#drarry discord writers corner drabble challenge

[starlitsilvereyes]

August

Written for the Drarry Discord Drabble Challenge. Prompt: Blush | Word Count: 312 | Rating: E | Warnings: Semi-public sex, Pining, Hand Kink | Read on Ao3 | Listen to Podfic

Thank you to the loveliest beta apricitydays for looking over this, as well as the people from the Drarry Discord who taught me what a First Person Direct Address POV was (*excited noises*). And to the lovely and talented Sumthin Clever for recording such a brilliant podfic (which I am still swooning over)!

I will always crave you in the dusk.

In the unholy hours of the night, tucked away in the corner of the deserted Astronomy Tower. Your calloused hands grasping every inch of exposed skin; my mouth latches onto the crook of your neck, in purpose of marking you as you mark me. 

In the empty elevator when we’ve both worked late. After a long day of stolen glances and knowing stares. I try to ignore the desperation rushing through me as you cross the space between us, hushed whispers falling from your lips like you’re telling me a secret. 

“Do you want this?” you ask. I want it – I’ve never wanted anything more. 

“I want you.”

In the indecent broom closet at someone’s wedding, where you’ve decided to unravel the cashmere suit I had custom made. A weak protest leaves my mouth as you wrinkle the fabric with your careless hands. It’s always your hands. 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” you snarl. 

I let you have almost all of me, given the confined space. I would let you have it all, if you asked. You touch me in all the places where I crave you the most. I melt into your hands, my body aching in the shape of you. My fingers dig into your unruly hair, tugging so I could watch your brows furrow and your lips between your teeth. I try to memorise the reddening blush at your temple and the freckle under your eye. It annoys me how beautiful you are.

I come undone as you do. Your body sags against mine, and I relish the feel of it. Something clatters on the floor, but I’m too dazed to be concerned by it. You kneel for a moment, before taking my hand and fiddling with the edge of my sleeve.

The cufflinks are emerald to match your eyes, didn’t you know? 

[dragonbornphoenix]

A ficlet written for the Drarry Discord Writer's Corner Drabble Challenge. Prompt: Untold Words: 145

TORCH

Harry knew the weight of the words trapped in his chest. The anguish of his unspoken suffering.

He refused to dwell between “ifs” and “mights”, dying at a slow pace while his unexpressed emotions festered and rotted in his heart. He couldn’t become a hidden book with unread chapters forgotten on a dusty library shelf.

Nobody should ever bury love in the dark. Love ought to always breathe in the light. The most powerful magic in the universe demanded to be free, to make its presence known even if it created chaos. Silence meant danger. Suppressed feelings were sure to destroy his life.

The sunlight danced and reflected off Draco’s hair, making Harry ache. For years he’d watched Draco reconstruct his world one day at a time. Becoming better. Evolving. A sign of true courage.

Harry breathed and tasted the sweetness of his imminent confession.

[stargazing-enby]

Drarry | 3k | Mature | Eighth Year, Drinking Games, Truth or Dare, Mutual Pining, Kissing, Idiots in Love, Fluff

Read below or on AO3

“Dare,” Finnigan told Pansy, and Draco zoned out of the party, his head pounding slightly from the Veritaserum-spiked Firewhiskey. 

He only caught a blurry glimpse of Finnigan snogging Thomas senseless, but still a small tingle of arousal coursed through him. 

God, it’d been so long since he’d been kissed. Properly kissed. Vague memories of his holidays in France three years before grazed his mind. Memories of sneaking around with Pierre, a gorgeous Beauxbatons boy whose parents were old friends of his; memories of stolen kisses and hands barely daring to touch below the waist, leaving him hot and bothered. Memories of barely making it back to his room before shoving his hand down his pants, desperate for release.

Memories that were followed by other, more recent recollections of the same desperate arousal, except fuelled by another, very different boy. A boy who Draco was sure would never want to touch him, above or below the waist, except perhaps to deliver a punch.

Blaise elbowed him in the ribs, making him yelp. 

“Malfoy, are you with us?” someone asked, and giggles erupted around him.

“I am,” he drawled, glaring at his classmates and cursing the alcohol for slurring his words.

“Truth or dare, then?” Finnigan asked, smirking.

He frowned at the bottle. He couldn’t think. “Truth.”

“What was your sexual awakening?”

“I—” Draco’s mind short-circuited. What was his sexual awakening?

The Veritaserum tore the truth from him before he could make sense of his own tangled thoughts.

“I collected Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award pages when I was twelve,” he blurted. “With Pansy. We tore them from the magazines, and I tucked mine under my pillow. I—I loved staring at Oliver Polkiss’ picture. You could see his muscles flex under his shirt, and the line of his collarbone was…��� He gulped. “Tantalising.” 

“Oliver Polkiss?” asked Weasley. “The former captain of the Falmouth Falcons?”

“Draco!” Pansy exclaimed. “You said you were humouring me, you sneaky bastard!” 

“You’re telling me you were thirsting over sexy Quidditch men at twelve and you somehow didn’t realise you were gay till fifteen?” Theo asked incredulously. “That’s a bit pathetic, even for you.” 

