theo and daphne were the breakout characters and i love them dearly. if you're looking for a lighthearted romcom-esque, occasionally angsty (because duh!) fic, this is it!!! i probably read this in two days which is insane considering the word count, but that should just tell you how lovely this whole fic was. there's a second part to this if you're itching for more afterwards (and it's just as good!)

word count: 503,570

chapters: 45/45

draco malfoy and the mortifying ordeal of being in love by isthisselfcare — honestly if you haven't read this yet..... this is god tier. a CLASSIC. this should be taught in the schools. hermione's a magical researcher / healer and draco's one of the best aurors out there. he's assigned to protect hermione because she's in the midst of a big discovery. hermione's not happy about it and draco isn't either. slow burn!! idiots in LOVE!! forced proximity!!!!! EMBEDDED ART!!! honestly this is the fic that made me want to learn how to bind which is so serious and if you haven't read this yet you need to.

word count: 199,548

chapters: 36/36

the disappearances of draco malfoy by speechwriter — this is my new canon. it's a deathly hallows rewrite where draco accepts dumbledore's offer to fake his death and go into hiding with the order. enemies to friends to lovers. i honestly can't even remember what happened in canon because this is IT for me.

word count: 289,780

chapters: 33/33

this world or any other series by olivieblake — includes clean (book one) and marked (book two). anything by olivieblake should be a must-read, i swear to god. this one starts as a year 6 slow burn. draco and hermione are assigned partners for potions and it all snowballs from there. olivie writes so beautifully and her characterizations for hermione / draco are so good. slight warning for marked: this destroyed me and i pretend it doesn't exist, but it's still a must-read.

word count: 118,892 & 178,268

chapters: 31/31 & 39/39

rights and wrongs series by lovesbitca8 — you want fluffy dramione? read the first two parts of the rights and wrongs series. you want dark and heavy dramione? read the auction, an alternate universe of the fluffy dramione, where voldemort wins and they all get auctioned off to death eaters. please check the tags for the voldy wins au! all three were chef's kiss and coming from someone who isn't a fan of dark aus, reading the first two helped me get through the auction because you know where draco's coming from / what's in his head. you can just read the auction without reading the first two parts unless you like catching parallels and having more depth / context (which i very much love).

word count: 174,911 & 160,297 & 325,876

chapters: 36/36 & 24/24 & 41/41