#i'm shoving malfoy at the muggle one

[fatesundress]

⭑ made with love. draco malfoy x reader

summary. it's winter, you’re sick, and draco is extremely rational a terrible, doting mess about it.

tags. fluff! so much fluff! married couple, gn!reader, lots of banter, post-hogwarts with one fleeting mention of the war, draco's anxiety is whetted by a common cold, he basically treats the reader like they hung the moon in the sky and also have the power to yank it down at any given moment. he's very grumpy. but so so in love.

note. my sweet anons!! i tried on three separate occasions to write the requests in my inbox but sometimes i need to be in the depths of hell (ovulation week) to manage smut. i'm sorry. i've made some progress i swear! but the draco hyperfixation came out of NOWHERE and unfortunately i had to indulge in it. also thank you so much for 200! :’)

word count. 1.6k

You are deplorable.

With a fever temperature of 40° and explicit instructions to stay in bed, you’re discernibly not in bed when he makes it home from the apothecary, a jumbled mess of the blankets he’d swathed you in left in your place. Your slippers are absent. Your slippers — in two feet of snow. Your coat is gone too, at least; ridiculously thick and unnecessarily long, though now he’s thankful for it.

Draco paces. Then he sets the Pepperup Elixir over a flame at his desk to keep warm, pours two drops of Sleeping Draught into a mug for your tea, and paces again.

He should have insisted on binding rings for your wedding, he thinks. Something to trace you in emergencies. There’s little to do without them as you’ve evidently either taken the Floo or Apparated, and, in truth, he can’t remember the last time he’s been this nervous. In school, perhaps? During the war? You have him comparing his nerves over a bad cold to those he felt during war. The insanity of that is actually not lost on him, if that counts for anything.

But you are deplorable, and his. His almost as much as he is maddeningly, irremediably yours.

How he allowed an aliment like this to infect him goes against all evolutionary sense. It’s a fever of its own. Incurable despite knowing its cause, and probably festering worse than yours.

And then the fireplace hisses and out you stumble with soot on one cheek and frost on the other, the neck of your coat zipped up to swallow half of your face. In an arm shoved deep in your pocket, a bag swings from the puffy coat crease of your elbow, and Draco baulks. It’s a muggle grocery bag — translucent enough that he can see the square imprint of your favourite sleepy-time tea, a chocolate bar, cans of what he thinks are soup, and — a lemon? Yes. A big miserable lemon that you’ve deigned was worth almost killing yourself over.

Draco does not hear whatever excuses escape your chattering teeth as he plucks your hand from its pocket, puts the bag down, pulls off your coat while you slap at his hands and insist you can do it yourself, and only because he thinks you’d hex him to oblivion if he tried, leads you with a hand on your back to the bedroom rather than hauling you into his arms and carrying you.

“A lemon,” he says, and is aware by the severity of his tone he might as well be saying a gun, or a missile, or a milk crate of Living Death cartons. “You forayed into a snowstorm for a lemon. Do you think I’m incapable of reading a grocery list? I just Flooed —”

“I got more than a lemon,” you huff in a weak voice.

It is appalling that that’s what you take from his admonishment.

Your snow-soaked slippers are tossed aside as you tumble into bed. Draco bundles you in blankets and holds his wand out to take your vitals. You roll your eyes all the while, but once the cold wears off he’s sure you’ll be burning hotter than you were this morning.

He shakes his head. “Lemons are common stock in apothecaries, you know. The shavings are essential in Weedosoros antidotes.”

“Yes, but they’re always so dry.”

“And chocolate — they sell it at Téa’s across the street for the magizoologists. Did you know that?”

“Hmph. No Cadbury, though.”

“And I’ve already warmed the Pepperup and poured you Sleeping Draught, despite your urgency for this —” He pulls the box of tea from your grocery bag, impressed with an image of a little bear with a red nightcap, a steaming cuppa, and a plate of biscuits — “Inarguably superior muggle panacea —”

“I never claimed it was a panacea —”

“Of which we should have distributed to St. Mungo’s en masse. In fact, I should owl them now so they’re informed the Sleeping Draughts are ineffective by comparison —”

“You’re insufferable —”

“Imagine all the orphans without rest —”

“Actually ridiculous —”

“You’re ridiculous. And I hate this bear. Look at his hat. Bloody Gryffindor.”

“Do you know what the wizarding world is lacking? — If you’re concerned enough to make a donation, Mr Malfoy?”

You think it’s hilarious to call him that. He does well not to mention you are, by law, also a Malfoy, and his money is your money to donate as you please.

“What is that?”

“Soup,” you say. “Canned soup — canned with love.”

“We are lacking soup canned with love,” Draco repeats, just to be sure.

“Yes.”

“I’ll be sure to write the Minister.”

“Do.”

“Only if you stay in bed.”

“Hmmm… mmmm… well. Hm.”

“Incorrigible,” he mumbles, brushing the damp from your face before getting up to fix your tea. (He kisses your cheek for good measure, big sop that he is. You do well not to mention it.) “Don’t move or I’ll cast wards on the fireplace.”

“Oh! Cast wards on the doors, too. I might go for a walk.”

He glares at you from the archway. Your answering laugh is broken by a coughing fit, and you look reluctantly glum when he raises a told-you-so brow.

Draco mutters about how ridiculous you are through the kitchen and back, as he steeps your tea, heats your soup, unstoppers the Pepperup Elixir, pours it in an old shot glass from a trip to Italy (you have no graduated plastic cups lying around), squeezes the big stupid lemon in your tea, carries it all to your bed on a tray and realises, still muttering, that these are a lot of steps. But Draco balances the tray without an utterance of magic. It’s rather impressive. You should be sorely sorry.

You are, instead, asleep.

You’re splayed across the bed like something Baroque, limbs fascinatingly posed: half under the blankets and half stubbornly poking out despite his fervent tucking, head nuzzled into the pillow with a slight frown. If Draco were any better with a camera he’d take a picture. Instead he takes careful steps to your bedside, placing the tray on the nightstand and sitting as close as he can manage without disturbing the (once more, revolutionary) arrangement of your legs. It feels criminal to wake you. His fretful anger that you’d gone out in the cold is whittled to a humiliatingly thin and empty husk, and all that remains is mushy adoration. Damn you for that; you look ridiculous anyhow.

Draco kisses your cheek again. Your nose. Your forehead. He traces an invisible portrait of your face with his fingers, as if he’s ever drawn anything better than nasty stick figures on crumpled parchment in school. You, though, he thinks he knows well enough by memory to try.

You stir, not too far from consciousness that it’s a challenge to find it again, but far enough to be audibly vexed by his summons to the surface.

Draco means to berate you in that way he's so good at — chin pointed and scowl permanently etched — but you grumble with a sick, hoarse voice and he falters in a pathetic display. “You forgot your love-suffused muggle soup,” he whispers, one hand cupping your cheek.

“Ugh.”

“Heinous, I know. Sit up for me?”

“Magic word.”

There’s his scowl. “Alohomora.”

“Not that magic word.”

“Imperio.”

“Unforgivables, Draco Malfoy?”

“Hmm, Locomotor Wibbly?”

You sink further into the bed, pulling the uppermost blanket over your head inch by inch. 

“Please,” he says, with profound displeasure.

You sit up and smile.

Draco sighs and lays the legs of the tray out over your lap. You regard his service with sleepy content, one of your hands travelling to his face in what his heart surges to appreciate is an honest thanks after his several near-heart attacks, and then your gaze finds the medically expert Pepperup in an Italian shot glass and it falls.

You groan. “Draco…”

His name says, quite plainly, please don’t make me.

Draco has enough self-respect to at least deny you this. “Wards.”

That says, quite plainly, I was not joking about the fireplace.

You look as though you’re contemplating the severity of two horrors, but it passes fleetingly, with one curse under your breath and a sour expression as you down the shot of Pepperup like… a shot. Burning Ogden’s that scrunches your face up until you shake it away with a blagh noise. 

Come to think of it, Draco's choice of glass is much more appropriate than some medical cup.

“Better?”

You shudder. “I will be.”

“Good. Have your love soup and stupid lemons.”

And then, when he isn’t expecting it, your hot palm finds the place it left off; Draco’s healthily warm, sharp cheek, the soft fuzz of hair beside his ears before your fingers card through the longer strands and you hum like he’s your favourite thing to hold onto.

He melts, eyes fluttering shut. You’re sick, and wholeheartedly deplorable, but you’re safe, and it’ll be alright.

“Draco?”

“Mm.”

“The soup.”

He opens his eyes. “The soup?”

“You know it was canned with love.”

“I trust you wouldn’t have bought it otherwise.”

“And,” you say, thumb flush over his bottom lip as you smile a groggy, self-satisfied smile, “it was made with love, too, right?”

He rolls his eyes, and kisses you nonetheless. “You never cease to ask absurd questions.”

[tomriddleslove]

Lie thou there, by a dead man interred.

✩Theodore Nott x Reader part 3 (final part)

Summary: The one where love is enough to drive a man mad, and Theodore is no different.

TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF ABUSE AND GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF TORTURE. PLEASE SCROLL DOWN TO THE VERY BOTTOM FOR A FULL LIST.

The dim lights of his dorm seemed all too bright as Theodore’s eyes fluttered open, a small groan escaping his lips.

His head was pounding, his mouth felt dry and every inch of his body ached profoundly. He mustered the energy to slowly turn his head, his eyes adjusting to the light. He can very barely make out the silhouette of Blaise sleeping in his bed.

“You’re awake.” Draco murmurs, getting up from the edge of his bed. He walks over to Theodore, who gingerly shuffles up. He ignores the way every muscle in his body screams at him with the slightest movement.

“You couldn't have taken me to the hospital wing?” He croaks, his voice dry, and a humourless laugh leaves Draco’s lips as he rolls his eyes

“And let Madam Pompfrey get an eye of the dark mark on your forearm? No chance.” He tuts.

Despite his seemingly patronising tone, the Malfoy boy eyes Theodore with wariness and what seems to be ….

Pity?

Why on earth would he feel pity?

“She-” Theodore breathes out, eyes widening as the image flashes in his mind.

Watching you being yanked up by his father's harsh grip, watching you getting dragged away.

“She’s alive,” Draco mutters.

Theodore wants to laugh. As though you being alive would bring him any comfort. Theodore was his own flesh and blood and his Father had no qualms beating him till he couldn’t move. What would he do to you?

With a firm resolve, Theodore throws back the covers, not batting an eye at the bruises that litter his body as he moves out of bed. His voice croaks as he speaks five words that he doesn't have to think twice to utter.

“I'm going to get her.”

Draco's voice cuts through the silence, tinged with frustration. "Don't be daft, Theodore. Get a grip. This,” He says, motioning around their dorm “ - is the lifestyle we live. It would have never worked with a Muggle-born girl."

Theodore's jaw tightens, his resolve hardening. "Don't tell me what's daft, Draco. You have no idea what it's like to love someone like her."

Draco scoffs, his tone dripping with disdain. "And you have no idea what it's like to risk everything for someone who will never understand our world. You'll be dead if you try and save her."

“This life isn’t worth living if not for her!” Theodore snaps.

For a moment, Draco falls silent, his usually sharp tongue rendered speechless. Then, with a shake of his head, he refuses to yield. "Absolutely not. You'll get us all in trouble."

Theodore scoffs, grabbing his wand as he tugs on a sweater.

“Try fucking stop me.” He spat.

"Are you really willing to throw everything away for her?" Draco's voice is tinged with desperation now, his usual cool demeanour slipping slightly under the weight of the situation.

But Theodore's resolve remains unyielding.

"Yes," he replies simply, his voice firm and unwavering. "I'll do whatever it takes to save her, even if it means risking everything."

His concern morphs into frustration, and he steps in front of Theodore, shoving him backwards.

Draco speaks, a venomous edge creeping into his usually arrogant drawl. “You’re willing to risk your life for a mudblood?”

Theodore’s fist connects with Draco’s nose in a sickening crack. Draco stumbles backwards, clutching his nose. Draco's eyes widen in shock and pain, his hand instinctively moving to his injured nose. His usually composed demeanor crumbles, replaced by a mix of surprise and hurt. But beneath it all, there's a flicker of something else – something darker, more volatile.

"You dare to strike me?" Draco's voice is low, his words seething with barely contained rage.

"You deserved it," Theodore retorts, his voice cold and unyielding. "You dare murmur a word of her again and so help me, I will fucking kill you."

The platinum haired boy falls silent, clutching his bloodied nose as he observes his usually lighthearted, and humorous friend.

His chest was heaving, his knuckles were busted, and his demeanour seemed almost feral.

It was rather terrifying how love could do that.

Without a second word, Theodore storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him as he clutches his wand. He hadn’t even stopped to think about the state of Hogwarts after the attack. Did his friends make it out alright? Did any teachers get harmed?

He was so caught up in pursuing you he didn’t think twice of anyone else. Did he step over the corpse of a friend looking for you?

His urgency is palpable, and he is sure if someone was here to witness it they’d be able to see it immediately. The door for the room of requirement is already there as he turns the corner, and he all but throws the door open.

He catches sight of the vanishing cabinet and wastes not a single second stepping inside. For all the times he had sat in this room for hours on end, watching as birds came back dead or mangled, he paid no mind to any risks. He lurches, and it all of a sudden feels like he's being compressed from every direction. The walls of the cabinet push into him, constricting his form, and for a split second, he wonders if something has backfired, if they had charmed the vanishing cupboard to not work in the opposite direction. As quickly as the sensation comes, it leaves, and he’s stumbling out into Borgin and Burkes, almost hurtling face first into a display of antique display plates.

The shop is eerily quiet, the only sound the soft shuffle of his footsteps against the creaky floorboards. The shelves are lined with oddities and curiosities, their dusty surfaces illuminated by the faint glow of enchanted lanterns. He pushes open the heavy wooden door, the cool night air hitting him like a welcome relief after the confines of the shop.

He navigates the labyrinthine-like streets with sickening familiarity, heading for the battered-looking pub held deep within the confines of the area.

The air is thick with the smell of stale ale and cigarette smoke, the patrons eyeing Theodore with contempt and curiosity as he strides to the fireplace.

“Nott Manor.” He mutters, the flume of floo powder billowing by his feet.

He stumbles into the familiarity of his family manor. Met with the chilling coldness, which never seemed to warm, his heart began pounding.

The drawing room is shrouded in darkness, the only illumination coming from the flickering flames of the nearby torches. The air is heavy and still, a palpable tension hanging in the air.

As Theodore takes a cautious step forward, the silence is deafening. His heart pounds in his chest, the sound echoing in the empty space of the grand room.

But then, amidst the silence, he hears it – a faint cry, barely audible over the hushed stillness of the manor.

At first, Theodore's mind struggles to process the sound, dismissing it as a trick of his imagination. But then it comes again, louder this time, unmistakable in its desperation and pain.

His heart lurches at the sound, one he swore he’d never have to hear. Your cries tear away at him, making him feel sick to his stomach.

His feet slam against the marble floors as he sprints towards the noise, and the sounds of your screams getting louder and louder by the second stimulate the adrenaline that courses through his veins.

Dread coils in the pit of his stomach like a serpent, tightening its grip with every step. The sound of your cries echoes through the dark corridors, haunting him with its intensity.

When he finally reaches the door, there's no mistaking it.

It's the very same room he was locked in for hours on end as a child whenever he’d misbehave.

It was the same room he’d scream in when his father used the Cruciatus Curse on him for the tiniest of things.

It was the same room he lay in, bloody and bruised mere hours before he returned to Hogwarts that fateful day to find you in a similar state, all at the hands of his father.

Did you know that was his blood dried up on the floors? Did you have an image of him screaming out in pain in that very same room?

He throws the door open with little to no regard for who could be there. Damn whoever it was, even if it was the dark lord himself, Theodore would murder them with his bare hands.

He could not possibly fathom what it would look like.

There was so much blood. Too much. Copious amounts of it pooled around your bruised form. You can't even lift your head up, pained whimpers escaping your lips as you lay limp on the stone floor. Theodore’s father doesn't pay attention to Theodore's arrival, not until he finishes stomping on your hand, the sickening crunch of bones breaking drowned out by the hoarse cry that escapes your lips.

“You actually came for the filthy thing? Here I was, thinking you'd have some sort of sense knocked into you.” He sneers as he turns to face his son.

To say Theodore was seeing red was an understatement.

No, Theodore was filled with a visceral rage so strong he could feel it emanating off him, to the point where he was sure he could snap his father's neck with his own hands.

