#drarry snippet

[oflights]

wip snip 4.1

thank you for the tag, @teledild0nix! your wip seems like such an interesting start and i'm excited to see more of it!

here's about 900 words of the time travel fic, featuring a draco vs dumbledore confrontation 2.0 😌 i'll tag @the-starryknight, @kittycargo, @purplehotmess, and @chamomileteafuel to post their own with absolutely zero pressure!

in this snip, draco is in the past, has just made the absolutely insane decision to take harry with him, has put the dursleys to sleep, got harry to agree to go with him, was caught out by mrs. figg, and now dumbledore's here.

Albus Dumbledore stands before him.

He looks as if he’s just stepped off the Hogwarts grounds, in his familiar purple robes and wizard’s cap, his long beard stark white against the deep color. He doesn’t look any younger than the Dumbledore Draco had known, but he supposes that’s the trick of old wizards; he exudes a timeless sort of power that used to both intimidate and annoy Draco in turn. It’s doing both of those here, mixed with lingering, flickering guilt that had risen in him after the year he was 16 along with the resentment that had grown over the same time period.

Dumbledore is possibly the very last person Draco wants to see here; he can’t think of anyone worse off the top of his head.

Draco angles himself in front of Harry, putting his hand on his shoulder very gently, as Dumbledore stares at him before meeting Draco’s eyes.

“Lucius,” he says softly. Draco’s shoulders straighten instinctively, and he holds himself taller; his father is quite a bit taller than him. “You’ve cut your hair.”

He can feel Harry’s eyes on him and gives his shoulder a light, entreating squeeze, gathering his own strength, tipping his chin in the air and trying to gather the exact haughty cadence of his father’s voice on his tongue.

“Albus,” Draco says coldly, nodding stiffly, the name so odd and discomfiting in his mouth. “Yes; I’m told this is a more modern fashion.”

Dumbledore cracks a near smile at that, even though Draco had been careful not to leave even a hint of humor in his tone; his father never has and never would joke even lightly with Albus Dumbledore.

“It suits you.” His eyes shift back down to Harry, the lamplight glowing faintly in his spectacles. “Hello, Harry. It’s been a long time.”

Draco fights the urge to tighten his hand on Harry’s shoulder, to shove him further behind him. An unpleasant revelation is starting to niggle at him, like the edges of a bad dream he can’t quite recall, the outline of a thought he should be upset or angry about.

It starts to fill in when Harry says, “Hello, sir. I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”

“I met you when you were just a baby,” Dumbledore says. “I arranged for you to live here with your family.”

He knew, Draco realizes, the thought screaming through his consciousness. Behind him, Harry stiffens up too, and crowds in a bit at Draco’s hip. Draco reaches his arm over to rest on Harry’s farther shoulder, looped behind his back. He has let go of the pouch of sand to hold his wand instead.

Dumbledore must have known exactly where he left Harry. He’d known that Draco was here—and suddenly Mrs. Figg and her cats and her cabbages, staggering out through a horrible storm, makes a whole lot of sense—and he’d have known from her reports what the Dursleys were like, as least some of it. Now Draco wishes he hadn’t destroyed the padlock and the cupboard door, just to march Dumbledore in front of it, make him stand there and explain himself.

But that’s not right, either—Draco has heard Dumbledore explain himself before. He remembers hearing about mercy, about the all-knowing, omniscient Headmaster of the school he attended as a child knowing a student had been pressed into committing murder and doing absolutely fuck-all about it. He remembers not being a killer. And for a moment, he is so angry he can’t quite remember why he’s not.

Draco draws his wand. Dumbledore hasn’t drawn his, simply looks mildly disappointed; he tilts his head to the side.

“Your wand. Another new fashion?”

Draco ignores him, glancing at the mirror. He can’t take Harry through it if Dumbledore plans to stop them; while this method of time travel was only invented after Dumbledore’s death, even an idiot would recognize the way to stop travel through a mirror would be to break it. Draco has an awful vision of Harry stuck in a mirror shard for years before Dumbledore lets him out to fulfill his Dark Lord killing destiny and dismisses it out of hand, thinking over his options.