Through all his classmates’ loud and barely comprehensible reactions, Draco stared at the other side of the circle and right into Potter’s eyes. 

He hadn’t meant for Potter to find out like this—to find out at all—and he desperately awaited his reaction, holding his breath.

Potter’s eyes bore a hole through Draco’s own, before slowly, boldly, lowering to Draco’s lips. His gaze burned with barely contained desire, and god, fuck, Draco wanted him. Had wanted Potter for so fucking long.

His eyes didn’t leave Potter’s when he leaned forward and spun the bottle. When it came to a stop, he didn’t have time to ask before Potter murmured, voice hoarse, “Dare.”

The Eighth Year common room fell silent. 

Maybe it was the Veritaserum—maybe the Firewhiskey—but he didn’t hesitate before saying, “Kiss me.”

Potter scrambled forward, climbed his lap and, amidst their classmates’ uproar, complied.

~~~

Draco awoke with a groan, head pounding, closed eyes straining from the bright lights in his bedroom.

“Here,” a gentle voice said, pressing a goblet into his hands. Eyes still closed, Draco sat up painfully and downed it. 

The sticky potion soothed his throat and spread from his chest to his limbs. He sighed, sagging, and finally managed to crack an eye open.

“Better?” Pansy asked, an eyebrow arched. Draco grunted and nodded curtly, rubbing at his face. “Good, because Potter is waiting for you in the common room.”

“What?” he rasped out. “Why?” 

Pansy sighed.

“Draco, please tell me you remember last night’s party.”

“Last night’s…” It came back in flashes, then. His Eighth Year classmates removing their clothes and sharing heated kisses and laughing. His barely coherent explanation of his tween crush on Oliver Polkiss. Harry’s heated eyes lowering to his lips, and the alcohol-clouded arousal rushing through his veins as Potter straddled him and devoured his lips with such fervour Draco had fucking moaned into the kiss.

His fingers twitched at the memory of carding them through Potter’s horrible, wonderful hair, and when the next memory came back to him, he grew uncomfortably hot and had to bury his face in his hands. Oh, god, he’d rutted against Potter in the middle of the fucking common room. He’d lain flat on his back and pulled Potter down with him, and he’d pressed up against Potter’s entire body while they kissed. 

“Merlin’s tits,” he murmured, pointlessly hoping that all his classmates had drunk enough to forget the whole thing.

“Okay, you do remember,” Pansy said, and Draco was sure she was silently laughing at him. “You two were a sight to behold, you know.”

“Shut up,” he groaned. 

“Oh, he remembers?” came Theo’s voice from the other side of the dorm. 

“He so does,” Pansy laughed.

“Nice.”

“I hate you both,” Draco grouched.

“Hate us all you want, but get your sorry arse out of bed and don’t keep Potter waiting,” Pansy said, and Draco did, albeit not without flipping them both a finger. 

In the bathroom, he washed his face and mouth with cold water and then looked in the mirror. He grimaced. There were bags under his eyes and pillow marks on his cheek, his lips were dry and threatening to crack and his hair was a mess. The idea of Harry seeing him like this made his insides churn, and he hurried to his stack of potions, hands shaking slightly as he moisturised his lips and hydrated his face and softened his hair. After debating with himself for several long seconds, he applied the slightest bit of cologne to his neck.

When he walked back into the room, Pansy raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. He blushed.

“Get out, I have to get dressed,” he snapped before she could say anything.

Pansy rolled her eyes.

“You’re lucky I love you, you impossible twat.” She reached for the door handle, turned to him, and added, “I have a feeling Potter would rather see you underdressed.”

Annoyingly, she managed to dodge the sock Draco threw at her.

In the end, Draco opted for a pair of fitted grey and brown plaid trousers, a black cashmere turtleneck jumper and his favourite black shoes. Not too many layers and not too formal, but still smart and fitting. He applied a few more drops of his morning hair potions, just for good measure, and left the room feeling as confident as was possible considering he’d practically fucked the bloody saviour of the Wizarding World in the Eighth Year common room rug in front of at least thirty of his classmates the night before. 

Potter was sitting at the edge of the sofa closest to the Slytherin dorms’ stairs, dressed in a dark green hoodie with a giant, orange Fanta logo on it—whatever the hell Fanta was—, plain dark jeans and white trainers. His hair was as dishevelled as usual, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose in a way that always annoyed Draco to no end and made him wish he could push them up himself. 

When he caught sight of Draco, Potter jumped to his feet and took a hesitant step toward him, then halted, wringing his hands. His friends were nowhere to be seen, and Draco’s own had mercifully not stuck around to watch, but a few other Eighth Years eyed them with knowing smirks. 

Draco considered giving them all a murder glare, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Harry. Potter, I can’t take my eyes off Potter, he mentally corrected himself, mad with himself. Mad with how much he wanted the bloody wanker. 

They met halfway across the room, Draco feeling himself blush and Harry’s eyes trained on the carpet. 