“Avada Kedavra,” Theodore mutters without a second thought, though his father just narrowly manages to miss it.

Theodore's father recoils in shock as the green light of the Killing Curse narrowly misses him, the deadly spell leaving a scorching trail in its wake. His eyes widen in horror, his features contorted with rage.

"You dare?" he snarls, his voice trembling with fury. "You dare raise your wand against your own flesh and blood?"

But Theodore is beyond reason, consumed by a blinding rage that threatens to consume him whole. His chest heaves with every breath, his muscles tensed and ready for another attack.

"You're no father of mine," Theodore seethes, his voice low and dangerous. "You're nothing but a coward, a servant to the Dark Lord's whims."

Theodore's father's face twists with fury at the accusation, his wand raised in a defensive gesture. "You insolent brat," he growls, his voice thick with malice. "You have dishonoured this family. Over a mudblood, no less. You are no son of mine."

With a flick of his wrist, he sends another curse hurtling toward his father, but his father is quick to react, deflecting the curse with a well-practised flick of his own wand. There is an endless barrage of spells, sparks crackling against the confined space. Theodore's wand mainly emits green, aiming to kill.

“ENOUGH.” Theodore’s father roars, casting a stupefy so strong Theodore slams into the wall. His head smacks against the concrete, and a small groan escapes his lips as he slumps down to the floor. He can barely open his eyes, no, it all hurts, but his mind screams at him to get up when he sees your near unconscious figure slumped on the floor.

Theodore struggles to open his eyes, his muscles trembling with exhaustion and pain. His father's voice cuts through the fog of his mind, each word like a hammer blow to his already battered senses.

"You see what your foolishness has brought upon you, Theodore?" his father sneers, his tone dripping with disdain. "You're weak. Pathetic. A disgrace to our family name."

He walks towards Theodore, paying no regard to you as he does so.

‘Yes!’ Theodore thinks to himself ‘come for me, forget her’ he pleads internally.

“A muggle-born," he scoffs, his lip curling in disgust. "And you have the audacity to love such filth? You're no better than the mudblood herself, Theodore."

He crouches in front of Theodore, staring down at him with contempt.

“You see, son. They’re like a virus. They infect our society, ruining our pure lineages. This-” His father stars, motioning around him, “- is what they do to us. So we need to cut them out. Remove them from our lives. The dark lord is correct, it is not enough to simply ignore them, we must remove them before the threat furthers.”

“Fuck… you…” Theodore manages to choke out, ignoring the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.

His father sighs as he gets up, looking over to your form.

“I hoped for better from you, son. I thought you'd come to your senses, but no. I disciplined you, Theodore. I taught you not to be weak like your mother, yet here you are.” He admonishes, turning back to Theodore.

“Perhaps then I ought to give you a nudge in the correct direction, no?” He mutters, and Theodore can only comprehend what he means when his father raises his wand to Theodore and speaks.

“Imperio.”

He feels as though there’s a thick fog that envelopes his mind. Like he’s spectating in his own body. He tries to move a finger, to lift a hand, to do anything, but he cannot. It's a horrible feeling, worse than any torture he had endured.

Theodore had only been under the Imperius curse once. It was mere days after his mother's death, and his father had to cast the curse on him to stop him from lashing out and breaking down. He didn't have to do anything overtly bad, no, all he had to do was attend the funeral without acting out. But the feeling of having all your autonomy being taken away from you, to be completely and utterly helpless, was so horrific he didn't speak for days on end when it was lifted.

“Stand up.” Theodore’s father utters his voice low.

That was another thing about the Imperius curse. It controlled the body, and not the mind. Theodore felt every agonising inch of pain as his body moved on its own accord, and there was not a single thing he could do to stop that.

Theodore feels a kernel of terror gnawing at his soul. It's a primal fear, raw and unrelenting as if he's staring into the abyss and there's no one there to pull him back from the brink.

The most terrifying thing was that Theodore’s father didn't need to speak the commands out loud for Theodore to obey him. He fights tooth and nail to stop himself from moving, but he can only pray that as he approaches your battered form, you heard Theodore's father cast the Imperius, so you know it wasn’t Theodore’s doing.

He watches helplessly as his own hand reaches out, grasping your hair with a cruel force that makes your tears spill over. Theodore's heart shatters into a million pieces at the sight of your pain, but he's powerless to stop himself.

His eyes meet yours, and he sees the fear and confusion reflected in them. He wants to scream, to beg for forgiveness, but his voice is lost in the void of his own mind.

With a sickening lurch, Theodore's body moves of its own accord, his foot slamming into your ribs with a force that sends you reeling. He feels the impact reverberate through his own bones, but it's as if he's watching from a distance, disconnected from the horror unfolding before him.

Every fibre of his being rebels against the violence he's forced to inflict upon you, it's a sickening feeling, worse than any torture he's endured, knowing that he's being used as a weapon against the person he loves most in the world.

Your pained sobs echo off the stone walls, a result of Theodore’s failure to protect you reflecting back on him.

He’s paralysed by his own powerlessness, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of you curled up around yourself on the floor, and it’s not the first time he’s been in this room praying that he simply stopped living.

“Come now, Theodore. Why are you playing so nicely?” His father jeers, a sickening sort of satisfaction in his voice as Theodore rises, beginning to move again.

He feels a surge of revulsion as his fist connects with the side of your face, a sharp cry of pain escaping your lips as you double over in agony. Theodore wants to scream, to tear himself away from the nightmare that holds him captive. But it was all his fault, wasn’t it? He was the one who stupidly, and selfishly, loved you. He was the greedy one, who wanted you even though he knew he may end up putting you in danger. He was weak, and he was pathetic.

If it was his hand that harmed her, he would have to chop it off.

If it was his tongue that harmed her, then remove it from him.

If it was he who hurt her, then let death be an undeserved mercy.

“You know what I want you to do, Theodore.” His father murmurs, an almost melodic lilt to his voice as Theodore rolls you over, slamming your shoulder into the floor as he settles his weight on top of you.

“It’s cathartic, son. You’re purging yourself of this virus. You have to do it yourself to learn that it’s a messy business.” He continues.

Theodore feels sick to his stomach, bile rising in his throat as he stares down into your tear-stained eyes, your face bloodied and bruised from the violence he's been forced to inflict upon you.

Every fibre of his being screams in protest, his mind a whirlwind of revulsion and despair. His body moves of its own accord, his hands closing around your throat with a sickeningly tight grip.

Your struggles beneath him only serve to fuel Theodore's torment, each gasp for breath a dagger in his soul. He wants to cry out, to beg for forgiveness, but all he can do is stare down into your eyes, pleading silently for you to understand.

One of the first things of Theodore’s that you fell in love with were his eyes. They were betrayingly expressive. Before the two of you had gotten romantically involved you’d constantly tease him for how his eyes betrayed his otherwise stoic demeanour. They were an almost mesmerising shade of blue that were so enchanting you were sure he had to have some sort of veela ancestry.

Those same eyes, the ones that you’d gaze into so lovingly when you'd lie under the stars by the black lake, a half-smoked joint passed between you, now held a coldness and emptiness that betrayed the boy who loved as if it was breathing. No, this was not Theodore, even if he had the same sharp jaw, the same handsome face and unruly hair.

“It’s- Okay-” You choke out, as though you can hear Theodore's thoughts. You felt your windpipe being crushed under the force of his hands, unable to look away from the sight of the boy you loved.

You had long accepted your death the very second you cast the stunning spell that knocked Theodore backwards when he so rashly tried to save you that day in Hogwarts. You didn’t need to think twice to do such a thing. Heaven forbid someone noticed Theodore was actively fighting against his father to save a muggle-born girl.

He would be subjected to horrors worse than anyone could imagine. It was the only option in your mind. Theodore had so much to live for. So much to do, to achieve. He was brilliant.

And you were weak. Because part of you also knew you couldn't even comprehend living a life without Theodore. No, you couldn’t.

But as much as you had come to terms with your death, it still didn't stop you from clawing at Theodore's hands when the lack of oxygen became critical. The human instinct to fight for survival always overpowered the will, and the sight of you trying to fight back was even more heartbreaking.

“I’m- Not-” You choke out, desperately trying to reach a hand out to cup Theodore's face. Your hand trembles as it does so, making contact with the smooth skin on the side of his face as you look up at him.

His hand remain constricted around your throat, squeezing harder, but you feel wet tears fall onto your chest. Not yours, but his.

You were too good for him. You really were. How could you forgive him? How could you stare into his eyes and tell him you loved him as he wrapped his hands around your throat?

Tears slip from his eyes, betraying the hold of the curse, but it's the only rebelling he can do. He cannot move his vice-like grip from you, and he wants to hurl when he sees your face turn slightly red.

Theodore's heart feels like it's been ripped from his chest as he hears your choked words of forgiveness and love.

‘Don’t forgive me. Damn me to hell, please. Curse me, say you hate me’ He wants to plead, because he feels pathetic, knowing you still loved him. He was undeserving of such love.

“It's okay,” You murmur, your words simultaneously a soothing balm that calms his soul and one that reminds him repeatedly of his own shortcomings.

You manage to muster a small smile, the corner of your lips turning upwards barely as you stare into the eyes of the boy who, for love, was the very reason you felt as though you started living and the very reason you'd stop living too.

And all you could wish for was that you didn't have to stare into the eyes of this stranger before you, but his eyes instead.

Darkness creeps into the edges of your vision, and your body feels as though it's on fire, screaming at the lack of oxygen. You almost fall into a state of resignation, falling limp against him as you feel your consciousness begin to slip.

Every attempt from Theodore to loosen his grip only makes him tighten it further. As he watches the life drain out of your eyes, he feels it draining out of him too. It tears Theodore from the inside out, It's a sensation akin to drowning, the weight of your fading life pressing down on him with an unbearable heaviness.

Theodore cannot bear to see your eyes flutter shut but he can’t bring himself to look away.

Somehow, by some sick, cruel trick of fate, he freezes up when he feels you stiffen and then fall limp beneath him. Your chest stops heaving, and your hands fall from where they clawed at his hands.

Your heart stops beating, and his does too.

Always seconds too late.

Theodore cannot recall the last time he hadn’t been drunk, high, or a combination of both. Really, there's not been a second that he's been sober since that day.

He had been placed under strict watch by his friends, never left alone for even a second since the day Mattheo found him surrounded by bottles upon bottles, unresponsive on his bed. He couldn’t bring himself to move, to even think. Every breath he took left a profound ache in his chest like there was a weight that threatened to crush him.

He couldn’t bring himself to attend your funeral. Whilst everyone else in the castle made their way down to the wake, Theodore had stumbled up to your empty dorm, with your belongings all there as though you were due to walk through the door at any second, collapsing onto your bed as he wept. It was Blaise who had to keep watch of Theodore that day. Surprisingly, all his friends attended the wake.

Theodore screamed at Blaise, pure agony in his voice.

“GET OUT.” He sobs, throwing one of the decorative vases in your dorm at Blaise. He barely flinches as it shatters on the wall behind him, rather he looks at Theodore with such sadness you would think he had lost Theodore that day as well.

But they had, hadn’t they? This boy, this was not Theodore. He no longer laughed, nor did he relentlessly wind up the rest of them. This was an empty shell of who Theodore used to be.

Theodore had buried his face in your covers and sobbed until his throat was raw. It was so bad, he had to be stunned and carried back to his bed.

Blaise doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what he saw that day. He had never seen such defeat, such hurt and rage in a single person. Mere seconds after the imperius was lifted. Theodore slaughtered his father with such unrestrained rage it was grotesque. For all the jokes, the laughs, and the optimism in light of the worst situations, seeing his close friend kneeling in a pool of blood, slumped over the body of his lover as he wept was a sight that would forever be burnt into Blaise’s mind.

There was no doubt in his mind that news about the cause of Tiberius Nott’s death had circulated among the followers of the dark lord. Theodore was a dead man walking, and it was only a matter of time before he would face the consequences of his actions.

Theodore could only hope that day came quicker, though. It may as well have been as if the Imperius was never lifted that day, because he felt like a zombie, here against his own will.

He only breathed because his body made him do so, not because he wanted to.

He only lived because he had to, not because he wanted to.

TRIGGER WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH.

Mentions of Child Abuse, Torture and substance abuse.

My Dm is always open for anyone who needs to talk ❤️.

@mildlyuninformative @chgrch @gillyweeds @anti-hero03 @schaebickel @lillywildly @multifandom-worlds @batmandabest @always-reading

[heli-writes]

Seven summers, part 4.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female!reader

Summary: Every summer, Draco and y/n meet. First, by pure coincidence, then intentionally. Unbeknown to Draco, y/n's a muggle who has no clue he's a wizard. With the rise of the dark lord, how long can this go well?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fifth summer, July. (still)

Suffocating warmth. Y/n tries to shift, desperate for fresh air, but something is holding her into place. One of Draco's arms is wrapped around her firmly. She can feel how he snuggles his face into her hair. She manages to turn around in his arms. Draco groans in protest. Y/n starts peppering soft kisses along his jaw and then pushes her face into his chest. "Mornin'", Draco says groggily. "Good morning.", y/n chirps in a muffled voice. "What time is it?", Draco asks and reaches for his watch at the nightstand. "I don't care.", y/n mumbles and pulls him closer. When Draco finally gets hold of his watch, he groans in annoyance. "We need to get up or we'll miss breakfast.", he tells y/n. "I don't care.", y/n repeats, "I don't want to get up". Draco chuckles and ruffles her already messy hair. "C'mon, we can't spend our last day here laying around.", he tells her. "Actually, yes, we can. And actually, maybe that's exactly what we should do. I mean we don't get to do this again until... until whenever we can lie to our parents again, I guess.", y/n argues. "We can meet again some other time this summer.", Draco soothes her. Y/n immediately rips away from his soft embrace. "Really?!", she asks him excitedly. Draco smiles. "I mean... yes, right? We're boyfriend and girlfriend now. We should see each other as often as we can, right?", he asks her mischievously. Y/N nods frantically. "Absolutely!", she agrees. Draco sits up, as does y/n. "Then let's make the best of today and meet again soon for everything we didn't get to do today!", he tells her. Y/n sighs dramatically. "I guess so.", she says and rolls out of bed. After brushing her teeth and quickly putting on some fresh clothes, y/n follows Draco to the breakfast room. They're served by floating tableware and y/n has to suppress her instinct to gawk at the self-filling cups and plates in awe.

"So, what are you up for today? Anything you'd like to do or see?", Draco asks her while shoving some baked beans into his mouth. Y/n puts down her fork and thinks about it for a minute. "We could take a look around Stonehenge.", she proposes then. Draco nods in agreement. "Sounds like a good plan.", he says. They quickly finish their breakfast. Y/n proposes to take the bus at which Draco snorts. However, considering that he hasn't learned apparition yet and also wouldn't be allowed to use magic outside of school, he eventually agrees. On their way to the bus station, they stop at Tesco and get some sandwiches and snacks to have a picnic later. On the bus, Draco is surprisingly anxious even though he would never admit it. "Have you never been on a bus before?", y/n snickers. Draco shrugs. "I've been in a car before, though not voluntarily.", he tells her. Y/n grabs his hand in reassurance and tells him about a trip she took with her parents on a bus.

Little over half an hour later, they arrive at the historic site. At the ticket office, they pay the entrance fee at the ticket office. "They make us pay for this? Unbelievable.", Draco huffs. "Well, somehow they need to maintain the place.", y/n says. "That's crap. They're turning a profit. No muggle should have the right to exploit a magical site like that.", he grumbles. Y/n almost chokes. Stonehenge? A magical place?, y/n thinks to herself and looks at the giant stones. "Draco, I'm actually not familiar with British history. Can you tell me a bit about the place?", she asks him. She's too curious about how the place connects with magic. "Well, about 4000 to 5000 thousand years ago, witches and wizards that settled in the South of England erected the stones. It was a place for magical rituals and magical culture. Even today, at midsummer night, witches and wizards from all over the world travel here to perform magic.", he tells her. "Wow, I had no idea.", she tells him in awe. Draco nudges her. "Don't you feel the buzzing of magic all around you? It's ancient, I can feel it.", he points out to her. Y/n stares at the stones intensively. Nothing. They're just a bunch of big stones to her. She turns around to him. "This place is amazing!", she beams.