He has a backup, of course, a small hand mirror he keeps in another inner pocket, but he doesn’t think two people can get through it intact, even someone as small as Harry. He could also try doing it the hard way, pure magic, no instruments or sand, the way a Time Master does—instinct, focus, careful and measured steps through time—but he’s not quite there yet. He’s only ever managed short and quick jumps after years of practice, and never with another person. He won’t risk it now; won’t risk Harry.

So Draco will have to incapacitate Dumbledore somehow; he didn’t really have dueling the most powerful wizard in an age wielding the bloody Elder wand on his to-do list for today, but then he hadn’t really had any of this on it.

He clutches his own wand, looking at it for a moment—Potter had given it back to him years ago, looking utterly pained to do so, forcing out a huffy sort of “Thanks, I guess,” while eyeing Draco like he was a bug a cat had spit up. It’s still one of their most positive interactions to date.

He hadn’t known until it was over that he’d briefly been the owner of the Elder wand. The thought of having a second crack at it isn’t all that unappealing.

[lqtraintracks]

Oooooh! "Chime" and "sun" for the ask game, please? 😊

Thanks so much for the words! I went with ‘sun’ and this little bit from my last year’s Erised, Jasmine in Bloom. If you don’t want to be spoiled for something that’s a bit of a reveal in the fic then skip this for now! <3

Eventually, they take the main road out of town, and Harry walks in that slightly lopsided way he has to avoid putting his whole weight on his bad leg, managing to look up at the night sky from time to time.

“Do you feel afraid of it still? The moon?” Draco asks.

“Are you afraid of the sun?” Harry counters.

“I’d be a fool not to be,” Draco says.

Harry nods, sighing. “It’s not the same, I realise. The moon brings out something uncomfortable and dangerous in me. The sun…”

“Kills me,” Draco says, then, “Turn here.”

[mycupofrum]

De-ageing HD sounds interesting! can we get a snippet?

Thanks for your ask @narcissa-black-supermacy! De-ageing HD is a Drarry fic where Draco and Harry are in their 30s, together and both working at the Ministry. Something happens to Draco and he turns back to a 16-year-old. :) Here he is having a conversation with his boss. Snippet under the cut.

**

"What exactly was I doing?" Draco asked the question that had been bothering him ever since he had overheard more about his accident thanks to the healers' chatter.

"That's what we were hoping to find out," Croaker said coolly. He paused for a moment and then continued, somewhat reluctantly,

"It’s unfortunate this happened to you, Unspeakable Malfoy."

"How come?" Draco wondered.

"You are – or were – one of our best."

"Oh," Draco didn't know what else to say to that. He was very confused about the whole thing. Had Head Unspeakable Saul Croaker just complimented him?

Croaker shot Draco a calculating look. "Now, let's talk about practical matters while we figure out how to return your body and mind back to your own time."

"What practical matters?"

"Regarding your workplace. Of course, you can't work at the Ministry in your current state if you can't recall your education. As a result, you are on long-term sick leave until you are deemed able to return to work."

Draco shrugged. It was to be expected.

"Unfortunately, we must also take your past into account," Croaker remarked, sounding anything but sorry.

"Ministry protocols dictate that if the Department of Mysteries is in any way exposed to risk or threat –"

"Do you consider me a threat...sir?" Draco asked, unsure if he had heard correctly. "Are you sure? This has to be a joke." He had a sneaking suspicion that this would not end well.

"This is anything but…a joke." Croaker’s voice was silky smooth. "You are a threat because of your past. It's simply a fact. We'll attach a tracking bracelet around your ankle so we can follow where you go and find you if necessary."

Draco felt numb. "So the Ministry sees me as a criminal." His throat went dry.

"You are a Ministry employee on sick leave who is in an unfortunate position. This is merely a temporary situation," Croaker stated formally. "Plus, I'm sure you're in good hands with the Head Auror."

Draco frowned. "Why would I spend time with the Head Auror?"

Croaker's mouth twisted into a thin, crooked smile for the first time during their chat.

"Because Head Auror Harry Potter is your husband."