“Um, did you want to talk?” Draco said, and winced. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Er—yeah,” Potter mumbled, and Draco was somewhat relieved he wasn’t the only one whose bravado had vanished without the alcohol and Veritaserum in his veins. Potter looked around at his classmates and then, finally, at Draco. “Would you come for a walk with me?” 

“I was rather hoping not to skip breakfast,” Draco said awkwardly, hating every word. He did not skip breakfast—not if he wanted to feel human throughout the day—but he hated saying no to spending time with Harry. Potter. Spending time with Potter. 

“I brought some Danish pastries and muffins from the kitchens for us,” Potter said, looking entirely too sheepish for Draco’s sanity. Fuck, but Harry had brought him breakfast, and all Draco wanted was to card his fingers through his disastrous hair and kiss the embarrassment away from his cheeks, and maybe also from his lips, and eyelashes, and—

“I hope that’s okay,” Potter added in a murmur. 

“Yes!” Draco said entirely too loudly. “I mean, y-yeah, it’s more than okay. Thank you.” 

“Shall we go, then?” Potter smiled tentatively, and Draco’s heart jumped so hard his breath hitched. Fuck, he was done for. 

Draco nodded, and they walked outside under the not-so-subtle gazes of their classmates. 

The hallway was practically empty, and for a moment they walked in silence toward the stairs that led to the entrance of the castle. Being alone with Harry was as unnerving as it was exhilarating, making his arms stiffen from the fear and anticipation of accidentally brushing his knuckles with Harry’s—making his breathing fast and his heart jump erratically. 

“So,” Potter said eventually, glancing sideways at him and smirking. “Oliver Polkiss?” 

“Ugh,” Draco groaned, rolling his eyes. “Don’t mention it.” 

Potter laughed, and the sound of it made his insides buzz with anticipation. 

“If it’s any consolation, my sexual awakening was probably just as embarrassing.” 

“What was it?” Draco couldn’t help but ask. 

Instead of answering, Potter waved at Nearly Headless Nick as he floated by, and then at Professor Flitwick, who was hurrying outside the Great Hall carrying a satchel that looked full to the brim of Charms assignments. 

“He wouldn’t have to work so much if he didn’t send out so much homework,” Potter grumbled, and then added, in a voice so low Draco almost didn’t hear him, “my sexual awakening was Dean constantly walking around the dorm in nothing but tight boxers for the entirety of Third Year. I suspect it was also Seamus’, because he wouldn’t stop stammering around Dean that year. It was pretty funny. Ron and Neville were really confused, and I pretended to be as well, but I could perfectly understand him.” 

Draco opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He tried again. “Does Thomas know this?”

“No, but Ron does. He almost pissed himself laughing when he found out.” Harry smiled, and Draco couldn’t help but mimic it, astonished and amused and only a little bit dismayed that he had it so bad for this wonderful, incorrigible boy. 

“You’re right,” he laughed—more like giggled, mortifying as that was—and bit his lower lip. “That’s even more pathetic than my sexual awakening.”

“Told you,” Harry beamed, making Draco’s insides melt into a puddle of yearning. 

They’d made it to the main entrance of the castle, and they halted at the threshold, looking out into the gardens. The sun was finally shining after weeks of incessant rain, and although it still smelled of humidity, it almost smelled characteristically of spring.

Harry guided them to the greenhouses, and Draco followed, hands in his pockets, stomach rumbling. They made it to a hidden corner between the castle wall and Greenhouses Six and Seven, a spot Draco guessed was frequented by randy students looking for a bit of private time together. Not the most romantic spot for a love confession, Potter, he grumbled to himself, but the thought left him entirely when Potter handed him a Danish pastry, carefully enveloped in a napkin and warm from his pocket. 

“So,” Draco said after swallowing the last bite, accepting the chocolate muffin with chocolate chips—yum!—Potter was handing him. “I’m guessing you didn’t just want to talk about your sexual awakening?”

“Er, no.” Potter audibly swallowed a bite, embarrassment shining anew in his eyes and making it really bloody hard for Draco to keep his hands to himself. “I was wondering if you regretted what happened last night at the party.”

“What?” 

“Wow, that came out wrong.” Potter ran his fingers through his hair, chuckling nervously. “I meant I don’t regret what happened last night, and I was wondering if you didn’t either, because it’s all I’ve been able to think about since, and, well…” He trailed off. His gaze darted to the floor, and a small, sheepish, lovely smile tugged at his lips.

Potter, you adorable idiot, Draco thought, but what he said was, “I—I don’t regret it either.” 

He tripped slightly over the words, but he only had a second to worry about it before Harry’s cautiously growing smile turned his every thought into mush. 

Harry opened his mouth as if to say something, but hesitated, and instead reached out to brush the back of Draco’s hand with the tips of his fingers. The contact was light and uncertain and electrifying, and they both seemed to hold their breath until Draco, regaining control of his limbs, turned his hand and—clumsily—laced their fingers together. 