They spend some time walking around the area designated for tourists. Y/n spends her time reading the little information signs that inform the visitors about the history of the place. Of course, witches are not mentioned in any of them. Draco keeps spacing off while looking at the stones. Y/n guesses he connects to the place differently than her. In the afternoon, the two have a picnic at one of the picnic sites. Draco sneers at the sight of the muggle families and y/n feels uncomfortable about it. She really wants to tell him about the muggle thing but she feels like she's into deep now. She's afraid he'd break up with her and they never see each other again. After lunch, Draco pulls her to a less crowded place. They wander around and joke around until the sun starts to set and the tourist leave the place. They get comfortable close to the stones and watch the sunset. When it has gotten dark, they build a small campfire and roast marshmallows over the open flame. Meanwhile, Draco tells her all kinds of fantastic stories about the place his mother used to tell him before going to bed. Y/n snuggles up to him and listens to his stories like a child who's been told fairytales for the first time. She can't help but feel jealous that Draco gets to live in this fantastic, magical world while she's stuck in a world that sucks the fantasy and imagination out of children during their very early years.

She sighs and shivers. It's suddenly become quite cold and the fire does little to warm her. Draco's going on about a story of a witch who supposedly resurrected her child among the stones in front of them. Y/n snuggles closer to Draco and lets her eyes wander over the scenery. Suddenly, a flickering shadow above them catches her eye. It looks like a man in a long cape, she thinks. No, actually it looks like a ghost but instead of a white bedsheet, it's wearing a black one. Suddenly every hair on y/n's body bristles. She's having a really bad feeling. "Draco, what's that?", she asks him and points towards the ghostly silhouette above them. "What do you mean? There's noth-". Draco's sentence gets stuck in his throat. Immediately, he jumps up and pulls y/n with him. "Dementor!", he hisses breathlessly, "What is this thing doing here?". Y/n watches the black creature in terror. That's the thing that can suck your soul out of your body, she remembers. Draco immediately pulls out his wand and raises it in defense. The dementor notices them and swooshes down to them but doesn't attack them. Y/n feels like throwing up. "Y/n, quick! Your wand! Do you know the patronus spell?", Draco hisses. Y/n is paralyzed. She's incapable of moving and she doesn't know if it's her own fear or the creature in front of her or both. "Fuck, why don't they teach us apparition earlier!", Draco swears. He starts rummaging through his pockets. "Y/n, quickly, distract it. With a fire or ice spell.", he orders her. "Y/n!", he yells again but y/n remains unresponsive. "Fuck!", he swears and pulls her along. He throws an opened bottle with something green inside at the campfire and green fire erupts from the small fireplace. "This is probably not part of the floor network but hopefully we get out somewhere. Y/n think about the inn, then jump into the fire.", he says. This rips y/n out of her trance. Jump into the fire? Is he crazy?, she thinks. The dementor floats closer and seems to take a deep breath. "Y/n, go! Go!", Draco yells and pushes her into the bursting flames.

When y/n was little she loved to watch all kinds of cartoons. She always thought it was very funny when characters were shrunk and flushed down the toilet. Right now, she doesn't find it funny at all. Because she feels like she's been flushed down a toilet. She tries to focus on the inn, like Draco told her. Before she can fully realize what is happening to her, the green fire is gone and she stumbles out of a fireplace. "What the heck? What are you kids doing?", an agitated voice complains. Behind her, Draco also falls out of the fire. Y/n scrambles onto her knees and tries not to throw up. "What do you think this place is? It's a bed and breakfast, not a playground for you kids to do as you please!", the voice continues to scold them. It's Goover, y/n realizes after a second. Draco is quicker to get onto his feet. "There was a dementor!", Draco yells, "We must inform the ministry!". Y/n manages to find footing and lifts herself off the ground. "Dementors? What are you talking about, boy? This isn't Azkaban!"", Goover continues his rambling. "It's true, I swear! We just managed to get out of there. Why else do you think we ended up in your living room?", Draco says angrily. Y/n takes a closer look at her surroundings. They're actually in a living room that looks like it's located in the inn. "You are talking nonsense, boy! Now get out of my living room before I contact your father!", Goover threatens. Draco's face goes white and he grabs y/n's arm harshly. He pulls her out of the room and up the stairs. Y/n just follows him. Somehow, she dreads what comes next.

"What the hell, y/n! What were you thinking?", Draco starts yelling at her when they're back in their room. "I-i don't know...", y/n stutters. She still feels so unbelievably cold even though she literally traveled through fire just mere minutes ago. "Yes, clearly you didn't know. What on earth are they teaching you in Ilvermorny? Don't you know any basic defense spells?", Draco hisses. His hand is still wrapped around y/n's arm painfully strong. Y/n pulls at her arm and Draco lets go of her. "Seriously, you didn't even pull out your wand. What kind of witch does not think to do that?", he argues. "I-i was scared...", y/n tries to argue back but her voice sounds meager. "Oh, I'm sorry, y/n, you were scared, of course!", Draco says. His voice is harsh and angry. "It's the first thing you learn in school! Always keep your wand close!", he says and crosses his arms, still holding his own wand. "Where do you even keep it? Don't tell me you keep it somewhere you don't have immediate access to!", he continues to scold her. Y/n's heart sinks. Please don't ask me to show you, y/n begs internally. "Show me! You can't be this defenseless!", Draco orders. Y/n looks like a deer in headlight. "Draco... I-i don't...", she starts but doesn't know how to end her sentence. How can she explain to him that she lied to him all this time? "What? Y/n, where's your wand?", Draco continues to demand. He can see that something's wrong. He suspiciously observes her. Y/n kneads her own hand nervously. "Draco, you see... I don't have one...", y/n finally manages to choke out. Draco looks at her dumbfoundedly. "What?", is all he gets out. Y/n shrugs helplessly. "What do you mean you don't have one? Every witch has one. Where is it y/n?", he says, suddenly feeling nauseous. Y/n doesn't meet his eyes and just lowers her head in defeat. "Y/n... you're a witch, right? You go to Ilvermorny School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, right? Your father works for the Macusa, doesn't he? You said he works at the embassy!", he says almost horrified and desperate at the same time. Y/n can feel tears burning in her eyes. This is not how she thought it would be. She hoped that she could let him down gently. "Y/n! Say something!", Draco croakes and shoves her shoulder. Helplessly, y/n just looks at him with tear-filled eyes.

Draco looks at her for a solid minute before saying in disbelief: "You're a muggle". Y/n can only nod in silence. Draco rubs his hand over his face. "N-no... that can't be right...", he mumbles to himself and starts pacing the room. "I can't... This cannot... My parents will...", he rambles to himself and y/n can't help to watch him silently. Draco abruptly stops. "I can't do this.", he announces and starts rummaging through his bag that he dropped by his bed last night. He pulls out another bottle and puts some green powder into his hand. He shoulders his backpack and leaves his suitcase unnoticed on the other side of the room. "Draco!", y/n finally gets out. Her voice sounds hoarse. Draco finally turns to her. His face contorted in anger. "D-don't! You're not even supposed to be here! You can't be here! If anybody finds out...", he says not finishing his last sentence. "I won't tell anybody!", y/n argues desperately, "I haven't told anybody the past years!". Draco balls his hand into a fist. "That doesn't matter! I-i... I need to go.", he says and turns towards the fireplace. "Wait, you can't leave!", y/n yells but Draco already threw the green powder into the fire. The room is suddenly illuminated by green light and before y/n has a chance to say something else, he's gone.

Slowly, the green fire goes back to normal and warm, orange flames brizzle in the dark room. Y/n chokes and tears start to overflow. She sinks onto her knees and presses her arm against her mouth in an attempt to silence her sobs. She starts to sob uncontrollably and doesn't manage to calm down for a while. When she eventually gets a hold of herself, she loudly says into the empty room: "I need to get out of here". She quickly grabs all her things and carelessly pushes them into her suitcase. She shoulders her bag and then rushes to the door. Before she pushes down the door handle, she stops. I need to be quiet, she thinks. She looks around the room for a last time and then pushes the handle down as silently as she can. She tiptoes through the hallway. When she walks down the stairs, she stops at every squeak of the old wood beneath her feet. Her heart is beating a thousand miles per minute. She can't face Goover. Who knows what that guy will do when he finds out she isn't a witch. Probably hand her over to the magic police or something. When she manages to reach the front door, she bolts. She doesn't stop running until she reaches the train station. She sits onto her suitcase in front of the building. What on earth is she supposed to do now?, she thinks. She takes out her phone and checks her appearance in the reflection of her dark screen. She rummages through her bag until she finds some makeup wipes. She quickly cleans her face and slaps her cheeks. In an attempt to wake up from the nightmare she just experienced or to redden up her ghostly-white cheeks, she doesn't know. She checks her train app. There's one last connection to London, thank god! She'll call her parents when she arrives in London. If she calls them now, they will try to persuade her to go back to 'Olivia'.

She buys a ticket via the app and waits between two columns for the train. She really hopes no security guides are patrolling. They will definitely ask questions on why a minor is outside alone this late. She probably makes a pretty miserable sight. Looking all disheveled with her red eyes and everything. While waiting for the train, y/n's thoughts are racing. What will happen now? Will she see Draco again? Will he tell anybody? Will some wizards come to her house and get her and her family in trouble? Y/n can feel another crying fit coming. She swallows it down. During the train ride, she stares out of the window numbly and tries her best to dissociate. Upon her arrival in London, she phones her parents. The second she hears her father answering the phone, she's sobbing. Eventually, she makes clear to him where she is and they come to pick her up. Her mother stays on the phone with her the entire ride and when she finally sees their car pulling up, she practically throws herself into her mother's arms. She sobs uncontrollably and can't get any coherent sentences out. Her father is angry, she can see that. However, upon seeing his daughter's disruptive behaviour, he bites down his anger and helps her into the car. There's no conversation during the car ride home. Her mother takes her upstairs to her room when they arrive at home. While y/n is lying in her bed wide awake, she can hear her parents having an angry conversation downstairs. She'll have to come up with a good explanation until tomorrow morning.

She presses her pillow against her chest. She's been in trouble before but somehow it never felt like this. Suddenly, she feels incredibly alone. Hiding her face in the pillow, she wishes for nothing more but that Draco was with her. She can still smell his cologne lingering in the shirt she's wearing. You stupid, stupid idiot, she tells herself. Of course, it would end like this. You know how he thinks about muggles since the very beginning. You're such a fool. Did you really think he was so in love with you that all of this wouldn't matter? You lied to him and you probably could get him into serious trouble. Y/n can feel her pillow get wet with her tears. She didn't know her heart could feel like this. She read a bunch of books about tragic love stories. Nevertheless, no story in the world can prepare you for a real heartbreak. By the ache in her heart, y/n is sure about two things: firstly, y/n's feelings for Draco were true and secondly, she will never ever feel like that for a person again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tag list: @gypsylilim @caffeine-addict-slug @huiiline @rclector @am0iur

[Please leave a note if you'd like to be tagged too.]

[sweet-s0rr0w]

Microfic: I Must Be Lonely

A late birthday microfic, written for the wonderful @getawayfox (look, it balances out @wolfpants' gift which was a couple of weeks early, alright? That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.) Happy happy birthday to fandom's loveliest quadruple threat (writer, artist, reccer, beta/cheerreader). I hope you had a brilliant day! <3

T, 1.8k, no warnings. @drarrymicrofic prompt Simple. Thanks to @tackytigerfic for Irish picking and usual brilliance. This one is also for everyone else who hates night shifts!

Another night shift at the Ministry security desk. If boredom doesn’t get you, the vampires probably will, Draco thinks, sourly. That’s at least half exaggeration, though: Sanguini and his colleagues are always impeccably behaved, hurrying between meetings with barely a glint of incisor on show. But the boredom: now that part’s no joke. Nothing much happens in the Ministry after hours – by midnight, even the most dedicated workaholics have reluctantly ducked into the Floo, leaving Draco to his books, or his fantasy Quidditch, or (briefly and unsuccessfully) his crochet. Sometimes he gets lucky – a disaster necessitating the presence of the on-call Mishaps and Maladies team at the Ministry, perhaps, or an international visitor who’s messed up the time difference – but for the most part it’s lonely work.

Every night, Draco watches as two of the house elves work their slow, methodical way across the Atrium floor from either end, mopping and polishing and casting anti-slip charms until they meet just in front of his desk, some time around five o’clock. Things always get better after that, with the sun rising in the charmed windows and the slow downhill slide until six-thirty, that blessed hour when Draco mumbles his greetings to the day staff, pulling the hood of his robes up to cover his tired eyes, and slopes off towards the Floos.

Midnight until five, then, that’s the difficult time. That’s the hungry but nauseous time, the clammy but shivery time, the grumpy, gloomy, desperately weary time. Helpfully, it’s often the time the morons from the DMLE show up, high on adrenaline and testosterone and god knows what department-approved stimulants, and often, inexplicably, looking to chat utter rubbish.

“Hey! Everyone, look, it’s Malfoy!” bellows Finnigan, his voice rattling through Draco’s skull after three hours of total silence. He marches up to Draco’s desk, at the head of a group of what might appear, at first glance, to be drunken teenagers, but which Draco knows is actually made up of fairly senior Aurors. “How’re things, Malfoy? Ministry treating you well, I hope?”

Draco straightens his robes, shoving his folded up copy of the Prophet out of sight.

“It’s been a good day, Malfoy,” Finnigan continues, clearly not interested in waiting for Draco’s response. “A bloody good day, you know?” His grin is wide and toothy as he thumps his clenched fist against his chest and flings his head back. “Another victory in the fight for truth and justice, and all that’s―”

“Alright, Seamus,” says a voice from the back of the crowd. “Leave him alone, yeah?”

“Hey! Harry! Here’s the hero of the hour! C’mere.” Finnigan tucks a firm arm around Potter’s neck, pulling him forwards, until he’s shoved up against the front of the reception desk, smiling apologetically. “See,” says Finnigan, and his pupils are barely visible when he leans closer, “another bunch of Muggle-hating scumbags behind bars, and it’s all thanks to Hazza here. Good triumphs over evil again, and the world—”

“—hang on Seamus, isn’t that stuff classified?” cuts in Longbottom – who, as far as Draco can tell, is still every bit as much fun as he’d been at school.

“Oh, give over, Neville,” Finnigan spits, mercifully turning away from Draco, “I didn’t say who it was, did I? Classified would be if I’d said oi, Malfoy, d’you know they’re running a Muggle fighting ring out the back of the Reaper’s Arms—?” There’s a collective groan. “What?”

“You’re such a twat, Seamus,” says a short-haired witch next to Neville, folding her arms.

“Oh, I’m a twat, am I?”

“Yeah. You are.”

Then someone else starts up, voices crowding over each other in an unbearable racket. Draco rests back in his chair, closing his eyes, his tired mind picturing the little yapping Crups that Mother’s friend Verity used to bring over; the ones Mother pretended to coo over even while they left puddles of piss on the Persian carpet.

A shadow falls across his desk: it’s Potter, leaning forwards, blocking out the harsh glare of Lumos off the wall tiles. When Draco blinks and looks up, he finds that Potter’s shivering a little, his hair damp and stuck to his forehead. “Sorry about that lot,” he says, softly. “You know how they can get.”

“It’s fine,” Draco says, tightly. “Nice work on the, er, Muggle fighting stuff. Sounds pretty impressive.”

“Oh, cheers,” says Potter, with a shrug. “Just doing my job, you know how it is.”

Draco looks down at his desk: the bonsai yew that reminds him of home, his stupid cheap silver-plated letter-opener-cum-emergency-vampire-repellent, the battered copy of Birdsong he’s been slogging through for two months straight. “Not really,” he replies, shrugging.

“Ah, you’re not missing much. Five minutes of excitement, tops; I’d take a good Seeker’s game over that any day. But, you know—” he glances back over his shoulder, “—truth, and freedom, and all that rousing stuff from the superhero films Seamus watches. How’s your shift going, anyway?”

“Not bad,” Draco says, sitting up taller, sliding the Prophet back into view. “By the way, who’ve you got down for third Chaser? I’m stuck between Lyons and Campos.”

“You should go with Beni, definitely. Ollie’s been raving about his form all summer.” Potter leans over even further into Draco’s space, pushing his glasses back up his nose as he squints down at the page. “You got Chang down for Keeper?”

“McFarlane.”

“McFarlane?” Potter laughs, incredulously. “Seriously? Bloody Magpies fans. Completely deluded, the lot of you.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Well, Potter, I guess we’ll see.”

There’s a scuffle in the background, followed by cheers. “Coming, Harry?” Finnigan calls, wiping blood from his lip. “Hey, Malfoy, we’re heading out after this. It’s House night at XPulso; they’ve got three for ones on Rusty Nails, and we’re going to get Harry here laid.”