**

[dodgerkedavra]

Saved for Later

I got tagged by @phoenixortheflame and @kamaela to do this game which is posting a deleted snippet from a fic but I will be open and honest—up until this month I had to get everything done in my one (1) good week a month and usually write so close to deadline that I don't take stuff out wholesale, so this would be a confusing bunch of words and half-sentences if I could even find them?? So instead I will give you this snippet of a fuck-or-die drarry fic I started in the summer and will someday hopefully finish :)

“It’s a sex ritual,” Draco shouts, directly into Harry’s face. “Sex magic. The price is an offering of sexual energy. One of us has to agree to—to receive—to accept the—the enthusiastic attentions of the other, in a ritualised display of—”

Harry’s hand shoots into the air.

Draco blinks. 

Then blinks again.

And then he leans back and stares, lips parted.

“Potter.” He’s exactly as soft as the singing magic. “Have you raised your hand?”

“Yep.”

“Do you understand what I’ve just said?”

“You said one of us has to get railed, hard, in order to do the ritual. I volunteer. To get railed,” Harry adds, in case it wasn’t clear what he was putting himself forwards for. “By you.” Can’t be any mistaking it now. “I accept your, er, enthusiastic attentions.”

Draco swallows. “Grudgingly?”

“What?”

“Are you only volunteering because you’re afraid to die in this vault? I realise the issues of consent in this case are quite thorny, so if another arrangement would be more—”

“I haven’t got thorns.”

“Excuse me?” Draco leans back in, as if he has to see Harry’s lips move to believe it.

“I haven’t got any thorns,” Harry says, louder. “No thorns of consent. I definitely want you to rail me enthusiastically. I enthusiastically want that. Unless you don’t, in which case you can, like, close your eyes. Or Obliviate me afterwards. Or we can both get Obliviated. I’d rather not, though. Get Obliviated, I mean. But—”

“Put your hand down, for Merlin’s sake.”

[basiatlu]

Snippet Monday

Thanks for tagging me @squintclover and a very merry belated birthday to youuuuu 🥰🥳

Lots of cropped goodies to show!

I shall tag @littlewinnow @mono-chromia @kk1smet @drarrargh and anyone else who would like to take part! ♡♡♡

[amomorii]

Sunday Snippets

Thank you for the tag @appleslightning !!! Here's some belated snippets from wips and potentially abandoned pieces

I have no idea who to tag so whomever sees this and wants to share snippets, you are hereby tagged :)

[fastbrother]

Trash Thursday?

Thank you @phoenixortheflame for the tag. This was supposed to be my entry for Wireless 2024, but in the end it felt too much like a longfic and I couldn't make it work.

The Malfoy Affair

It takes multiple (seven) glasses of wine for Harry to sit down next to Draco. Soon, they’re stumbling upstairs towards Harry’s bedroom, half naked and breathless. They’ve done this many times (enough for Draco to know where Harry keeps his t-shirts). They fall asleep just as the sky reddens, not quite touching, not quite apart. * * * They work together. It would be too complicated. What if they fought, then had to spend the day stuck in a car, trailing some Dark Wizard who’s failing at passing for a Muggle? And Harry’s not gay. He’s never been with a man before. And anyway, it would be too complicated. They work together. * * * It’s weird, being with a man. Harry’s not used to how broad Draco’s back is. He’s not used to the low moans, the firm hands grabbing the sheets. There’s girls in between, so that Harry can be shocked anew by Draco’s body every time it happens. Draco knows it. He doesn’t look at him during. He doesn’t speak, if he can help it. He keeps his hair long, hasn’t cut it once in the year they’ve been doing this. Harry pretends he hasn’t noticed. Draco pretends he hasn’t noticed Harry noticed. * * * They fell into a routine at some point. It always starts with drinking and it always ends the moment they get out of the bed in the morning. In one motion, they stop being what they were the second before (lovers) and they become co-workers. Two Aurors, having breakfast. Today is no exception. Harry’s boiling the water for tea and Draco is reading the Daily Prophet. “Oh,” he says, chair creaking as he leans back. “Somebody from the DMLE got fired yesterday.”