Harry exhaled audibly, and he must’ve stepped closer at some point because he was so close Draco’s mind short-circuited and his body burst into flames. When he looked up from their hands to Harry, he found green eyes searching his own, anxious, hopeful, and it was all Draco could do not to reach out and hold on to Harry’s shoulders for purchase.

Harry tried to speak again, but faltered. “Fuck,” he muttered instead, “I’m rubbish at this.” 

Draco huffed out a laugh—one that carried a low whine lodged at the back of his throat—and fought to keep his breathing steady, not yet ready to believe this was happening. Harry was touching him, and not while intoxicated with potions or alcohol or the Gryffindor urge to fulfil a dare. Harry was touching him and he was stumbling over his words, fingers twitching softly between Draco’s, gaze vulnerable and eager and even more beautiful up close. He was touching him and his plump lips were minutely pulling up into a pretty smile even as he fought to find the right words. 

Merlin, Draco wanted that mouth back on his so badly. 

He ran a thumb over Harry’s knuckle, marvelling at its soft warmth, and, feeling utterly foolish, murmured, “Truth or dare?” 

“What?” Harry’s lips quirked up, eyebrows arching.

“I didn’t get to ask last night, so I’m asking now,” Draco said, shrugging and trying his damn hardest to look nonchalant despite the burning of his cheeks. “Truth or dare?”

Harry considered his question for a moment, carded his fingers through his hair, and said, “Truth.”

“Would you like to kiss me again?”

Harry’s eyes found his, then. 

“Yeah,” he breathed.

Unable to hold back any longer, Draco reached out and rested his arms on Harry’s shoulders, testing the way the strands of hair at his nape felt between his fingertips. Harry hugged his waist lightly and stepped right into his personal space, his atrocious hoodie coming into contact with Draco’s jumper and sending tingles down his entire body. 

“Well, then,” Draco murmured, breathless, pulling Harry closer, “don’t keep me waiting, you twat.”

Harry huffed out a soft, warm laugh right before brushing their lips together. He gently bit Draco’s lower lip and tasted the inside of it, hesitant, and oh, Draco couldn’t help but tremble in his arms, melting into the warmth and the ease and the chocolate taste of his mouth. 

Their tongues met, and Harry moaned softly, grabbing at Draco’s jumper. Draco slid his hands into Harry’s hair properly and pressed their bodies flush together. He was rewarded with a small, panted exhale, and then Harry deepened the kiss, taking a step forward and pressing Draco against the castle wall. Draco’s jumper rolled up, and he felt cold fingers venture underneath and spread over the skin of his lower back.

“Oh,” he sighed into the kiss, arching into Harry and getting lost in the heat of his mouth. He grazed his nails over Harry’s scalp, and then he let his hands trail down from Harry’s hair and trace the shape of his shoulders, his back, roving down, down until they were a millimetre away from the curve of his arse. 

Several loud voices travelled to them, coming from the entrance to Greenhouse Six just a few steps away from them.

“Shit,” Harry muttered, parting from the kiss but staying close, his own fingertips venturing minutely over Draco’s arse. “They sound like students.” 

“Who the fuck comes to the greenhouses on a Saturday morning?” Draco grumbled, resting his forehead against Harry’s and moving his hands back up to a safe area of Harry’s back. Other than horny teenagers? he added mentally, resolutely ignoring the fact he was now one of those horny teenagers. 

“Dunno. Ravenclaws with extracurriculars?”

Draco snorted miserably. 

“Come on,” he said, forcing himself to step back loathe as he was to disentangle himself from Harry’s hold. “Let’s get back inside.”

“Where to?” Harry asked, smirking. He reached out for Draco’s hand as they walked and twined their fingers together, and didn’t let go even as they walked out of the small, private nook and into the open Hogwarts gardens. 

“Somewhere no one will find us while I put my hands all over your body,” Draco said casually, and when Harry tripped over his foot he cackled and added, “Glad to see you’d like that.”

“Fuck you,” Harry said, but there was no bite to the words. He was grinning, in fact, and his fingers were still firmly tied with Draco’s while they passed several groups of students loitering in the gardens around the entrance to the castle.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” Draco mumbled, and Harry came to a halt at the castle entrance and raised his eyebrows at Draco, bashfulness and hope shining bright in his eyes in equal parts. 

“Me either,” he said softly, a smirk tugging at his lips. A moment later, his expression turned serious. “That’s not the only thing I want from you, though.”

Draco reached out a hand and cupped the back of Harry’s head, playing with the hair at his nape. He pushed Harry’s glasses up his face with the tip of his nose, and then pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s lips. He heard several people gasping and awwing in the vicinity, but he paid them no mind. 

“I know,” he murmured, staying close to Harry for a few seconds and loving the goofy smile that bloomed on Harry’s face. 

When they resumed their walk to the Eighth Year common room, Harry hugged Draco’s lower back and held him close.