Harry stiffens, his eyes widening. “Er—”

“Yeah, I’ve got your back, mate. Maybe we can sort Neville out too, if anyone’ll have him.”

“I’m married, you knob!”

“You should really come along, Malfoy. It’ll be a laugh.”

Potter, still with his back to Finnigan, makes a faint choking sound.

“Sadly, Finnigan,” says Draco, trying to avoid Potter’s eyes, “I’m afraid I’m stuck at this desk for the foreseeable. But you lot have a great time. It sounds… memorable.”

Finnigan just shrugs. “Ah, your loss. C’mon then, boys.”

“Boys?”

“It’s just an expression, Davis, what d’you—”

They’re off, finally, all backslaps and hooting laughter, and no-one’s looking at Draco anymore, which is a small mercy. Potter reaches down to steal a crisp from the unopened packet at the back of the desk. “Anyway,” he says, mouth full, breath salt-and-vinegar scented, “’s been good to see you, Dra – Malfoy.”

“Yeah,” says Draco, glumly, and he hates himself for envying them all. “You too.”

***

Draco tries not to think about Potter, he really does. It’s hard, though, not to wonder what he’s doing – who he’s dancing with, where he’s sleeping – when all you’ve got for the night’s entertainment is Miffy and Jinks, a dodgy alarm on Level Five, and yesterday’s Prophet. He dithers for a while over his Fantasy Quidditch choices, trying to pretend he doesn’t care what Potter thinks, then Diffindos the completed page carefully out of the newspaper and tucks it into his pocket. Both house elves make it across the floor without incident. Through the window behind his desk, Draco watches the sun begin to rise over Salisbury Plain, as slowly, grudgingly, night gives way to day.

“You off?”

It’s his replacement; showered and shaven and far too bright. Draco nods grimly at him.

“Anything to report?”

“Nothing.” He gets to his feet, rolling his shoulders and renewing the Protego on his tree, grateful, as always, for the speed and convenience of the Floo. Five minutes from desk to bed, via blackout charms and a good Silencio; that’s the way to do it.

Something’s off today, though – Draco can tell, as soon as he lands, drained and unsteady, on his hearth. The heating’s already on, for one – he can’t see his breath in the air, which is a welcome change – and hang on… is that the smell of bacon? His nausea evaporates, instantly, as he follows his nose, half in a dream, only to find—

“Morning.”

Potter’s standing by the hob, grinning, and the flat’s a little more smoky than usual, but there’s eggs frying, and sausages on the grill, and just then the toast pops up and, well, Draco could just about kiss him right now.

So he does.

“Oh my god,” he says, when Potter pulls away, popping a crispy bit of bacon into Draco’s mouth instead.

“Good?”

“Oh my god,” Draco says again, salt flooding his mouth. “But what – what are you doing here?”

“Well, I was up all night too. You’re sleeping today, I’m sleeping today – I thought, well, this way at least we get to sleep together properly for once. And I know how hungry you get after night shifts. Here.”

Dizzy with tiredness, or the cooking fumes, or possibly something else entirely, Draco takes the ketchup over to the table, then slumps down hard into a chair. Potter brings over the plates, pulls his own chair in close.

They eat in comfortable silence, and it’s only once Draco’s blissfully full of sausages and buttered toast and beautifully seasoned egg, that he finally works up the courage to speak. “So Seamus’ efforts failed, I take it?” he says, lightly.

Potter snorts. “Shut up,” he mumbles, through a mouthful of beans. “Seamus passed out after the second round of shots. The rest of my night was spent escorting him back to his cousin's house on the Knight Bus. Why,” he says, grinning, “were you actually worried?

“Of course not,” Draco replies, too quickly, then sips his orange juice to try and disguise the lie.

“That’s good. Because I want to tell them, Draco.”

Draco freezes, glass in hand.

“No, I mean it,” Potter says, dropping his knife to take hold of Draco’s forearm. The Mark aches like a bruise, but beneath Potter’s fingers, the pain’s almost sweet. “Look, you know what those shifts are like; you know how they make you feel. The raid, and then getting everything wrapped up, and then seeing you at that bloody desk – the last thing I wanted was other people’s hands on me, Draco. All I could think about was how sick I am of acting the part, of pretending I’m interested, when what I’m really interested in is…” He gestures at the room, at their plates, then, finally, at Draco. “This. You.”

“I—” Draco begins, and if his voice is a bit wobbly, well, he can blame that on the tiredness, can’t he? Beside him, Potter's resumed blithely eating his bacon, eyes heavy-lidded, as though nothing he’s said was at all out of the ordinary. Draco swallows. “They’ll say you’ve lost your mind,” he says, pressing his socked foot against the knob of Potter’s ankle.

Potter nudges him back. “Well, maybe I have. Working nights will do that, after all.”

[sunnylands-world]

something about !forced proximity! hits really hard! aaannnnnddd what if they’re not fond of each other toooo…

lots of angst..lots of guilt and then ofc fluff😘

Can't stand being away from you

Pairing: draco x female reader, husband draco x wife reader

Summary: you and draco were always meant to be in each other's space you just didn't know it yet...

Word count: 1'104

Warning: mean draco, annoying draco, fat shaming, forced proximity, chubby reader, plot twist

Universe: harry Potter

A/n: I don't how I feel about this tbh but it's got the key things in the request. Tell me what you think in the comments ♡

Trip's aren't ideal for Hogwarts but they decide to do one and of course you get partnered with draco. A part of you wanted to say there was nothing wrong with him, but there was…

He lived rent free in your mind and not in a good way. That stupid airy laugh he'd do to get his friends to laugh with him, the dumb hairstyles that never stayed the same, and his unnecessary obsession with bullying the trio; I mean you were the muggle born with old clothes you were a perfect target but he didn't bother you! not that you wanted him too or anything…

"Anything but that," Draco whined, pulling his luggage behind him. He stared with fascinati- angry as he looked you over. He could smell the lavender from your hair, see the redness from your chapstick, and worst of all he was near you and your weirdly styled clothes.

"It's only for the night, stop your whining," Snape snapped at him walking towards his room. Draco pushed the door open, eyes widening with a distasteful look on his face.

"This cannot be happening."

You blinked rapidly trying to make your mind process this. One bed, one bathroom, one tv, and well one everything. You inhaled, exhaling as you said

"it's only for one night." Not missing the loud sigh Draco let out. The hours consistented of you unpacking and looking over the map for the hotel, It wasn't long before you decided you wanted to shower but it seemed Draco had the same idea.

"Don't you dare," you warned but Draco smirked, turning towards you.

The two of you locked eyes that soon turned to thin slits then it was on…

you and draco ran for the small doorway, both of you pushing on another till the other fell. You looked like fools grunting and shoving like it was the last shower you'd ever take. He made it inside with a chuckle but as they always say, never turn your back on your enemies…

you came running for his side causing him to let out a squeal as you pushed at his firm waist. He tripped on the door lining falling onto the hotel carpet as he shot you a glare. luckily you made it inside, pushing the door shut as you slid down catching your breath.

"You clearly need it more, you smell like you roll in flower fields!" Draco called, but he wasn't sure why that didn't sound like an insult.

He rolled his eyes, still pissed that a girl had beat him at something.

She didn't beat me, this isn't a competition, I'm clearly stronger!

You emerge from the shower, waffering the room with the smell of your body wash and shampoo. Draco took in your appearance with a slight hum before facing the screen. You hadn't paid any mind to what he was watching, grabbing a book from your bag and taking a seat in a chair nearby. You didn't bother thinking about the sleeping arrangement, it was better not to yet anyway.

The procrastinator in you couldn't be bothered to fight Malfoy about it. You sighed, fixing your legs up on the table, head resting against the wall as you opened your book to the chapter your book mark held when all of a sudden the volume of the TV seemed to be easing its way up. You shut your book looking over at Draco in his PJs.

When did he change?

"Do you need the TV up that loud?" You asked as politely as you could. He shot you a smug smile, pink lips tugging at the sides mischievously.

"Yes, I hope you do understand. I'm hard of hearing. It sounds so quiet." His voice rang with fake panic matching the act on his face.

You hummed. "Funny. I don't remember you struggling to hear at school," you said smirking.

"What was that? I can't hear you, you sound so far away." he looked around like he'd lost a small child.

"But you just responded?" You stated, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry darling will have to continue this conversation when the show quiets down," he pouted.

You opened your mouth before closing it. You hated how he got under your skin and made you feel as though you needed to reply. You only hoped the night passed quickly.

And just like that the sky was dark blue. You yawned, closing your book standing as you walked towards the bed. Draco shot you a dirty look and pulled the blanket up. You stood blinking, waiting for him to move but he didn't, he just Chuckled.

"You don't exactly expect me to lay next to you do you?" He asked, sitting upwards. You look puzzled.

"Where do you think I'll be laying then?" You snapped.

"make a mat on the floor. Besides, you couldn't fit next to me anyway, you're far too big for that."

Ouch.

You sighed taming the unwanted tears trying to leave your eyes. You grabbed your sweater, bunching it into a ball. You gently laid on the floor, the wood like ice against your skin. The heater wasn't even working properly as the night grew darker. You were pretty sure your teeth were chitting loudly as goosebumps from the cold covered your skin.

Your body shivered as you tried to breathe steadily to stop the slight shaking.

You curled tightly cursing the hate that was filling your head. You tried not to cry but everything was against you like you'd lost control. The tears ran down your face like rocks on a hill that you were chasing. It was impossible. The tears dried fast staining your cheeks with the reminder.

You weren't sure if Draco was asleep or awake because it was quiet minus the occasional feet moving through the hall.

He wasn't asleep.

His mind was stuck on what he said to you. He knew it was cruel to say but he couldn't have you think he liked you because truthfully he did. so he had to make every lit insult he could to cover the chance of you realizing it. You were sadly suffering which made him suffer having to hear and cause it. He was being stubborn.

What was the harm in you knowing how he felt?! There really wasn't one, he was just afraid of what it would cause if his father and friends knew he fell for a girl who was not only muggle but also was a person in the shadows, with no popularity, no family business, just a girl with two parents scraping together what they could.

He admired it really, how you grew up with only books as company and barely had a change of clothes. It was refreshing compared to the girls he usually was around. No appreciation, no care or kindness because everything was replaceable for them, money was there and people who would give up family for their places in high class; but then there was you.

Worrying about spills and splashes on your clothes despite the smallness and holes they had, book bags on both shoulders, hair a bit messy because you couldn't afford the products in the stores that fixed it. everything about you was something that stood out and made everyone in a world of riches look poor.

You turned a bit sighing as darkness finally whisked away the nightmare.

When morning came you were in bed. A blonde haired boy snuggled into your chest, an arm around you, hand resting comfortably on the extra of your belly. He sighed dreamily before pressing a kiss to your exposed skin.

"When you're done staring at me will you lay back down completely so I can pull you closer," he groaned and you let out a Chuckle.

"Sorry, I was dreaming about the first time you and I shared a room like this," you muttered, making Draco frown in his sleep. He opened his eyes, blue oceans in your view. "I'm sorry, my love, I never meant it. I was just…"

"I know, I know you say it all the time," you run your fingers in his Bright blonde hair. "So in love you that you tried to hide it" you finished, laying back down.

"I couldn't not share a bed with you. you're so much more comfortable than the bed itself," he whispered and you smiled closing your eyes.

Draco lovers and requests

@alexxavicry, @sarahthehuffpuff, @supercoffeeblogs, @thatwattpadobsessed, @kyracanwrite, @animeloverfreak310, @imafangirl22, @phildunphyisadilf, @jac1ndaa, @lovelycassy

[shockinglyangel]

THE SLYTHERIN BOYS REACT TO YOU PIERCING THEIR EARS

NOT PROOFREAD

DRACO

Draco threw himself back on the bed, his hand loosening his tie as he tried to calm himself down. "it hurts!"

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the next needle, trying to pull the boy back up with his shirt. "You said you wanted them done, malfoy"

He whinced dramatically as he sat back up, his face scrunched and eyes watering.

You grabbed him by his arm and pushing the next needle into his ear, immediately placing the piercing in as quick as possible before draco's dramatics took place.

You watched in boredom as he fell back onto the bed, his hand finding his ear as he rolled around.

"jesus christ Draco."

THEO

You slapped theo's arm as he leaned back down to the floor to grab his drink. "For the love of god, will you stay still."

Theo rolled his eyes and shoved the drink into your face. "I'm thirsty!"

You huffed and continued making his earlobe, your tongue poked out in concentration.

You were soon interrupted by Theo outstretching his tongue into his glass.

"What are you doing now?"

His eyes looked at you with guilt and he placed his tongue back in his mouth, watching as you moved back slightly. "You told me to stay still."

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes to try to stay calm. "drink."

He smiled and placed the glass of water to his lips, drinking the smallest amount before placing it back down on the table.

You smiled as he sat still again, your hand going back to his ear to mark the spot another time, Theo deciding to bend over and grab his panini from the ground.

"THEODORE!!!"

BLAISE

He wouldn't let you do it.

(I also ran out of ideas)

MATTHEO

"This'll be a piece of cake." Mattheo smirked, leaning back so he was pushed against the side of your bed.

You smiled while grabbing the needle, your free hand cleaning his earlobe with the small wipe the kit had provided you with. "i'm sure it will."

You placed the needle to his ear, mattheo's head falling back onto the bed as he closed his eyes, his hands behind his head, he looked so peaceful.

"One, two." You pushed the needle into his ear on two, his body jilting as his eyes opened suddenly.

He sat himself up and watched to where the needle remained in his ear. "You bitch!" He got up and ran towards the mirror, his hand rubbing the redness.

"Don't call me a bitch!" You scoffed, walking over to him with the jewlery in your hand.

"That fucking hurt." He stared at his red, hot ear in his reflection.

You rolled your eyes and pushed the piercing into his lobe, him whining at the feeling, "pussy."

LORENZO

Lorenzo sat eagerly next to you, he'd been reading some muggle magazines and had found that men with ear piercings was currently beginning to become quite popular.

"I'm gonna look so hot." He smiled, his hands placed im his lap as he sat slumped forward, him watching in the mirror as you cleaned and marked the spot that you needed to pierce.

you nodded, placing the needle in his ear before pushing it in.

He went slightly before reciting the lyrics of his favourite song while taking deep breaths.

You were surprised with his reaction, pushing the piercing in. "He was surprisingly good." You raise your eyebrows to fix the piercing.

"I'm such a macho man." He turned to look at you with a loud smile on his face.

"A bit far, love. "You pursed your lips and smacked him lightly on the back, him staring at himself in the small handheld mirror in front of him.

TOM

You sat on Tom's bed, placed on bent knees with a slightly large needle in your hand "please." You pouted.

Tom shook his head, playing close attention to the parchment on his desk, scribbling something with a quill. "No."

You huffed and sat yourself back on his bed, your legs now crossed over. "I'll do that tongue thing you like." You smirked, tom stopping what he was doing and turning around.

He rolled his eyes and put the quill back in his holder, making his way over to you and sitting on the edge of the bed.

You bit your lip to hide your smile and climbed over to him.

He looked off into the distance, his eyes finding the green wall as you cleaned his earlobe. "You make me feel like a prositute."

You laughed lightly, placing the needle on his his ear. "good, you're gonna look like one with this earring."

You pushed the needle into his lobe, him turning to look a dead expression. "don't say that."

[folklaur21]

Muggle Music & Movies

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x gn!reader

Summary: The son of one of the most Blood-Proud families in the Wizarding World gets caught with a Muggle device.

Warnings: None, just fluff <3

Word Count: 874

Draco Malfoy is part of the most notorious Pure-blood families of the Wizarding world. It's common knowledge that him and his family are not fans of anything Muggle. It's how they were brought up, and how their lifestyle will be.

You thought Draco was the same; cruel, cold, and extremely anti-Muggle. That was, until, you caught him in an abandoned classroom, in quite a compromising position.

"Oh, sorry Malfoy I didn't mean to intrude, what are you- IS THAT A WALKMAN?"

Draco Malfoy's head snapped up to look at you and he shoved the Walkman into the pocket of his robe, before sharply getting up and darting towards you.

"No, I don't know what you're talking about." He stares at you, questioning whether you are going to continue your interrogation. Obviously you are.

"Umm, yes you do! That was a Walkman, I had one for my 16th birthday a couple months ago. Why do have a Muggle device?"

At that comment, Malfoy shoves you into the wall, and covers your mouth with his hand. "Shut up." He realises how close the two of you are, and takes a few steps away from you.