I'm tagging @pl0tty, @mallstars, @sleepstxtic, @edieblakewrites. As an extra, here is a screenshot of my Abandoned folder in all its glory:

[handledwithgloves]

monday snippet 🍓

ty for tagging me @drarrargh 🫶

tagging: everyone who sees this and wants to join in on the fun 🫶😋

[drarrargh]

monday snippets

thank you!! for tagging me @littlewinnow and @basiatlu !!! you guys are so rad

here are some monday snippets that are in fact wednesday snippets. they are maybe a little funny

tagging my beloveds @spacesaz @storiestoldbytime @appleslightning @handledwithgloves and @tinygxrilla :DD

[phoenixortheflame]

Trash Tuesday (belated)

Ty @kamaela for the tag. Here's a wee snippet from my WIP that didn't quite make it into the final cut, despite my best efforts.

The Ministry hadn’t meant for Draco to starve in the weeks leading up to his trial. Food — if you could call it that — had been provided. He simply refused to eat it. 

Without a wand to cast a Tempus, without a single bloody window, Draco relied upon twice-daily meals to mark the passage of time. Mornings meant an apple, a rind of cheese, a hunk of stale bread. Evenings were punctuated with a bowl of something resembling stew. These two “events” were all that stood between him and a full-blown descent into madness. Still, he ate none of it — for which the rats seemed grateful. 

Hours turned to days and days turned to weeks and even then Draco didn’t so much as nibble on a crust. Only when his lips became so dry they began to crack and bleed  — the pain of it keeping him from sleep — did he bother with water. 

As Draco rotted away, so, too, did his food, until even the rats knew better than to approach. 

Trays upon trays of stew and stale bread sat stacked in the corner of his tiny cell. A pile of apples turned leaky and soft, permeating the air with the pungent tang of fermentation. And every day Draco became a bit more deflated, a bit ranker, a bit more fuzz-dusted. Every day he diverged farther from his previous alive state

The guards…they either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Or maybe they simply didn’t care enough to notice. 

Either way, the eating habits of a Death Eater had been low on their list of concerns. 

Draco was tired.

He thought he knew what it meant to be hungry. 

In fact, he just knew what it meant to be empty.

Okay your turn @edieblakewrites @sleepstxtic @fastbrother @dodgerkedavra @faiell @jelliewrites @its-the-allure + anyone else who wants to take out the trash!

[oflights]

no offense but im so excited for your veela harry fic i think about that snippet like twice a day. at least. xx

aww, thank you! i'm still working on it, it's just taking a little longer because it was supposed to be short and quick and fun and off the cuff and that is not my strength, haha. i do hope to have it done before the new zelda game comes out, though, because i feel like i will definitely not do any writing for a while after that...

anyway, have another snippet to tide you over:

Harry doesn’t even bother looking out the window—he throws himself out of the chair and stomps through the door, groaning out loud when he sees that Ron is right: there does appear to be a large hot air balloon in front of Harry’s house, tall enough to be seen down the road, boasting a brilliantly green, blue and brown peacock feather pattern along the envelope. Gritting his teeth, because he’s had absolutely bloody enough of feathers, Harry stomps further down, wand in hand, patience gone.

Behind him, he can hear Hermione yelling for him to wait, Ron swearing after them both, and then her pounding, slippered footsteps, but Harry ignores them to stand behind the balloon just as a blond-haired figure pops out of the basket, yanking on a cord above and muttering indiscernibly.

“Oh, what the hell,” Harry says as he recognizes the back of Draco Malfoy’s head.

“Potter!” Malfoy says, whirling around in surprise, before recovering and pasting on a bright, very white smile—the kind of smile that makes Harry want to refer his supervisor for teeth-whitening charm tips. “I mean, Harry. Hello.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Malfoy says, spreading his arms wide. He’s wearing very fine, lightweight summer robes in a shimmery, luminous blue with sleeves that drape a bit and silver clasps all up the front. They make Harry scowl because on most people—on Harry—they would look ridiculously gaudy and over-the-top, but on Malfoy they just look natural and effortlessly stylish. His hair has the same exact quality, artfully arranged on the top of his head and moving with him instead of looking as though it’s trying to escape him the way Harry’s always had before this nonsense.

He looks dressed-up, handsome, and attention-grabbing, and yet nothing about the reason he’s here is obvious.

Harry folds his arms across his chest, steadfastly ignoring the small crowd they’re starting to draw—held back a bit by the wards that Malfoy had somehow managed to punch through.