~~~

Written for the February Drarry Discord Drabble Challenge.

Prompt: Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award

Word count: 500 words (+ an extra 2.5k because I couldn't help myself)

Thanks@april-thelightfury115 for betaing and cheerleading! ❤

[ununquadius]

Magic

Written for the January 2022 Discord Drabble Challenge. Prompt: Glass. Worcount: 222.

Thanks a lot to the mods of this month's challenge and thank you to kaiu for the beta ❤️

Read on AO3

*

The spell hit the window at the same time that Harry and Draco came running. Bits of glass jumped in all directions, and the cold air from the street entered the living room. Scared gray eyes looked up at them from the face of a small child. He was miraculously untouched by the cutting glass.

“What happened!?” Draco asked, too anxious to keep his voice from rising.

“I don’t know!” Harry screamed back. “Scorp!? What happened!? Are you alright!?"

“I’m fine,” their son answered in a small voice. “Are you two alright? You have glass in your hair, Dad; and you’re bleeding, Daddy.”

Harry turned quickly to look at Draco, who was indeed bleeding where the glass pieces had hit him. He healed him with a quick spell.

“So?” Asked Draco, still nervous. “Who broke the window?”

“I heard something like a blow, and came running,” Harry answered. “Then a spell hit the window.”

“It was me.”

They turned to Scorpius, who was blushing and looking at his feet.

“You?”

“I was reading, but the ending was really disappointing. Then magic just… flew”.

“You blew out our window because you didn’t like your book?” Draco looked at their son with his mouth agape.

“And you said he was going to be a Slytherin… that’s the most Ravenclaw thing I have ever seen!”

[fw00shy]

Splintered

​​Draco arrived at Hogwarts with a white scar running down his cheek like a splinter down cracked glass. Harry kept an eye on him but for different reasons than everyone else, who told Harry things like, "He's been sneaking out at night," and "You should check on him. He could be letting Death Eaters in again."

Climbing up to the Astronomy tower well before curfew was hardly sneaking out, but Harry followed Draco up the spiral stairs anyway to the tower where the sky opened up to an inky black, and Harry sat next to Draco as though walking in a dream. He closed his eyes.

"Potter," Draco said. "Your shoes are showing." He gestured down at Harry's shins, cut off where the hem of the Invisibility Cloak hit short.

"Shit. I forget how small it is now." He'd grown sometime in the last year; an overdue growth spurt that had him banging low doorframes and flinching at the mirror.

Draco was looking at Harry behind glassy eyes when Harry's gaze slid down the length of his scar.

Draco touched underneath his eye. "It's not very pretty."

It looked like someone hadn't tried very hard when they glued Draco's face back together. And yet, Harry could still see right through him, as though looking through glass. Draco wasn't up to anything bad.

written for the drarry discord drabble challenge prompt: glass

[orange-peony]

Written for the Drarry Discord Drabble Challenge - February 

The prompt was “Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award trophy” and the word count 500.

Rating: T 

Warnings: de-aging, brief mention of past emotional abuse 

A shiny thank you to @purplehotmess​ for checking my drabble and for being super lovely and supportive.

Grumpy Uncle Harry

“Malfoy got de-aged,” Robards announced. “He’s getting checked at St Mungo’s, but we need to keep the case quiet. Potter, take him home.”

“Absolutely not,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I’m not taking a four-year-old home. He’s going to be a spoiled little brat. I have zero patience.”

“Turn that frown upside down, Potter,” Robards said, slapping him on the back. “You have a godson, right?”

“Teddy’s ten!” Harry argued.

“Kids are kids,” Robards replied airily, handing him a Portkey. “Collect the Malfoy brat from the hospital and keep him safe until they find an antidote.”

“Ugh,” Harry groaned, holding the little toy car and finding himself in a room full of Healers, fussing over a small child curled up on the bed under a blanket.

“Merlin, Harry,” Parvati said, raising an eyebrow at him. “You look like your cat died.”

“Well, I have to take Draco home,” Harry replied with a scowl, noticing how white the child’s hair was, how his lips wobbled when their eyes met.

“Who is that?” Draco asked, his voice low and scared.

“That’s grumpy uncle Harry,” Parvati replied sweetly. “He’s going to take you home and get you something nice to eat. He looks scary, but he’s actually nice.”

“Hey!” Harry replied, but then he noticed Draco’s eyes landing on the toy car still clutched in his hands.

“Can…” the child murmured, looking around the room. “Can I please play with that car later?”

“Sure…” Harry replied, expecting a demand from him instead of a polite request. “Let’s get you home.”

Harry Apparated them both to the kitchen, lifting Draco up and marvelling at how light he was before depositing him on a chair.

Harry started rummaging through the cupboards until he emerged with a packet of custard creams. Draco looked at them and fidgeted on the chair, the car still safely secured in his little hands.

“Father says I can’t have biscuits,” Draco mumbled, sounding forlorn.

“You can have a couple,” Harry says slowly, his heart breaking a little bit at how tiny Draco was, how helpless he looked. He remembered staring at a packet of biscuits in the same way, Petunia snatching them away.

“Father’s going to get mad and punish me,” Draco whispered.

“He won’t,” Harry replied forcefully, then leaned down in front of him, adding softly, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t. Come on, have a biscuit while I sort out dinner.”

Harry was expecting him to be a fussy eater, to whine and cry, but Draco ate all his pasta, played with the car and then asked for a cuddle before falling asleep on the sofa.

Harry’s heart clenched in his chest as he watched pale eyebrows crease while he dreamed, deciding to sleep on the other sofa.

When morning came, long fingers brushed his curls from his forehead, soft lips placing a gentle kiss on his scar.

“You’re back,” Harry breathed out, relieved. “Missed you so much.”

“That’s a lovely smile,” Draco murmured. “Definitely worth Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award.”