"OK, you need to calm down. I'm just asking." You try to shrug off his reaction, but you still have more questions. "Why are you, of all people, secretly listening to Muggle music?"

Draco sighs and turns back towards you. "Do you promise not to tell anyone? Especially not my friends? And my father won't hear about this?"

"Yeah," you raise your eyebrows, "I won't tell anyone."

"The music is actually really good. My father wouldn't let me take Muggle Studies as a class in third year, but that Granger girl did, and I heard her talking about... Muggle things."

"OK, so you secretly bought a Sony Walkman?"

"I saw it in a Muggle charity shop in London when I was on my way to Diagon Alley. I just thought it would be cool. The gadget already had these songs on it." He shows you a list of 10 songs in a tidy scrawl.

Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana Creep - Radiohead Iris - Goo Goo Dolls Boys Don't Cry - The Cure Times Like These - Foo Fighters The Winner Takes It All - ABBA Wonderwall - Oasis I'll Be There For You - The Rembrandts Livin' On A Prayer - Bon Jovi Girls & Boys - Blur

"Why do you care about me?" You hear Malfoy say, very quietly.

"Well, I care because you go around screaming bloody murder about Muggle-borns, and here you are on a Saturday afternoon, hidden away in an abandoned classroom."

"It's complicated. I actually think things like this," he pulls the Walkman out of his pocket, "are really cool. We don't have this kind of magic as wizards."

"I guess. I've never really thought about it like that." You walk over to one of the desks and sit on the table. "My mum's a Muggle, you see. I was brought up on Chocolate Frogs and Disney films."

"What are Disney films?" Draco asks, confused. "Is that like, another sweet?"

"Oh. My. Gosh. You've not heard of Disney? Or films, for that matter?" You suppress a small laugh.

"Well, I did just mention that my father was a controlling, anti-Muggle lunatic. So, no I don't know what films are." The coldness that you knew as Draco Malfoy started to peek through at this comment, but not enough for you to be deterred by his response.

"OK, I am definitely bringing in my projector. And a Disney film." You stop and think for a moment. "What kind of things do you like? Animals, magic, princesses?"

This was how you ended up in your dormitory on a Friday night a week later, led on your bed with Draco Malfoy, watching Bambi.

"What just happened? Where's his mum gone?"

You turn around to see Draco's eyes welling up, and looking confused at the moving picture on the screen.

"Umm, yeah, she dies Draco. The hunters got her."

"That's awful! This is a kid's film! What children enjoy this?"

Right. Maybe Bambi wasn't a good first choice for an introduction into Disney films. You definitely should have gone for The Little Mermaid.

"But, Draco watch."

The two of you finish watching the film, but Draco still seems hesitant.

"See Draco, it has a happy ending."

"Yeah, but his mum still died. How would you get over that?"

"I don't know Draco, but that's not the point of the film. It's about friendship, and development, and love."

"I still don't think it's acceptable for children." Draco huffs indignantly.

"Draco, wizarding children's stories involve RIPPING PEOPLE'S HEARTS OUT and even BEING MURDERED FOR POWER. How is this unacceptable?" You sigh, mostly joking.

Draco doesn't say anything to that comment, but a moment later he asks. "Can we watch another next week?"

You turn to him surprised. "Really? You enjoyed this? I thought you said it was unacceptable for children..."

"Yeah, but... I like spending time with you."

At this, you turn around and face Draco, looking into his eyes. "I like spending time with you too."

Draco pulls you in towards him, and your lips meet.

"Maybe," he thinks, "being caught with my Muggle music wasn't so bad after all."

[limetameta]

I need tombraxas fics and your opinion on it

I'm about to go OFF under the cut so beware

If you're looking for HEALTHY tombraxas I can offer you the following:

TOM RIDDLE HATES SOCIAL MEDIA

Summary: They're in high school it's modern au, the most dramatic thing that happens is that they know Walburga Black in person, who's trying to be an influencer. This is the cutest tombraxas I've ever written and I love it so gosh dang much. They're just so soft with each other and they love each other like lovesick teenagers can. Tom is a lil repressed and scared because he's a foster kid and Abraxas is a nepo baby and that's bound to create problems, but Abraxas is just so SAFE for Tom.

TOM RIDDLE THE IT GUY

To this day I believe I've peaked with this writing and that I'll never write anything funnier. Take the Riddle era kids, age them up, and shove them in a no magic office au. I'm laughing as I'm writing this honestly every time I remember this fic I giggle.

NOW IF YOU WANT TOMBRAXAS AS KIND OF THE DRIVING FORCE FOR PLOT, BUT SEEN FROM AN OUTSIDE PERSPECTIVE MAY I OFFER YOU:

KNIGHTS AND (PRINCES)SES:

Voldemort Wins the 2ND WAR AU - Ginny falls in love with Luna, but parallel to them Tombraxas is out here being divorced toxic and learning to reconcile because Luna is Voldemort's favourite student and Ginny is Abraxas' favourite student. I like this fic a lot. MAINLY because I love writing Voldemort wins fics that make Voldemort depressed.

THE ARITHMANCY FIC

Trans Harry AU. Abraxas is SICK AND TIRED OF DIVINATION. HE'S GONNA GET VOLDEMORT AND HARRY POTTER TO FUCK OFF WITH THEIR PROPHECY BULLSHIT IF IT'S THE LAST THING HE DOES. Featuring Voldemort being very domestic with Abraxas.

NUMBERED DAYS

Every adult in Harry Potter's life has failed him as a mentor figure. Enter Abraxas Malfoy, who's like I BET I CAN SPEEDRUN my man Tom winning this war and not having him deal with Harry Potter - I'LL BECOME A PROFESSOR AT HOGWARTS! SECRET MARRIAGE TROPE, VOLDEMORT AND ABRAXAS DISS DUMBLEDORE FOR HAVING A GAY RELATIONSHIP LONGER THAN HIS ONE SUMMER ROMANCE ASS. Harry Potter is not harmed. Who knew that was an option???

SNAPSHOTS

This is a story of tombraxas as told through a series of moving photographs.

RUIN

The first time I ever wrote a fic with tombraxas in it (Abraxas doesn't appear, but Voldemort talks about how that peacock man can get it)

it's old 2016 writing tho so beware.

YOUNG SNAKES

Albus Dumbledore gets sorted into Slytherin and how this changes the course of his life. Tom/Abraxas are side characters but they're together and it's clearly stated in text.

TOM RIDDLE SR.

Tom Riddle Sr raises his son. His son is gay for the peacock man, but this story focuses more on the father son dynamic than on them.

SIBLINGS

Hermione time travels to the past and acts as Tom's sister. Tom is flustered by Abraxas lots in this fic and they are together.

NOW ONTO MY MORE EXPERIMENTAL WORKS THE ONE WHO BRINGS COLOUR

Voldemort dies as per canon but he winds up in a hellish world devoid of colour and his senses. As he travels farther and farther out and gains more of his senses, it isn't until he finds Abraxas that colour returns to his life. I like this fic a lot.

THE CHANGELING

Tom Marvolo Riddle (the human) is switched at birth with a fairy changeling. The Fairy AS TOM RIDDLE grows up in muggle london and goes to Hogwarts and has a liaison with Abraxas and becomes Voldemort and all that. Meanwhile Tom Riddle (the human) grows up in the Fairy world and fucks shit up for the Unseelie Queen. I like the prose in this one a lot.

AWARENESS

Voldemort and Abraxas in this fic are not endgame but they are together. Endgame for Voldemort is finally being happy and healthy. For Abraxas it's Minerva. The two of them are still very much clearly codependant on each other and very open, and they do fuck.

AND NOW!!! FOR THE CREME DE LA CREME, FOR THE OP OF ALL MY TOMBRAXAS FICS, THE HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION, THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE, THE MAGNUP OPUS OF MY AO3

RETIRED PROMETHEUS

FUN FACT: The very first fic Abraxas ever appears in my writing, the one that set the precedent for all the other Abraxas in my works FIRST APPEARED IN Retired Prometheus - the LONGEST TOMBRAXAS FIC WRITTEN ON FFNET AND AO3 to date. This fic has truly taught me so much about writing. These two in this fic are so deeply convoluted and yet in love with each other in a very toxis way. I adore them. I adore the messiness, the codependence, the nobody will ever love you as I love you, my love for you is monstrous, but that's fine, I'll love you with all of my monstrous being. Everything that you see in the fics listed above this one CAME as a direct influence Retired Prometheus had on me. This is the OG. This is the abyss that stared at me and had me churning out Tombraxas fics for YEARS. This is the, even though I'm a terrible human being, I deserve to be loved, too, and nobody can do it better than you, you, Hercules, who've come to rescue me from myself, from my punishment from the Gods.

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter sixty-six // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: 

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 4.1k warnings for this chapter: none, but Christmas??? if that triggers you at all

my lovely beta reader 💕 banner credit @cafekitsune

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Sixty-Six:

Christmas day starts just like any other winter day here at the cottage. Thomus and I keep each other warm under the covers at night, so in the morning the first thing I do is start the fire in the living room. Then it’s over to the kitchen to make my family’s usual Christmas day breakfast of cinnamon rolls, although I have to make them from scratch because the Wizarding World has yet to discover the magic of canned dough. I put on a Christmas compilation record, hoping it’ll put me in the holiday mood.

Thomus gets up later than I do, and he finds me shoving cookies into little Christmas themed plastic gift bags I’d found in a drawer when I first tore through the kitchen. Cookies into one bag with the cherry pie bar in one of its own, both twist-tied together. 

He pours himself some coffee and rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he studies my spread. “How many of those are you making?”

“What do you mean?” I ask. 

“I only mean there’s not that many of us.”

I look down as I finish bag number 7. I’m only half way done. “Something tells me you’re forgetting the House Elves under your quote unquote ‘employ’,” I say. “I don’t want to leave them out.”

He sits down at the table, sliding his mug into the only available space. “You have a real knack for making me feel like a self-absorbed git.”

I shrug. “That, my friend, is empathy, probably laced with a bit of guilt, too.”

He snorts softly and shakes his head, raising his mug to his lips. “And a Happy Christmas to you, too.”

I give a tight-lipped smile, still not actually feeling very happy today - despite the music. “Happy Christmas.”

“Did you open your gift?” he asks, and that makes me pause.

“What gift?”

Thomus gets up from the table and brings back the box he’d placed next to the tree last night. As he hands it to me, I notice my name scribbled in a corner. I lift away the lid and pull back some tissue paper to reveal an Olympus OM-1 film camera. It’s bright and shiny, the body small in comparison to its lens. 

I slowly run a finger over the silver plating and glance up at him shyly. He's patiently watching me, waiting for a response, and I'm anxious because I'm not quite sure how to respond. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything.”

“Don’t be,” he says quickly, seeming genuine. “There isn’t much you could give me.” He nabs my favorite cookie, popping it into his mouth, and groaning after a few chews. “Actually you should make me a batch of these.”

I can’t help but let out a small smile. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He stretches an arm to the island counter, where the cinnamon rolls are, and plucks one off the plate. “I got an owl from Astor this morning. He’s invited us to a gathering tomorrow.”

“A gathering?”

Thomus nods, taking a bite. “You know, for Christmas. A small one.”

I internally sigh. “I’m assuming he wants me to serve?”

“No, actually. According to his letter, you’re a regular guest.”

I raise my eyebrows in disbelief and my tone doesn’t betray any actual excitement. “How nice.”

~*~

When I get ready for Christmas dinner at the Manor, I make sure to cover the dark veiny lines around my eyes with foundation underneath my winged eyeliner. Thomus said he told Narcissa that I had my sight and voice again, but I’m not sure how much truth she actually has. 

I dress in a burgundy blouse with an open black sweater and meet Thomus on the landing. He’s wearing a black suit jacket with a dark green sweater underneath. I don’t resist my urge to reach out and touch the fabric. It’s soft and feels so good on his chest, especially when I snake my arms under his jacket and press my cheek to it in a hug. His arms go around my shoulders and squeeze me against him. I breathe in his apt smell of pine and cedar.

I don’t feel so alone when I’m hugging him, listening to him breathe and his heartbeat steadily under my ear. 

“Darling?” he murmurs after an admittedly very long moment. 

“Hm?” I hum without moving an inch.

“Narcissa doesn’t easily forgive tardiness.”

I sigh, letting out the faintest whine before pulling away. “Okay.”

Before we leave, I dig through my backpack for my little bag of jewelry. It mostly holds my stretchy plastic chokers, but I pull out a silver locket. It’s small and oval with a floral design etched onto the front. Thomus doesn’t question me about it as he watches me put it on. 

When we step into the Manor, I feel a little awkward with the basket full of Christmas treats. I’ve never been good at gift-giving. My anxiety tends to tell me that whatever gift I’ve thought of, won’t be good enough. But those thoughts vanish when we meet Narcissa in a small dining room. After a hug in greeting, her face lights up when I give her a bag of the baked goods.

“Thank you, dear,” she gushes. “You baked these yourself? They look delicious.”

I pull another out and set it on the table for Hermione. “I’m going to visit the kitchen.” I don’t look at either of them and book it out the door before Thomus can protest. I find the elves hard at work, busy completing the finishing touches for our dinner. 

“Miss!” Mippy says, bouncing over to me in the doorway. “Happy Christmas, Miss!”

I smile down at her and hold up the basket. “Happy Christmas to you, too, Mippy. I baked for you guys.”

Mippy lets out a delirious squeal and her voice shakes like she’s going to cry. “M-miss b-aked for M-mippy? And Remmy? And -”

“Yes,” I blush, a bit flustered by such a reaction as I place the basket on their table. “There’s a bag for everyone.”

Murmurs of excitement burst around the room and Mippy’s the loudest of them all. “Miss is so kind and generous and thoughtful -”

“I hope you enjoy them,” I say quickly, and send a smile to the room without making too much eye contact. “See y’all later.”

Hermione's arrived when I return to the dining room and we pull each other into a big hug. 

Dinner is an almost somber affair. Thomus and I sit next to each other, while Hermione is across from me and Narcissa is at the end of the table. Not for the first time, I can tell Narcissa’s putting on a smile for us and as I eye her, I notice her clothes fit a little looser than they had the last time I saw her. 

“Have you heard from Draco at all?” I ask her, hoping it’s not too sensitive of a topic. Immediately her face saddens and I regret ever speaking. 

She answers me anyway. “The last correspondence I received from him personally was to inform me he wouldn’t be home for Christmas. The Dark Lord anticipates an attack on Zurich in the new year, so he and a select few have been asked to remain on guard.”

“I’m sorry he can’t be here,” I say. “It must be really hard without both of them.”

“I do miss them terribly,” she says, a tear beading in her eye. “However -” She reaches over and grabs my hand from my lap and covers Hermione’s on her other side. “I’m grateful to have all of you here.”

I squeeze her hand in return, nodding. “It’s a nice little… distraction,” I say, and speaking of… “Thomus told me you’re planning a New Year’s Eve party?”

This new topic launches both her and Thomus into a tangent, the kind that feels as if I’ve just popped in during the middle of a conversation. There’s something about a particular pureblood seamstress being booked up, or the elves having trouble procuring ingredients for certain dishes that before the war would have been readily available. Then there’s the matter of security - of which Thomus is taking the lead. Apparently with so many Death Eaters and their ‘elite’ society in one place, guests have expressed concerns about being vulnerable to an attack. Hermione and I sit in silence, absorbing all of this information. 

“Thankfully we don’t have to secure the perimeter for the Lots,” Thomus comments. “I don’t even want to think about the logistics for that feat. We only have you two to worry about that night.”

I nearly choke on my apple cider. “I’m going?” Then I look at Hermione and gesture between us. “We’re going?”

When I bring my eyes to Thomus, he looks hesitant. “Granger is yes,” he says. “We believe it best to have her out in plain view where we can keep an eye on her.”

I nod. “Okay, yeah, sure, but what does that have to do with me?”

“On that particular issue, Thomus and I disagree,” Narcissa says, giving him a stern look. “But the issue is tabled for now, especially on Christmas.”

“If it makes a difference, I don’t think I’d like to go,” I say with an apology on my face. “I’m sure it’s going to be very grand, but if I have the option…” I shake my head.

Narcissa smiles at me and lifts her gaze to Thomus. “I believe you have your answer.”

My eyes turn to Thomus as well, curious. He meets them briefly before dropping them down to his dinner plate. His mouth is turned down in a sour expression before a muscle in his jaw ticks and the look is gone. Why does he want me to go?

I take another sip of my drink, desperately wishing it was spiked with something. 