“It’s really not,” Harry says. “Get this thing off my lawn.”

“Ah, well, if you’d move around this way—” Malfoy gestures grandly around the basket, indicating the direction of Harry’s house. “—things will soon become clear.”

“No.”

“Very well. Love conquers all, even the stubbornness of a beautiful Veela.”

“A what Veela?” Harry yelps, but Malfoy ignores him, which is much more par for the course of their adult existence. Harry’s only seen Malfoy in passing since their eighth year, when they’d pointedly avoided each other while edging around the lingering echoes of the war. Malfoy had his friends and Harry had his and things were calm, peaceful, without all that fighting. Boring, Harry wouldn’t dare to say—boring had been a good thing that year, just like it’s quite nice these days. Harry would kill for boring right now.

The small, gathered crowd has grown to include a slightly out-of-breath Hermione and Ron still in Hermione’s now-lengthened dressing gown. Malfoy’s gaze clearly sweeps over this and his mouth twitches for a long moment, lips pressed together so tightly they’ve gone pale, but he busies himself with his raised wand and muttered incantations.

Harry watches as the balloon gives a whirring spin around Malfoy, basket and envelope and all, to rotate completely; Malfoy whirls around when it comes to a stop and yanks on the cord he’d been messing with earlier, unfurling a long banner attached to the very peak of the balloon. Gasps sound throughout the crowd, and Hermione says, “Oh no,” in a muffled sort of way that suggests she has her hands over her mouth, but Harry can’t look away from the banner to confirm.

Scrawled across the banner in glittery golden handwriting are the words HARRY – WILL YOU BE MINE? There are shining silver hearts drawn in swirls surrounding the words and animated drawings of white doves fluttering around.

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry says, throwing his hands up.

[lqtraintracks]

hello! for the ask game i'd like to request: drip, noise or croon

Hi there! :D How about ‘drip’ and a little sex worker Harry from Heart Like Neon (excerpt is explicit):

“Do you like that?” Malfoy’s words drip down on him, and Harry doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even want to lie about it. He lifts his mouth and whispers, “Yes,” then laps under the crown in a way that has Malfoy inhaling sharply, before Harry takes it down again.

It’s not long, not long at all, before Malfoy says, “Potter…”—a breath, a sigh, fingers sliding tight into Harry’s hair again.

It’s an undeniable thrill. Harry takes Malfoy by the hips and bobs his head. Nice of him to warn Harry, of course. Exceedingly considerate. But there’s no way in hell Harry’s going to lift off now, not unless it’s what Malfoy wants. And it’s not. No, he wants to see Harry swallow it. He wants to see it drip down his face. At merely the thought, Harry moans again. And this is what sets Malfoy off.

[itsphantasmagoria]

Weekday Snippets

Thanks for tagging me @appleslightning ❤️❤️❤️

The ones on the right are smut and are heeeeeavily cropped lol

Tagging whoever wants to do this! (I am tired and brain cells aren’t colliding right now)

[basiatlu]

✨️Sunday WIP Snip✨️

Thanks to @vukovich for the tag! Here I come strolling in with an hr-ish to spare (for my timezone at least)

Here are some out of context thumbnails, some unused sketches, and some preliminary drawings for stuff and things and bits:

[olivers-cocoapuffs]

Teddy glances between Ron and Draco before extending his arms towards Ron. Draco’s jaw drops in offence as Ron barks a laugh and takes Teddy out of Harry’s arms, settling back into his seat. Blaise wraps an arm around Ron’s shoulders, watching him and Teddy affectionately.

[faiell]

Trash Tuesday

ok yes it's Saturday, almost Sunday, but whatever!! thank u @kamaela and @phoenixortheflame for tagging me! this is a not edited, not fully-formed tidbit from a thing i wrote ages ago, from a longfic idea (HA) which idk what will happen to, so it may be trash or it may get rescued. ok whatever im doing it

“You’re not Harry Potter,” Draco said, gaze fixed pointedly away from the Auror who had just entered the room. He sat with as much grace as could be mustered in the stark steel chair that was cutting into his rear. His chin was balanced in a considering manner against one hand, and he leaned his shoulders forward, just so—a practiced pose, as if he were entertaining guests in his own parlor. The only thing that belied his current situation was the pair of crude iron shackles around his wrists. 