[floydig]

Liminal

Some muggle child in aisle 7 calls you ‘dad’ by mistake. He says, “Hey dad, can you reach the grape juice for me? The glass one on the top shelf?”

The boy is a short little thing—standing on his tiptoes and not looking at you at all, really. His real father is farther down the aisle, chatting up some muggle lady.

And Teddy turns seven today. Potter says he’s baking a cake, but he’s out of cocoa powder. Cocoa powder is in aisle 8. When you turned seven, Father said, “Make me proud, Draco”, and Dobby said he loved you.

Potter doesn’t know how to bake, and he doesn’t like recipes much, either. He says that recipes make it less fun.

In aisle 8, you find many different brands of cocoa powder. Potter’s given you some muggle money to buy it. Potter has a lot of money—all types—but he doesn’t seem to care about that at all.

When you were a boy, you loved to draw. You stole your mother’s best quill and ink, and you drew all over your arm. It was good ink; special stuff that stuck to your skin for a long time. The serpents were easy, the skulls more difficult. But you were good at them all.

The muggle girl at checkout says she likes your tattoo.

[bonesliketambourines]

drabble challenge prompt: glass, 222 words

here on Ao3 :)

———

Sometimes Harry wonders why he can see it and nobody else can.

Well, not nobody else. Ron's begrudgingly come around, and Hermione, even though she keeps a wary distance. Ginny, too, of course; it had taken her the longest, but even she opens the papers these days and shakes her head at the blind items the gossip column puts out, as disappointed as Harry himself at what's being peddled.

The sharp exterior, the cutting words—it's an act, all of it. An armor, if an ineffective one. Harry can see right through it. He thinks he's been able to see through it since school, since the bathroom, since his own words that cut deep.

He's fragile too—something that Harry didn't see then, or didn't want to see. Didn't want to know. It frightens him sometimes, what could go wrong if he were less careful, with his words and his hands.

Harry thinks he spends half his time afraid; of what someone will say when they're out, of what his reaction will be. He's quick to anger still, a habit that never left him, and he worries what he'll do if he's pressed too far, if he sees him break.

But when Draco blinks up at him in the mornings, his eyes clear grey panes, Harry knows it's worth it.

[aceveria-art]

Drarry Discord Drabble/Drawble Challenge // February prompt: Bubbles // Restrictions: Blue/Green color palette + one other color; 283 words

★ Instagram ★Ko-fi ★ Patreon ★ Commission Info ★ {please do not repost / reblogs are welcome!}

The Depths Where No One Knows [Read on AO3]

In the depths where no one knows You steal my breath, my very soul. Stay. I want to drown in every inch of you Drown in your hands, your lips, the way you move, Bury myself beneath your surface. Nevermore shall I know of loneliness.

Though the chains of my past, the history of our history Bind me to you, constrict me, drag you down, and down, and drown, And we can never truly break the chains ourselves. I carry my sins In my blood, your heart, my skin.

I would never ask the same of you. You shoulder too much.

But you already hold my burdens And I will gladly hold yours.

I could never leave you. Even if I wanted to.

You are eternally ingrained in me, Carved into every part of what I always yearned to be. I dreamed, and longed, and wished, And got. But it didn’t make the yearning stop.

Perhaps I’ll always want more from you, but I’d sooner turn to seafoam.

I am restricted. I used to think you were limitless. I nearly watched you reach the heavens.

You are not a god. You will never be my hero. You have your own chains, too.

So stay with me beneath the depths where no one knows, But you and I, of our misdeeds. My love, my enemy, my life. Stay.

You could never hurt me the way we both have.

Don’t try to save me. Because I can’t save you.

Despair is ephemeral, it will not scar, you will not bleed. Not in the same way as me. And, Darling, right here is where I’ll be.

Stay with me

In the depths where no one knows.

[skeptiquewrites]

Bedside Manner

Drarry Drabble Challenge May 2021 l Prompt: Used Rating: T l 315 words l Read it on AO3 “I heard you were hurt during the lab accident at the Ministry today,” Harry says. He walks closer to Draco’s bedside at St Mungo's.

Draco isn’t happy to see Harry, not in the slightest, and it shows in the curl of his lip. His torso is bare. A mediwitch has carefully bandaged his whole abdomen. Draco’s face is drawn with pain, pale, sweat dotting his temples. Harry has already asked a colleague about his chart.

“I am not your concern,” Draco says. His words are clipped. Draco's well enough to be in a fighting mood. Relief floods Harry's body.

“Is that what you think?” Harry says mildly. Harry has to remain calm or the maelstrom of emotions he feels every single time he sees Draco will carry him away. Two years apart has changed little, curse or no curse.

"Don't check on me," Draco snarls.

"You're my—" Harry begins.

"I used to be your husband. It was a curse, Harry. It wasn't real," Draco snaps.

Draco has said variations of this so often it hardly registers. If this were true, Draco wouldn’t have to repeat it.

Harry wants to reach out and wipe Draco's brow tenderly. Pet Draco's hair the way he likes. It's true it was the curse that made him privy to what Draco likes and what he needs. He'll want outside food snuck in, the runes puzzle from Sunday's Prophet, and a new t-shirt from home. It's all there on the hospital chair, and will appear when Harry leaves.