“That’s a beautiful necklace,” Narcissa says and my eyes bounce up to Hermione before I realize she’s talking to me. “Is it a locket?”

Reflexively my fingers go up to the locket, feeling the texture of the design. I give a soft smile and nod. “A friend of mine gave it to me a few years back.” My other hand comes up to pry it open, careful not to touch the tiny portraits inside. “It’s a picture of that friend and my family.”

“That’s lovely,” Narcissa murmurs when I press it closed with a little snap. 

My throat feels tight and I try to swallow around the lump in it. “Yeah,” I croak, my breaths suddenly shaky and loud. I speak softly to hide the emotion in my voice. “Sorry.”

“Oh, you have nothing to apologize for, dear,” she says. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen them, I take it?”

I nod and sniffle. “Yeah, about… three years, I think.” I force myself to take a steady deep breath and plaster a smile on my face. “But it’s fine. I’m fine. You know how it is.”

She nods, looking ready to ask more, but I interject with, “Is there still a lot to do for the party?”

If she can tell I purposefully changed the subject, she doesn’t show it. Narcissa launches into a whole list of tasks she and Thomus have left. I try to focus on what she says, but if I’m being honest, it just goes in one ear and out the other. 

While she speaks, Thomus slides his hand over to the one in my lap. His hand is a bit cold and I turn my palm up to clasp his fingers between mine.

~*~

After dinner, we walk back out to the main hall. Thomus and Narcissa are discussing their immediate plans for the Gala while Hermione and I trail behind them. I loop my arm under hers and slow our pace. 

“How’s your research been going?” I ask, my voice low. 

Her brown eyes are alight with excitement. “I believe I’ve cracked it.”

I squeeze her arm, angling my body towards her. “Really? That’s awesome.”

“I’m ready to run tests, only…” she looks down, then up at Narcissa and Thomus, ensuring they’re paying us no attention, before leaning in to whisper, “Would you happen to have your wand?”

Regret rises from my belly and spreads all over my face. “No, I don’t.”

She sighs, disappointed. I am, too. “I saw you had your necklace, so I’d hoped -”

“I know,” I murmur. “I thought he’d go through my bag, so I left it in my vault. I didn’t think I’d need it.”

Hermione tilts her head. “Does he know your necklace is a…?”

I shake my head.

“So was it you or Thomus who broke the curse?”

“Well, technically it’s not broken,” I explain as we come to our destination. I keep her close and whisper. “Its effects are just being suppressed by my magic. The suppression potions don’t work on me anymore.” 

Her eyes widen. “Really? That would -”

“Alder, let’s go,” Thomus calls from across the room. “We have one more stop to make.”

I sigh heavily and give him a look, he’s standing by the front door. “Really? On Christmas?”

“Especially,” he snaps. “Let’s go.”

I pull Hermione into a hug. “We’ll figure it out, okay?’

She nods and hugs me back before we let go. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

I rush through a goodbye to Narcissa, feeling pressured as Thomus stands with his hands in his pockets. 

We get outside and I shiver, not prepared for the frigid air. “You couldn’t have told me we were going somewhere else? I don’t have a jacket.”

It’s dark out, so I don’t see him pull out his wand and summon his cloak. He settles it around my shoulders and I pause, knowing he’s going to expect to fasten the clasp himself as he usually does. 

“It’s like I have you trained,” he remarks once he finishes and pulls the hood over my head. 

“Well, what can I say? You’re getting predictable,” I tease.

Thomus chuckles as his palms encase my cheeks, holding me still as his mouth descends on mine. His quick kiss tastes of the coffee he had with our pumpkin pie dessert. 

~*~

Thomus Apparates us to a secluded woodsy spot behind a playground. It’s snowing here and there’s already a blanket of it covering the ground. With the snow and street lamps, it’s not quite as dark as the Manor. Thomus takes my hand and guides me down a residential street that branches off with rows and rows of identical townhomes. When I think of searching for a street name, in an attempt to discern where we are, the only one I see is Privet Drive - which tells me nothing.

He pauses under a street lamp with a bus stop and a phone booth. It’s not the classic London version, but a more modern design with unpainted metal and long window panes. 

“I assume you know how to operate one of these,” he says, his hand disappearing into his pocket. He pulls out a small leather pouch and places it in my hand. 

“The bus stop?” I ask incredulously. 

His hand comes up to the back of my elbow as he steers me towards the booth. “No, the telephone.”

My heart begins to race. “W-what? Why?”

He reaches for the handle of the collapsible door and pushes it aside. “To call home.”

I turn to face him, nearly panting with shock. “What?”

“Consider it a Christmas gift,” he says. I feel his hand at my back, urging me inside, but I plant my feet. 

“Just like that?” I ask. “No conditions?”

“I assume you know the obvious one.” He gives me a stern look, meeting eyes. “Don’t give any hints or clues about your… reality.”

I press my lips together and nod, trying not to panic about what I’m even going to say.

I step inside the booth and Thomus closes the door, leaving it open a few inches as he leans against the frame, hands tucked into his pockets. 

With shaking fingers, I start pulling out the No-Maj coins from the pouch he handed me. Calls to the US are expensive, so I put in every single one. I pick up the handset and press the cold plastic to my ear, listening to the slightly deeper dial tone. I’ve only had to do this once, when I first arrived and my phone didn’t work.

With a deep breath, I punch in the numbers and wait. 

It rings and rings. My eyes wander around the booth, taking in the area code poster and emergency numbers, some call for a good time markings up the metal frame. I should’ve known they won’t pick up the phone for a number they don’t recognize. 

But then there’s a click and I hear my mother’s voice. “Melisa?”

My throat is tight again and I force myself to breathe out. “Hi, Mom.” 

“I wondered who else could be calling today - already had a chat with your Aunt Susan, and with grandma passing away last year - as soon as it said Surrey, I knew,” she says. Fat tears spring to my eyes just listening to her talk, hearing her voice. I put my hand over the receiver as I fight for control over my sobs. “Haven’t heard from you in a while, honey.”

I sniffle and force deep breaths, making sure my voice won’t shake before I pull my hand away. “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. My phone shattered and no one I’m around uses them and I just haven’t gotten around to replacing it. I’m calling from a payphone near my apartment. What time is it there? I’m not calling too late, am I?”

“Oh no, it’s only about 7 o’clock here. Your brother and I have just been watching the new Doctor Who season - “

“Is that Melisa?” I hear my dad say in the background. 

“Yes, dear. Your dad wants to talk to you, Melisa.” 

“Okay,” I say. I hear her attempt to pass the phone, but my dad mumbles something about putting the phone on speaker.

“Hey, Melisa! How are ya'?” he says and my heart squeezes hearing the excitement in his voice. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry,” I say, repeating the same spiel. 

“That newspaper must be working you like a dog if you can’t find time to call your dear old Dad,” he says and I manage to chuckle. 

“Yeah, I’m crazy busy, but I love it.”

“Well that’s good. They paying you enough? They should, for all that hard work you’re doin’.”

“Yes, Dad, I’m doing just fine,” I say. “How’ve you been? How’s Ben?”

“I’m doin’ alright,” he says. He starts listing various projects he’s had to work on about the house and the latest issue with my mom’s truck, something about the transmission. I use the time to focus on calming my shaking breaths.

I hear Ben’s voice give a faint “Hi, Melisa”.

“He’s almost saved enough for that down payment on the house he’s been looking at,” my dad says for him.

“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “What kind of house?”

My brother definitely responds, but he’s talked over by an electronic voice announcing I have one minute left.

“I have to go,” I say, failing to keep the sadness out of my voice. “I used all my coins.”

“Well, Merry Christmas, honey,” Mom says. 

“And we miss you,” my dad chimes in. “You need to call us more.”

“I’ll try, but it might be a while,” I admit. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Mom says. “Talk to you lat -”

The call ends and slowly I put the handset back in its place. Mentally I’d been transported back home - I could picture my parents sitting in their usual spots at the kitchen table, my brother on the couch in the family area. If you stand in the right spot, you can see down to the living room through the kitchen, the Christmas tree all aglow. I can see every detail in my mind’s eye and the overwhelming longing to be home brings a fresh round of tears. My hand comes up to cover my mouth as I let out a silent sob. 

Once the emotion has been poured out of me, I feel raw, but… better. I use the sleeve of my sweater to dab at my eyes, knowing my makeup is probably ruined regardless. When I turn back to Thomus, I find him watching me with a wary expression. 

“Okay!” I say brightly, pushing back the door. “We can go.”

Wordlessly, he grabs my hand and we Apparate on the spot.

~*~

We get back to the cottage and I immediately go to the kitchen, cranking on the record player. I'm finally in the mood for music and have just enough energy to make the batch of cookies Thomus asked for. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t follow me and bombard me with a bunch of questions, which I honestly half-expected of him.

Singing along to every Christmas song that plays, I don’t pause until the last tray of cookies are in the oven and the dishes have been washed. When I pass through the living room, I spot Thomus on the couch, leaning against the back cushions with his eyes closed. I run upstairs to take off my pants and bra, getting ready to settle in for the night. 

Just as I finish brushing my teeth, the timer goes off and I rush downstairs to pull out the last tray. Once they’re on the racks to cool, I shut off the music and return to the living room. 

Thomus hasn’t moved. The fire is going and with the kitchen light off, the only other light is coming from the tree. Hesitantly I step closer to him, wondering if he might be asleep, but notice his face isn’t exactly relaxed.

Acting on pure impulse, I crawl onto his lap. He stirs when he feels my legs straddle his, eyes fluttering open in surprise to watch me. I support my weight with my hands on the back of the couch, gently lowering myself until my front is fully pressed against him. He lifts his head as I close my arms around his shoulders and smoosh my face against the side of his. I’m hyper aware of how much bigger I am than him, so I refrain from relaxing completely.

After a moment, his body softens beneath mine and he lets out a long sigh. His arms go around my waist and he hugs me tightly, hips flexing down enough so they’re nestled perfectly between my thighs. Slowly I relax, tension lifting from my body.

“I’m not too heavy, right?” I ask softly, almost shyly, in his ear.

His face moves side to side, nuzzling his nose by my ear. “No, this is…” He runs his hands down my back, smoothing around the curve of my hips down to my thighs before gliding them back up my sides, caressing my rolls. “I love this.”

His sincerity makes my heart soar. It makes me feel so whole, so completely accepted physically. My grip around him tightens, not wanting to let go. I can’t deny how well our bodies just… fit.

“Thank you for my Christmas presents,” I murmur. “This wasn’t… the worst Christmas I’ve ever had.”

“Hm,” he replies thoughtfully, his lips nestled against my neck. “Hasn’t been too bad for me either, come to think of it.” His hands travel to my undie-covered ass where he squeezes hard and gives it a little shake. “And look at you, a present already half-way unwrapped.”

One of his hands shoots to the underside of my foot, dancing his fingers along it. My leg jerks and I let out a sudden squeal, trying to push myself away from him. He’s quick though, one arm latches around my waist to keep me sealed against him even as I wiggle in his lap. I’m laughing, smiling so hard my cheeks already hurt. 

I’m breathless and only manage to say his name like a plea. By the time I break free of his hold, he’s grinning too as I swing myself off of his lap to collapse on my back in the remaining space of the couch. 

His hooded eyes are locked onto the space between my thighs and I only have a moment before he pounces. Thomus settles between my legs and spends the rest of Christmas slowly unwrapping me as if I really am his present.

[coffeebooksrain18]

HARRY POTTER MATCHUP TRADE WITH @sugutoad!!! I'M SO EXCITED TO DO THIS WITH YOU GIRLY!!

I match you with...Draco Malfoy!!!

HEADCANONS

seeing as you two are both purebloods and from wealthy and influential families it was clear to your families to have you two marry once they saw how close of friends you are. you both enjoyed pranking people together. though it was more Draco who enjoyed this compared to you but you enjoyed it nonetheless.

when you got to Hogwarts Draco never left your side as he knows how much you hate crowds with people you don't know. he held your hand until he was sorted. when you were sorted to Slytherin no one cheered as loudly as Draco, he knew he would stay your friend even if you were in a different house, even Gryffindor. but when he saw you got into the same house as him he was overjoyed as he gets to have you as close to him as possible now.

it wasn't until 5th year that you two were an official couple. though you had kissed, made out, and even groped each other, but that was all in good fun, this was real now. and you best believe Draco shoved it in everyone's faces that you were his and his alone now. it wasn't uncommon for students to catch you two in the halls playing tonsil hockey, or the two of you walking around with dark hickys on your necks (you more than him). lets just say you were acting like two hormonal teens in love.

when the battle of Hogwarts went down Draco didn't care about anything other than your safety. he killed cousins, uncles, and aunts, just to make sure you stayed out of harm's way. when you asked if he regretted it he said. "are you breathing? is your heart still pumping? are you alive?" and you noded "then no, I have no reason to regret anything if it means your safe and sound by my side."

HOUSE

I put you in house Slytherin, they match our ambition and resourcefulness. like a Slytherin, you take what is owed to you and won't let anyone take it from you. Strangely you are liked by most of Hogwarts as even though you are a Slytherin people know you are kind, giving, and understanding of others. but just like every Slytherin, no one tries to wants to cross you as you are not afraid to show them that though you are kind, you are still a Slytherin.

SHIP TROPES

childhood friends to lovers arranged marriage sun (You) x moon (Draco)

SHIP SONG(S)

Don't Blame Me by Taylor Swift Night Changes By One Direction

PATRONUS

I give you the wolf as your Patronus. Wolves represent Loyalty, Intelligence, strength, freedom, individuality, and a strong sense of family. all of these traits make you as a person, and I can't see any other animal matching you better.

OTHER RELATIONSHIPS

Hermione Granger and you were close friends, you two were study buddies. you met in first year in the library, she had the book you were looking for and when you asked if she could give it to you after she was done she looked at you then your house robes and asked "are you not jsut going to demand it of the "mudblood'? to which you said "I had not known ypur parents wee mud monsters. but if you mean the slur people use for muggle borns, no, your a witch just like me no matter how much magic linage you have." this shocked her and had starteeda friendship that would last a life time. Pansy Parkinson and you never got along she wanted your man, your boyfriend, and she didn't even have the decency to hide it. she would always try and out do you trying to catch Dracos attention, one night you got fed up and lets just say our made sure she heard you and Draco while you were in your room that night. (yes is is a spicy head canon) Professor Snape treated you the same way he treated Draco, like royalty, though your family is pretty much wizard royalty. But it was more than that, you studied diligently, worked hard, and treated your professors with great respect. it was these reasons that you became his favorite student of your year, every year your parents would hear of how wonderful a student you are from him. lets just say, the other students were nice to you, if only in potions class so they could get a in with the rude professor Snape.

MOONBOARD

[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

Hiiii! So I was wondering, you did a drabble a while ago that was Harry and Draco in an airport and Draco was all mesmerised by the Muggle stuff ect and it was so cute lol, would you ever consider doing a CHristmas drabble where Harry takes Draco shopping at a Muggle mall and he's all cute and hyper about all the decorations and Santa and stuff? I love your works so much, thank you for all you do!

[I'm so sorry i didn't write this on time for Christmas, I'm so ashamed, please accept this tiny piece and I'll do better next time 🥺♥️]

*

When Harry had entered the mall an hour ago, Draco holding his hand as though afraid he might evaporate, he'd blinked twice and then looked at Draco to note his reaction at the view. Harry's own opinion was that the place looked like Father Christmas had personally gone from floor to floor, store to store, throwing up violently festive decorations.

But Draco's eyes had just lit up, his face turning pink with excitement and enthusiasm.

They'd only covered one floor since then, because Draco wanted to visit every. Single. Store. One had been a maternity store. Draco had rifled through feeding bras. Then he browsed through the breast pumps with very wide eyes. Then he'd consented to getting some mulled wine at a pop-up next door.

Then he'd had two more and now Draco tripped along next to Harry insisting they resume browsing stores.

'We went in that one already,' Harry said pulling him on gently.

'Really? When?' Draco sounded very confused and Harry definitely didn't want to laugh.

'We've been in there too, love,' Harry said, expertly manoeuvring them away and in one fluid motion, onto an escalator.

Draco's question was lost as he swayed and hurriedly held on.

'I could've sworn we hadn't been in that bridal wear store,' he murmured, glassy eyes surveying the next floor.

Harry managed to keep them on track after that. Despite the frenzied masses, the overwhelming cheer shoved into their faces, and Draco's uncontrollable urge to explore, they were done with their respective Christmas shopping by dinnertime.

Until Draco spotted something over the heads of a gathered crowd.