It was honestly barbaric--Draco could feel his magic withering up inside them. And although the humiliation was nothing new, it still burned.

He distracted himself from it by circling his fingers over the faint indents pockmarking his side of the table. Bite marks, he realized, as he traced a divot that seemed very canine. Leaving them there was surely just an intimidation tactic. The DMLE was not so full of incompetent bastards that they couldn’t set it right with a simple Reparo.

The Auror took the seat opposite him. “You’re a criminal. You don’t get to make demands.”

Draco’s lip twitched, and he finally gave the Auror a once-over. She seemed young—a rookie, then. He let out a dramatic sigh and leaned back, pulling on his shackles so that the chain snaked to the floor with a loud rattle. “That’s word for word what the last one said. Does Robards train you all to be copies of the same person?”

At his taunting of her superior, she flushed, and the knuckles of her hand went white. Hot-blooded twats, the lot of them, he thought. Draco’s lip still stung from what the last Auror had thought about his smart-mouthed comments.

“You talk big, but I know who you are,” she said, turning up her nose at him. “You’re just some washed up Death Eater.”

She was too young to really know what that meant. Draco gave her an icy smile. “Correct. And you’re just the person stuck here with me until Potter arrives. As I’ve said repeatedly, I won’t answer questions to anyone else."

She sniffed. “Sure. If he’ll even come for the likes of you.” 

“He’ll come,” he said. 

She shrugged, and, mercifully, decided to disregard him from that point onwards. He was thankful for the silence as he sat there, ignoring the growing pit in his stomach that came with waiting for The Boy Who Lived (And Who Probably Still Hated Him). Her last jab had been uncomfortably close to the possibility that was now gnawing at Draco’s core—Harry could very well ignore his plea and refuse to question him. Then Draco would be well and truly fucked. 

He could only hope that Harry had changed his mind in the weeks since their confrontation—that he’d decided Draco was worth giving another chance to, or at the very least, worth a listen.

Mostly, Draco thought it would be nice if Harry would look at him one more time.

okay i'll post a lil bit more from this :/ i found some more non-cringey parts. throwing the trash at yall.

“Malfoy,” sighed Harry. He rubbed at his eyes before settling down in the seat the other Auror had just vacated. “There had better be a good reason for this.”

“You came,” Draco said, immediately diverging from the script he’d written in his head during the last hour. 

Harry gave Draco a little smile, the kind that tugged up only one side of his lip. “Almost didn’t. But it’s not every day Draco Malfoy turns himself into the DMLE for, what was it?” He read out loud from the little file in front of him. “Unauthorized production of controlled potions.”

Draco shrugged, trying not to be disarmed by Harry’s unexpectedly mellow behavior. “I expect they’ve already ransacked my flat by now.”

Harry turned a page in the report and nodded. “They did. And you know what they found?”

No, he didn’t. But he could imagine.

Any levity on Harry’s face had vanished. He pinned Draco with a furrowed gaze. “Dark Magic, Malfoy. Lots of it. Your entire place was a death trap. The first two Aurors to arrive on scene are at St. Mungo’s.”

“Merlin,” Draco breathed, eyes wide. “Are they…?”

Harry studied him for a long moment before he spoke. “They’ll be fine. They were smart enough to trigger the curse indirectly, though it still nearly blasted them to pieces. It seems they had some sort of warning.”

His hastily scribbled message had been somewhat heeded. Draco let out a small sigh of relief.

Harry folded his arms now, jaw setting in the way that it did when he was feeling particularly stubborn. He sounded reproachful. “Apparently, you’ve refused to say a word to anyone but me. Well I’m here now, so talk.”

Talking. That was usually one of his talents. Draco avoided Harry’s intense gaze, looking instead at an ink stain that marred the deep red robes near his elbow. He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated several times without managing to produce any sound. 

“You’re not going to like this,” he settled on finally, voice muffled while he rubbed a hand down his face.

tagging @pl0tty @smehur @sleepstxtic @jtimu @citrusses and anyone else reading this!! I LOVE READING THESE SO PLEASE TAG ME IF YOU DO IT so that i don't miss it!!