There are some advantages to being a Healer. But Harry won’t get him back by taking care of him.

“This has nothing to do with the curse. We both know that's long done. I’m still in love with you,” Harry says quietly.

“Move on," Draco says bitterly.

"You first," Harry says, nodding at the familiar glint on Draco's finger. Draco falters. Harry leaves.

[assassinsdragons]

Morning, Sunshine!

The cold of winter is fading, the season breaking as the world prepares itself for spring. Spots of snow can still be seen on the fields outside their house. Every morning, they still wake to frosty grounds, but during the day the sun melts it away. Little by little, life is returning to the valley.

A blue tit flies past with a small twig pinched between its beak. Various other passerines are eating seeds from the bird feeders by the edge of the porch.

Draco absolutely loves to spend mornings like this, sitting in his chair, enjoying the lack of rain. The patio faces south, so the sun shines the most pleasantly on him during this time of day. On the other side of the house, there is a balcony which he can use to savour the afternoon sun too, but there’s something about the morning sun that fills him with a sense of peace.

Some days, he finds himself solving a crossword or two while he’s out here, and other days he opts to do handicrafts. Today is one of the latter days.

He’s working on a gift for the newborn Rose Granger-Weasley; a crocheted pair of shoes. He hopes Ron and Hermione will appreciate them. He’s not even using magic to weave in the loose threads!

“Draco? Are you on the porch again?” Harry calls from inside the house.

Draco doesn’t answer, because of course he’s on the porch. Harry knows he won’t get a reply to a question he already knows the answer to.

“You still working on the shoes?” Harry asks as he steps out on the porch. “How’s the progress?”

“It’s currently going according to plan,” Draco smiles.

“Excellent. But enough about yarns and kids. I’ve got something for you.”

Harry hauls him up from the chair and gives him a kiss.

Draco really loves these times of day.

Drarry Discord Drabble Challenge, March 2022. Word prompt; And now for something completely different. Word count; 314.

ao3.

[sunflower-swan]

Choosing My Confession October 2022 Drarry Discord Drabble Prompt: whispers Art Restriction: main color orange Word Count: 205

Covert glances in crowded corridors. Secret rendezvous and clandestine meetings. Hushed tones in empty classrooms. A lifetime of unsolved mysteries and admissions murmured in the darkness. That’s how it started.

He didn’t mean for it to turn so cloak-and-dagger. So surreptitious. But, even with his father in Azkaban for life and the shadow of war absent over his head, some habits still die hard.

Draco is furtive. Esoteric by nature. Cryptic and arcane. He prefers it that way. Keeping others at a comfortable arm's distance makes for fewer complications.

To him, Harry is a puzzle wrapped up in an enigma. A paradox. The question and the answer. He’s a riddle, enveloping Draco’s brain like a cashmere scarf.

When Death did not claim them at seventeen, they found new faith in the infinite. Measureless time stretched out in a cosmic spiral ahead of them. Where before inescapable desolation had resided, palpable hope became their daring confidant.

It wasn’t planned. Kismet is ineffable.

The night’s trauma bonding was as predictable and unremarkable as the countless ones that preceded it. Curfew neared yet neither made a move to return to their dormitories. Then…

A long look. A tentative head tilt. Too much and not enough all at once.

[curlyy-hair-dont-care]

You are my sunshine

"Boys, you're going to be late for school," I yell.

"Mr. Squigglybum!" Lily wails

"Jamie, you know the rules, no underage magic!" I scold, grabbing the toy hippogriff and handing him to a tearful Lily.

My nerves are frazzled, I can't handle another meltdown this morning.

Scorpius and Albus forgot to tell me that they'd volunteered their Papa to bake 12 dozen cupcakes for the school sale today. I’ve stayed up all night baking them and am exhausted.

And when you add worrying about an Auror husband who is away on a mission to the mix, I can feel my sanity start to unwind.

I sip my now cold coffee when the doorbell chimes. James is instantly out of his seat.

"Jamie, wait-"

"Daddy!"

Harry is home. Relief washes over me. My husband is back. Safe. Home. My mind is at ease.

Harry helps me pack the kids off to school. Then, makes us some strong, hot coffee and we cuddle on the couch. I lay my head on his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat anchors me.

"Talk to me."

"About?"

"Anything," I whisper. "You know it eases my mind...Hearing your voice. I can make sense of the madness when I listen to your voice."

Harry hugs me closer, placing a kiss on my temple. I love that!

“You were amazing with the kids today. Those cupcakes were delicious”

“Harry!” I chide.

“I was hungry!” he protests.

I can't help but laugh.

“Remember when you were worried about not being a good dad?”

“Hmm.” I nod.

I remember standing in the nursery we'd prepped after starting the adoption procedure. Running a finger over the soft yellow blanket-- one of the first things we'd bought.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he'd asked from the doorway.

I’d given him a sad smile. And after a few moments of silence, whispered ever so softly, "Do you think I'll be a good father?"

Harry, stupid Gryffindor, kindest man alive, love of my life had wrapped me in a fierce hug murmuring affirmations and endearments slowly easing the pit in my chest.