'What-- who is he?' he asked.

'Er... Father Christmas, I suppose,' Harry said carefully. 'Okay, so we'll Disapparate from the parking lot th--?'

'My god, he's quite a sight.'

'Er... Right.'

'Very loud, that red, isn't it?'

'Yeah.'

'I like his glasses.'

Harry immediately touched his own specs. Then he realised he was scowling.

'You ready to go?'

'Harry, what are they doing? Is he-- oh, does he know that little girl?'

'No. He's er... She'll tell him what she wants for Christmas.'

Draco's eyes got very round. 'He'll bring her a present on Christmas?'

No, he'll tell the parents and then they'll go looking for something they've probably never heard of, Harry did not say.

'Yeah.'

'Okay, I know what I want,' Draco said excitedly, and joined the queue.

'You-- what? Draco.'

'We have a bit before we get up there, Harry. For heaven's sake have a request ready.' Draco adjusted his collar over his jumper and smoothed his hair. 'Can't dilly-dally while you're on his lap. Not Father Christmas: the head of Christmas.'

Harry spent the next twenty minutes hissing at Draco to get out of line and that he's not a kid and that it was just a bloke in a red suit and that beard is most likely fake, Draco, please get out of the line.

Then it was Draco's turn and red in the face, Draco handed his bags to Harry and stepped up onto the short dias. The Santa looked very confused but Draco was already sitting down on his lap, very prim and neat. His head rose above Santa's.

'Um... What's your name, then, young man?'

'Draco Malfoy, Father,' Draco replied nervously.

The old man looked so completely confounded Harry nearly laughed despite his mortification.

'Er... Right. So, um, I suppose I must ask you now if you have been good?'

Draco blinked. 'Good at what?'

'At-- You know...? Have you been a naughty boy, Draco?'

Harry thought he was definitely going to die any minute. Draco sat frozen in shock, eyes bugging out at Father Christmas's confused face.

'I beg your pardon?' Draco screeched and suddenly every single person in the vicinity was looking at them.

'We're leaving,' Harry said, stepping forward to grab Draco's arm.

'Just because you're a powerful man, you think you can-- this is my boyfriend right here!'

'No, no, he's just-- yes, actually, he's just drunk. Draco let's go.'

'Do you know how powerful he is?!'

Harry couldn't even think over all the loud voices around.

'Hex this fake beard right off your--'

'OUCH! BOLLOCKS!'

Harry looked around in horror to see Draco yanking at Santa's beard - which he now realised was very real.

'COME ON!' Harry bellowed, dragging Draco wildly through the mall until they found an empty bathroom stall to Disapparate out of.

'I didn't even tell him what I want,' seethed Draco, gnashing his teeth. 'Naughty boy. I'll show him naughty boy.'

Harry pulled him closer by the elbow and said, 'Please don't.'

Crack!

*

[lenoraslament]

Lenora’s Love: A Tom Riddle Fanfiction

Chapter 12: High and Mighty

Trigger warning: fluff, drugs, a very high Tom Marvolo Riddle, pretzels

      "I'm going to let her" Tom said told Abraxas.        

They had slept all day. Lenora stayed resting, they had snuck out in the middle of the night. Abraxas said he had something for Tom.

"Oh. There is no way I'm doing that Malfoy" Tom picked up the little roll of paper in his hands.

"If anyone needs it, it's you" Abraxas snorted.

"It's vulgar. It's muggle" Tom handed it back to him. Abraxas picked up his wand and shot the end making the joint light.

"Don't be such a woman" he said making Tom's jaw drop offended.

"If anyone else talked to me like that I would have killed them" Tom said sharply but took the little roll of paper from his fingers.

"I know" Abraxas said as Tom took a deep inhale, "you have to hold it in".

Tom felt the burn in his lungs and held it in for as long as he could before he coughed loudly.

Now they sat in the grass watching the water, absolutely faded.

"I'm going to let her" Tom turned to him, "be a death eater".

Abraxas looked at him sternly

"Why?"

Tom swallowed, "So I can watch her, protect her, and we already know what she's capable of".

He sighed, "she can do so much. She's so smart and powerful Abrax-"

"No-" Abraxas cut him off, "why are we called death eaters?"

He chortled, "what does that even mean?"

Tom fell over laughing heartily at Abraxas who eventually joined him.

Nott and Avery exchanged a smirk. They sat in the library with the rest of the death eaters. Mulciber stood straight practically at attention, Lestrange leaned against the wall. Black stood with his arms crossed next to Abraxas who was pouring through a book with great wonder in his eyes.

Tom was arm deep in a bowl of pretzels, his munching was loud. They all waited for him to speak.

Nott chuckled knowing exactly what was wrong with the both of them.

"My lord?" Mulciber finally asked

Tom didn't say anything, he kept chewing.

"My lord"

Tom shoved another pretzel in his mouth looking deep in thought.

"Tom" Black finally said and he looked up.

"Right!" He suppressed a laugh.

An hour ago when he called the meeting in the middle of the night, it seemed like a really ingenious idea. Now all he wanted to do was eat pretzels in the quiet of his room, maybe listen to some records-

"Riddle" Lestrange sounded impatient.

Tom sneered at him, stupid praying mantis.

"I called this meeting for a very important purpose gentleman" he nodded and took another bite of pretzel.

"Which is...." Avery said lightly trying to help him along.

"Lenora is going to join us" he said suddenly forgetting the reasons he told Abraxas.

Luckily for him, he was in charge and for a few moments he did not have to explain a thing.

"With all due respect my lord" Black started.

Abraxas groaned slamming his book shut.

"I really don't think that's a good idea"

No one said anything.

"She almost died" Black looked around for help. Avery was the only one who nodded at him.

"He's right" Avery said finally looking pleadingly at Tom.

"She almost died, accomplishing what you and Abraxas couldn't do in six months time" spat Tom.

"It's true" said Abraxas shrugging stealing a pretzel from Tom's bowl.

"We can protect her if she's one of us" continued Abraxas.

"I don't give a shit about protecting her" Lestrange said outraged, "since when are we the body guards of little Lenora".

"Well how about this Lestrange?! She could have killed you when she dueled you. She is far more powerful than you are" Nott yelled over Lestrange.

"Yea Theo, I know! Remember when she made you scream like a little girl!?" Lestrange said and Nott crossed the room going for his throat.

Mulciber not unsympathetic to either of them grabbed Notts collar.

"We all agree" Mulciber said plainly, " she's strong. But is she loyal? Obedient?".

Riddle watched the scene unfold, as they argued amongst themselves. All except Black who had a look of relief on his face.

"Gentleman!" Tom shouted finally silencing them.

"I don't remember this being a voting matter" he stood up from where he sat, suddenly feeling more clearheaded than he had in months.

"My decisions are not accountable to any of you. I am your leader, so if I say she is one of us she is" he took a step towards Black.

"If you have a problem, you will soon remember that I can be very persuasive".

Black dropped to his knees feeling the pull of magic knocking him down.

"I swear Cygnus" he said, "I'm grateful you have saved her but you forget to save yourself".

They all looked at him nervously as Black looked up him indignantly. Although they weren't commanded by magic to do so they all kneeled along with Black.

"What do you say Cygnus?" Tom smirked.

"Yes my lord".

Read More Here:

[epitomereally]

🎵 🎶 5 faves from H/D Wireless 2023: Week 1 🎶 🎵

@hd-wireless, as always, has served us excellence. Thank you to the creators & mods. Usual disclaimer: I haven’t read everything yet!

Fic:

(you) find me when the lights go down by anon (1800 words, T)

Harry can hear footsteps on the stairs behind him but doesn't bother turning to look. There's only one person likely to follow him out here at this time of night.

"Potter," comes the crisp voice, easily recognisable as Draco. "You do know that most sane people, especially those who spend every waking moment complaining of being cold, would cast a warming charm. Or at the very least grab a sweater. Not spend every night attempting to turn into an icicle." What makes someone a ghost? Because if it's dying, Harry's got that covered.

A beautiful exploration of Harry’s demons in eighth year & how Draco can help exorcise them. How do I know I'm not a ghost? just punched me the solar plexus, so beautiful and so awful for Harry, and how tenderly Draco treats him, while still being Draco. One of the two masterclasses in short fic on this list! How MA says so much in so few words—I’m in awe.

Don’t hate him when he gets up to leave by anon (2200 words, M)

The linens are white and empty, sunlight slanting through the window illuminating a bed that has been deserted. Draco knew Potter would leave; he’s always gone by morning. Draco doesn’t even remember what he looks like in daylight.

Three words: pining while fucking. PINING. WHILE. FUCKING. I don’t even need to write a rec for this fic. Please click the link just for that tag.

Just kidding: MA, you can shove your brand of angst down my throat any day. I had to stop myself from quoting the entire fic back at you in my comment. Your prose is so evocative and sparse and melancholy. Marry me, please?

Title & Possession by anon (49k words, E)

Harry Potter’s life is going well in the aftermath of the war. Sure, his house is dark and run-down and might hate him (while his house elf definitely hates him). But other than that, things are good. Except, yeah, okay, Hermione and Ron are no longer on speaking terms. Worse, they keep trying to get Harry to pick sides. But otherwise, Harry couldn’t be happier. Well. Except for the fact that Ginny is being super weird about their relationship and never wants to have sex or talk about the future. But other than that, Harry is perfectly fine, thankyouverymuch. At least, he is until Draco Malfoy sues him for ownership of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Then Harry really isn’t fine at all.

This fic is FUNNY. Harry is such a wally, so perfectly in-character as our awkward, repressed, depressed, hilarious little cinnamon roll (and Draco is so proud and petty and desperate for Harry too). The romance is so well-deserved by both, and we love a Harry-realizing-his-sexuality fic (SO well-done here—the tension is scorching!). 

Everybody Hates a Tourist by anon (51.5k, E)

On a stag do in sunny Brighton with the Gryffindor lads, the last person Harry expects to run into is Draco Malfoy. After a glimpse of Malfoy’s Muggle life in Britain’s gay capital, Harry’s curiosity gets the better of him and he finds himself returning to the seaside again and again, drawn to the city, drawn to this new version of Malfoy that Harry barely recognises from school. Meanwhile, Draco’s just trying to live his big and best queer life: working for the weekend, chasing hot men, getting lost in Brighton's nightlife, and making friends with the neighbourhood cats. Why does his former school rival and crush have to show up and spoil everything?

An absolute banger on the first day of the fest. Come for the absolutely perfect characterization of Harry & Draco, stay for the lush descriptions of Brighton and EVERYWHERE. The perfect start-of-summer fic, absolutely impeccable, gentle, gorgeous summer vibes (conveniently when where I live FINALLY started getting hot). So many elements to love here: Harry learning about himself, gently and with grace from everyone around him, the TEXTING (absolutely perfect), the side characters with perfect characterization (Seamus at the hotel!), the flirting, DRACO BUYING HARRY A LEATHER JACKET (;_;). Just bury me dead; this fic was so lovely & it’s all I need.

Art:

Alive by anon (E)

Harry is lost after the final battle, but he finds comfort from an unexpected source.

Eighth year will forever have my heart for some angsty healing, and MA has captured this so beautifully. This art is not only beautiful (the animations! the color palette! both Harry & Draco! Idk how to compliment art!), but it’s such a gorgeous journey for Harry—from the trauma of the war towards happiness again. Exactly what our darling boy deserves <3

[weirdnotal]

Harry Potter au, where after the war, both Regulus and Remus become teachers, Regulus instead of Snape (not movie snape, creepy book snape) and Remus as the defense against the dark arts teacher. You can even keep the steady stream of weird one off teachers as the divination, muggle studies, and astrology teachers because I've always found it weird that only Harry's year got different teachers for those classes.

Harry does NOT stay with the Dursley's AT ALL

Lockhart honestly forgot he was supposed to be teaching something else and releases pixies on them anyways.

When Dumbledore's army happened, Umbridge breaks down the door just as Remus comes running down the hallway, shouting something about sanctioned club activities with Regulus and Minerva right behind him

Regulus is furious about Quirell

Minerva and Regulus bitch about Trewlany so much

Poppy plays her best at "I'm just the school nurse" but the worried grandmother she actually is thrives whenever she can find Minnie, all of the kids (Rem & Reggie(Siri too)) and grandkids (Harry Inc +)

Where Crabbe and Golye are treated nicer

Where Malfoy, Blaise and Pansy aren't villianised

Where Neville and Luna aren't shoved aside

Also, consider when Remus finds both Padfoot and Wormtail on the map near the kids:

Remus *shaking Regulus*: UP KIDS ARE IN DANGER

Regulus *shooting upright in bed*: WHY IS IT ALWAYS THEM

[simp-legend]

I posted 119 times in 2022

That's 119 more posts than 2021!

23 posts created (19%)

96 posts reblogged (81%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@locke-writes

@angelltheninth

@quicksilverownsmysoul

@howlscastle

@madysenpaiart

I tagged 57 of my posts in 2022

#reblog - 19 posts

#fic rec - 7 posts

#fic recommendation - 7 posts

#anime - 6 posts

#attack on titan - 5 posts

#marvel - 5 posts

#attack on titan oneshot - 3 posts

#bnha - 3 posts

#star wars - 3 posts

#mcu - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 108 characters

#me and one of my close friends who isn’t really part of the friend are the only ones who really know the tea

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

A new Gryffindor (Harry Potter x Reader)

Requested: No

Pairing: Harry Potter x Gender neutral reader

Warnings: None (unless if you count Malfoy being a dick)

Summary: Being new to Hogwarts is not an easy step, but you meet new friends who you immediately connect with.

Words: 1,312

A/N: Pretty sure this is in gender neutral pronouns but please let me know if it's not! Also please feel free to give a request in my ask box! (Also sorry for the lame summary)

You made your way through the halls of Hogwarts for the first time. You didn't know what to expect. Your parents are muggles so you never knew you had magic in you. That is until a few years ago you realized you were different from your parents. While they spent their time doing muggle stuff, you weren't happy. You wanted something More. and now here you are, Hogwarts. Your dreams have come true.

Right?

"Get out of my way!" A boy with blonde hair growls, shoving past you. When he does he knocks the books you are holding right out of your hands. Your cheeks burned with humiliation as you rushed to pick them  back up. It's a little hard to do considering the stampede of students making their way to the Great Hall for the annual sorting. Not only are you worried about being on your own for the very first time, but the impending doom of the sorting hat assigning you to your house for the remainder of your time at Hogwarts is enough to make you want to vomit.

"Let me help you," comes a soft voice. You look up to see a fourth - year boy with dark black scraggly hair and green eyes hidden behind glasses. You suck in a breath and hold it in, while staring at the boy. Your mouth has gone completely dry, and you have no idea what to say.

The boy bends down and hands you your History of Magic book. You cradle the book to your chest as both of you stand up straight. You still haven't said anything and hope that the silly things your thinking aren't portrayed on your face.

"I'm Harry," the boy says, as if you didn't know. Everyone knows who Harry Potter is. He's the boy who lived. If anyone is a celebrity in the world of Magic, it's none other than Harry.

You try to slow your racing heart as you give him a small smile. "I'm (Y/N)." You gesture to your books. "Thanks for the help."

"No problem," Harry says, smiling. 

The two of you make your way to the Great Hall. Harry walks alongside you through the corridors, following the mass of students. Finally both of you file into the Great Hall. Your eyes widen at how beautiful the room really is. It's huge- its ceiling is massive. You squint to see if you can find the top of it, but you can't. Candles loom in the air to brighten the room and give it a cheery glow. There are four long tables for the Houses, you presume, and already the older students are settling into their seats. 

You notice Harry waving at his friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. You've heard of his friends as well. While they aren't as famous as Harry Potter, they've helped Harry solve many mysteries here at Hogwarts. Just two years ago they helped Harry save Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets. 

"Good luck on your sorting," Harry says to you. 

You smile. "Thank you. I'm a bit nervous."

"I was my first year, too," he admits. "But I'm glad that I'm in Gryffindor. It's really a wonderful House to be in."

"I suppose you're right," you say, your eyes trailing to the Slytherin table. Whatever happens, you hope desperately that you don't end up in that House. 

Harry follows your gaze to the table as well. He sighs. "I hope for your sake that you don't end up with Malfoy."

You look at the boy with the light blonde hair. As of right now, he's watching Harry Potter with disgust. You wonder what his problem is and why he doesn't like Harry, but don't say anything. Whatever it is, it's none of your business. 

Harry taps on your shoulder. You jump slightly at his touch before turning your gaze back to him. He gives you a kind smile and voices his hopes that you'll be in Gryffindor. As he walks away to join his friends, you can't help but hope the same thing as well.