My family completes me. Their smiles light up my life. Their chatter, however noisy, makes me feel content.

There were times when I was younger, I'd lay in bed, restless and uneasy, waiting for the sun. Wondering if I'd ever be happy?

Well younger me, I am!

My husband, my children. They put me back together inside.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks, kissing my cheek.

“I love you,” I reply, kissing him back.

Written for the November Drarry Discord Drabble Challenge. Prompt: I make sense of the madness, when I listen to your voice. — Ease My Mind, Ben Platt. Word Count: 422 Thank you to the organisers, all the lovely folks over on Discord 💛

[stargazing-enby]

Wear Your Heart on Your Chest

A Drarry drabble written for the discord drabble challenge.

Prompt: flourish

Word count: 177 words

The first time his chest warms up in Harry Potter’s presence he’s eleven, and his handshake is being rejected. He doesn’t need to see the ink sprouting from his heart to know it’s an ugly colour—a murky black, fury mixed with humiliation.

Potter becomes an expert at making his tattoo spark to life. It’s anger, resentment, and envy like he’s never felt before, and it’s always unpleasant: sickly yellows and putrid greens and viscous blacks and browns. It’s a held-back scream and white-knuckled fists. It’s emotions so strong he has to breathe before his tattoo expands past his collar.

Until one day it’s red—blood spurting everywhere and covering his world in pain.

It’s the liveliest colour Potter has ever torn from his chest.

After that, there’s nothing. He’s floating, numb, and all there is left is harrowing fear and hope for a quick, painless death.

When he returns to Hogwarts for his Eighth Year, his colours are still muted—fear-struck. But then Potter smiles shyly at him and Draco feels it: a timid, vibrant purple fluttering to life.

On AO3

[ununquadius]

Safe

Written for the November 2021 Discord Drabble Challenge. Prompt: “I make sense of the madness when I listen to your voice” - Ease my mind, Ben Platt. Wordcount: 422. Tags/Warnings: Vivid nightmares. Thanks to the mods and to @assassinsdragons for the beta work ❤️

Read it on AO3

*

Some days Harry’s mind wandered, further and further, until he was trapped inside a nightmare.

Sometimes, he found himself in a room with a mirror and a man wearing a turban. He tried to breathe but ropes tightened around him, and he suffocated, without a way out.

Sometimes, he was in a forest. Someone screamed in terror next to him, but he knew he couldn’t help them, and then the big spider attacked.

Sometimes, the cold around him was too much, and the screams of a man and a woman were everything he could hear, over and over and over.

Sometimes, he was in a cemetery. And those times, he cried and screamed, knowing that everything was about to get worse.

This time, he found himself in a dark building. There were people with him, friends and foes, but the only thing he knew for certain was that he needed to run, to run faster and faster, to save… to save someone he knew he was going to lose. If he was fast, he knew he could be on time.

So he ran. He ran until his lungs couldn’t take it anymore, until his legs gave up, and he fell down on the hard floor. And he sobbed; for that someone he was about to lose, for that life he couldn’t save, for all the other lives he knew were in danger because of him. Because he wasn’t fast enough.

“Harry.”

The voice startled him. He remembered that there were people with him. Friends and foes.

“Finally I found you,” the voice drawled.

He looked towards it. Grey eyes, a pale face, blond-white hair. Foe. He tried to stand up to fight.

“Love,” the man said again. “It’s Draco. You’re alright. We’re alone, no one is going to hurt you.”

Love. Draco. A beautiful and warm drawling voice. Sparkling grey eyes. Worried pale face. Soft blond-white hair.

“Draco,” he said.

“Hey,” Draco answered. He was crouching next to him.

Harry looked around. He wasn’t in a dark room, but on a muddy path in the countryside. He saw some trees in the distance, and a little cottage near them. Their house.

“I— I got lost inside my mind again,” he said, embarrassed.

“It’s fine, love. Are you ready to go back home now?

He nodded, and Draco helped him get on his feet. He hugged him tightly, and Harry felt safe for the first time since the nightmare had started.

“It’s always your voice that saves me,” he whispered against Draco’s ear.

[fw00shy]

deeper and deeper

They're together two years before Harry tells his friends. It's snowing outside, and Harry lays open and quiet all winter, waiting for them to tuck his insides back in for him. "Didn't seem worth it," he echoes when they ask why did you hide from us why are you ashamed don't you know we love you, forever, forever, their voices faraway like from the bottom of a canyon. But the sun dawns with time, and Harry with it, heavy and warm, as though Ron knit a jumper between his kidneys before he stitched him back up.

In the brave light of after, stories bloom unbidden from his chest, pushing up and out his mouth, each more indulgent than the last. "Draco does this thing where he peels his oranges with his teeth. Narcissa hates it. She..." He gets lost in the retelling; travels down too many arterioles in attempts to explain why it's entertaining, or funny, or worth sharing (although they get it, they say, smiling). In truth, Draco is never that interesting — and isn't that interesting too, how the shape of worth changes with the seasons, changes when you're in love?

for the april run of the drarry discord drabble challenge! prompt was spring