*time skip*

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Sorting Hat screams out, popping off of your head. The Gryffindor table explodes with applause. They all call out your name and usher you over to their table. You end up smack dab in between two boys with brown hair. Harry Potter sits diagonal from you with a wide grin on his face. 

"It's a pleasure," Hermione says to you, a soft smile on her face. Ron, on the other hand, asks you if you like Quidditch. When you tell him you've never even seen a game before, he grabs at his chest as if he's having a heartattack. But there's no time for much talk because the rest of the first years are being Sorted into their Houses. 

Finally, when it's all over and the day is coming to an end, Harry walks up to you. 

"I had a feeling you would be joining us," he says, laughing. "Welcome to Gryffindor, (Y/N)."

You feel your cheeks grow warm. "Thank you, Harry."

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5 notes - Posted October 21, 2022

#4

Decided to talk about a theory that has been consuming my mind ever since watching this video 👀

So I definitely have a feeling that the people that don't have red mist surrounding any of their eyes (Wong, Christine and Mordo) are going to die in MOM, but istg if they kill Regin George and our Beyonce stan, I will be walking out of that movie theatre! (I probably won't though)

Now the other all have red mist covering one of their eyes but I noticed especially in Wanda's and I think in Doctor Strange's that he cover part of their right eye. So I have a feeling that the other Doctor Strange that we've seen in the trailer (the one that we saw from What if?) Will be killed by someone - considering 18 people are rumoured to die.

Now with Wanda, I have two theories. One of which being that her -or someone else - may kill that other (Variant?) Wanda that we've seen in the trailer - just so that our Wanda can have her kids back, or the rumours of Doctor Strange killing Wanda are true but in the end credit scene or somewhere at the end of the film we see Wanda alive, because I do believe in the comics she can resurrect herself.

And lastly America Chavez has her eye completely covered by the mist which I greatly assume she's going to survive due to her being in future MCU projects.

Also, this isn't a theory that I'm going to be talking about here so you don't have to read this part if you don't want to. I'm actually so sick of some of you so called Marvel fans, mainly due to the fact that you've literally bullied a 15 year old off social Media just because some countries aren't going to be viewing MOM. It's not Xochitl Gomez's fault that her character is a Lesbian and that really shouldn't be a problem, but no, some of you are literally blaming a 15 year old for it when it wasn't her fault! DEFINE THE CHARACTER FROM THE ACTOR!

There rant all over 🙂

(Hopefully some people know this wasn't targeted at them)

7 notes - Posted April 27, 2022

#3

This is a one shot that I decided to share from my aot one shots

⚠️TW: Mentions of violence: gun shot, blood, bruises⚠️

I didn’t process the click of the trigger until I saw red seeping through my shirt. A sharp sting in my abdomen made me bite my tongue and fall to my knees. I looked down to see red liquid spurting out in chunks and I couldn’t resist the urge to gag. Waves of pain hit me instanously as I stumbled to the ground. This was it. After years of fighting this was the end. I was about to die. My mind, gripped with the acceptance of death and the fear of leaving my loved ones had me breaking down in the worst of ways. I’m not scared of death, but I don’t want to die. Living the life of a vigilante had its downfalls, but being alive for years in this type of work made me feel like everything would be okay; guess I was wrong.

I let out an exasperated groan, unpleasantly ripping my shirt and ignoring the fact that I was exposing myself in a alley while hiding from my murderer. My lower stomach was engulfed in blue and purple patches, bruised and bloodied from the fights I had to endure for so long. I took a piece of my ripped shirt and tried to apply pressure to the bullet wound. I cursed in a short breath, I had lost too much blood already. My back was against a concrete wall and my sight was slowly becoming a blur.

“Hah, so this is how it ends.”

I scrunched my eyes, fighting to stay conscious and taking in deep breaths to try and reduce the immense pain. The people who walked passed me were oblivious to the fact that someone was bleeding to death. Minutes passed and it seemed that the world had stopped. That’s when someone appeared.

“Fuck, what happened to you.”

2nd pov

Striking hazel eyes and blonde hair adored a face of a boy no older than seventeen. He would’ve looked like an angel if it wasn’t for his face contoured in a mix of emotions.

“You shouldn’t be here, people are looking for me. Run.”

That was all the bleeding woman could give out. Each word she said felt like knives cutting deeper into her.

“I can’t leave you like this, you need help, I can get you to help.”

The boy’s eyes formed tears but he didn’t cry. They were trained to not cry, but who wouldn’t when they were seeing their dying in their arms?

“We both know that I can’t go to a hospital,” the woman cracked out, she was fine going out, but not with her watching.

“I taught you to be strong in this world

“No, please don’t say stupid shit like that, please don’t leave me!”

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7 notes - Posted January 31, 2022

#2

Mikasa Ackerman x Female reader

Words: 1,120

Author's notes: This change pov a lot so please bear with it!

Warnings: angst

Summary: Reader and Mikasa get into a mini argument which involves the reader walking out

Third Pov

Silence Filled the room. The raven haired girl sat coiled with tension clearly uncomfortable with the silence. She stared at her lover, who was just playing with her food with a frown on her face. Mikasa shifted in her seat and cleared her throat before starting a conversation, hoping to ease the tense atmosphere.

Mikasa cleared her throat before saying, “So, how was work?”

“Alright,” Came the muffled reply.

“Anything exciting happen?” 

The (H/c) girl shrugged, not even looking up from her food to look at her girlfriend. Mikasa’s lips pursed together in a thin line, worried about what dreadful thing could be lurking in her girlfriend’s mind. Her eyes trailed down to her lover’s full plate which was still being played with. She looked at (y/n)’s face which signaled that her lover had no intention of eating anytime soon.

“You’re not eating. Do you not like it?”

She shrugs again. “Just not hungry.”

There was definitely something wrong, anyone could see that, but what exactly was wrong was a whole other question.

“You know you can talk to me if anything’s wrong, right?”

“Sure.”

“Are you sure everything’s ok?”

The (h/c) girl finally stopped playing with her food, dropping her fork - that she had been using to play with her food - in the process, and looked directly at Mikasa with a glare, obviously trying to hint to her to just drop the question.

“I said I’m fine.”

“You don’t look-.”

(Y/n) stood up and slammed her hands on the table. “I said I’m fine!”

The raven haired girl looked taken aback, clearly not expecting that sudden outburst. Her eyes widened in shock, before turning into an angry look.

“Don’t raise your voice at me!”

“Then stop asking me the same question as if I’m a child and can’t understand you! I’m FINE!”

(Y/n) stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind them, leaving their girlfriend in an awkward silence.

​​​​​​Mikasa's Pov

All I’m trying to do is let her feel as though she can talk to me about what’s bothering her and not keep it bottled inside. I try to help her by pointing out her mistakes and asking her what’s wrong when she seems upset about something, but if I do she just glares at me and goes quietly to her room, only to hear seconds later that she’s punching either the wall or her bed to release her frustration when I was just trying to support her.

(Y/n)'s pov

She just doesn’t understand that I can deal with my problems by myself and that I just want to be left alone most of the time. She sees one frown on my face and immediately assumes the worst and that something is wrong and that I need to tell her. Even with me glaring at her she just can’t get the hint!!

Third pov

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18 notes - Posted October 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Eren Jaeger x female reader

Requested: No

Summary: You have admired Eren for a long time and when he gets put in jail, for some reason you feel guilty so you go and see him. After one conversation you decide to free him and he gives you something in return!

Warnings: Smut

Words: 1,982

For a long time you have admired Eren, and have always wanted him to notice you. At least just a little bit. Even though he's betrayed the Survey corps you couldn't help but to still respect him. As soon as you saw him being put into a cell though, you couldn't help the rising guilt that sweeps through your body. To try and at least overcome a bit of your guilt, you went down to his cell to see if he needed any help, which you hoped for more than anything, even if that was how you got his attention. 

Once you get down to the cells you see him. The person who you yearned to notice you. Eren Jaeger. The first thing you immediately took notice of his appearance was that he was shirtless. You felt your blood rush up to your cheeks as you continued to gaze at his six pack which glistened with sweat. You however also noticed that he seemed to be mad about something. 

You were now started to rethink your decision of coming down here. Maybe you shouldn't of decided to come down here. Eren seemed to be very angry about something and you did not want to be in his way in fear of him being even more annoyed by your presence, which was something you most definitely did not want happening. 

You turned around to leave but by then it was already too late.

"Hey! Come here."

Your eyes widened in surprise when the words left his mouth. Your legs stood stiff for a couple of seconds due to you still being shocked. Could this be how he finally notices you?

You eventually managed to move your legs and turned around to face the prisoner. You then slowly walked up to his cell, you legs slightly trembling due to you being nervous.  Your heart started pounding uncontrollably in your chest as Eren started to walk closer to the bars as well. You looked up into his bright green emerald eyes, never taking your eyes off them.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

You started stuttering. You couldn't form your words properly due to you being terrified of his intimidating demeanour. You finally took a breath in and told Eren the reason why you were at the prison area. To try and help him.

Eren touches the bars that separated you both nd comes as close as he can. He reaches his hand out, grips your shirt and pulls you towards him. Out of instinct your eyes closed tightly as your chest now touched the iron bars.

"What do you think you can help me with exactly? Huh?"

You groped onto the hand that clenched your shirt and with all the strength you had, tried to yank him off, but he was much stronger than you.

"I'm trying to help you cause I feel bad," you truthfully admitted  still trying to escape Eren's right grip. "I want to help but I don't know how. "

Eren finally let's go of your shirt which results to you falling to the ground.  As you sat there trying to fix yourself,  you  noticed Eren squat down to your eye level and stare into your (e/c) hues.

" Yes maybe you can help me, but what do you want in return? Obviously nobody does anything for free nowadays.  So what do you want?"

The first thing that came to your mind made your cheeks the colour of beetroot. Embarrassed,  you looked down to the ground. 

You could feel Eren's eyes widen a bit as he discovered what you wanted.

Eren stands up and reaches his hand towards you for you to take.

"Here, take my hand."

You reach and grab onto his hand as he pulls you up. As soon as you do Eren let's go of your hand much to your dismay and starts to pace around his cell.

"I can get you out of your cell," you timidly said, breaking the eerie silence.

Eren sits on his bed in the cell and slowly looks at you with a blank expression.

"You do that and you got yourself a deal," he finally replied.

You give Eren a quick smile before leaving the prison area in search of the keys.

~Timeskip~

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19 notes - Posted October 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[queenofhearts7378]

Constellations Ch. 2

(Yes it finally has a title. Yes this is ending up multi chaptered. Yes there’s another part I’m writing. Yes I already have an outline for a vague plot....Yes I’m still blaming @ladylynse for this XD)

Prev. Chapter  -  Next Chapter

Danny was very much unprepared and underdressed for the time when some wizards fell out of his fireplace.

He paused in the doorway, spoon still in his mouth and cheeks full of cereal, as his brother stood up and brushed the soot off him with a displeased nose scrunch.

Danny swallowed. "And you couldn't just use the door?"

Honestly they're lucky his parents had left to chase down the Box Ghost earlier. Otherwise they'd be covered in a lot more than soot and ash.

Danny couldn't help the snort that escaped at the mental picture of Draco covered in ectoplasm and boiling in rage. 

Draco narrowed his eyes, seeming to pick up that Danny was making fun of him. "Using the Floo was quicker."

"....quicker than walking through the door."

"It's a wizard thing you wouldn't understand." Draco snapped back, his go to response whenever he couldn't argue against Danny's logic at the moment. 

"Uh huh. Anyways what are you doing here?" Danny asked, "You aren't supposed to be here for another two weeks."

Which was time previously planned for Draco to prepare for his summer in America while Danny finished school. Spend the two weeks after Hogwarts let out recuperating and making public appearances with his parents, then spend the rest of the summer with the Fentons.

Actually now that Danny was looking, it seemed Draco had come straight from school. His hair was lacking half its gel, he was still wearing his green tie, and his robes were a very boring black as opposed to the various greys and blues he flaunted around in the previous summer.

“Denebola, pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” Drawled the man standing behind Draco.

“Hello creepy man that I have never met before,” Danny said, echoing his tone.

Draco choked on air as the discount Kylo Ren sneered at him.

“This is Professor Snape Danny.” A familiar please-don’t-say-anything-that-will-get-us-in-trouble tone coloring Draco’s words. “My godfather.”

Oh the potion guy. Danny remembers Draco talking about him now. He was friends with Draco’s parents, which didn’t really impress Danny that much as all of the Malfoy’s friends seemed to be really rich snobs or really racist. Mostly both.

But he was Draco’s godfather, the reason he got into potions, his favorite professor and someone Draco would willingly go to get advice from. So, Danny decided to reserve judgement till he met him. Well….he met him.

Danny looked Draco dead in the eyes, “My apologies.”

Draco closed his eyes in mortification, which made Danny grin internally. They were really getting the hang of the whole ‘speaking without talking to each other twin thing’. 

Professor Snape just scowled at him. “Where are the….muggles?" Disdain dripped off his words, instantly making Danny defensive. He had heard enough at Malfoy Manor about disgraceful, savage muggles from Lucius. Even Draco had echoed his father till Danny dragged him kicking and screaming into being a slightly decent person.

"My parents," Danny said, stressing the word, "Are working right now."

Okay maybe they were just being their usual trigger happy selves and running after Boxy, but there was no way he was telling Professor Snape that without it leading to an hour long discussion about ghosts. And Danny did not have time for that. He shoved a giant spoonful of cereal in his mouth as he met Professor Snape's eyes and-huh.

Draco never told Danny his godfather could read minds. He could feel the light brushes of a foreign mind attempting to gleam information from his surface thoughts. Danny didn't know if it was his wizard ancestry or halfa weirdness that made him sensitive to this kind of stuff. Either way, it was useful in keeping his secrets in his head from privacy invading school teachers.

Danny glowered at Snape and immediately thought of Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up music video.

The two of them stared at each other for a minute, making Draco more and more anxious as no one said anything.

Finally Snape broke contact, "Where should his things go?"

Danny tried very hard not to smirk after winning that staring contest, "You can just leave them here, we'll get them later."

With one last displeased sneer, Snape turned to Draco. "I'm needed back at Hogwarts. I trust you are in good hands."

Draco nodded, still looking tense and anxious as hell.

Snape walked back to the fireplace. He paused next to Draco, "Take care of yourself Draco."

Draco softened under his glare, "I will Professor. Thank you."

Snape nodded and shot one more glare at Danny, who still had Rick Astley echoing in his head, before vanishing into the fireplace in a swirl of green fire.

Draco turned back to Danny and said, "You stress me out."

Danny snorted before walking back into the kitchen to put his bowl in the sink. Draco followed after him, looking at all the kitchen appliances with a barely hidden curious look.

"Something else we have in common."

"What are you wearing?" He asked with a nose scrunched in displeasure.

Danny shot him a look, "My pajamas, cause I just woke up. I haven't finished getting ready for school. You should probably change too."

"Why?"

Danny started for the stairs, Draco still following at his heels. "You can't wear robes to public school. I think you can fit in my jeans."

"What?!" Draco screeched, halting at the bottom of the stairs, "I'm not going to muggle school with you!"

"It's either that or stay here by yourself for hours." Danny said as he paused outside his room. Draco scrambled up after him. "Cause my parents won't be home for a couple more hours, after which you'll be alone with them till I get home."

Danny smirked at him, "My parents are going to be thrilled to see you, can you really handle their enthusiasm all by yourself?"

Draco could barely stand Danny showing various forms of physical affection, as proven last summer when Danny would throw an arm around Draco's shoulders and almost get hexed. And Ancients forbid Danny try to hug him. Draco might actually lose the wand and just punch him. Danny had spent most of their correspondence over the school year prepping Draco for the Fenton welcome wagon so he wouldn't hiss like a cat when he gets hugged. Okay, and maybe Danny just wanted to see his overdramatic brother's face as he is subjected to his parent's bear hugs. 

Draco scowled at him, "Fine. But I'm not wearing any jeans."

Draco stomped into Danny's room and slammed the door in his face. He heard the lock click as it was shut.

"Hey! I still gotta get dressed!" Danny banged on the door, "C'mon Drake it's still my room!"

Danny groaned before walking over to the bathroom. He phased through the wall and landed on the fire escape. It took a few minutes, but he eventually maneuvered to his window and slipped in.

Draco had dug into Danny's closet and pulled out the most dressy tux Danny owned and was in the middle of putting it on. 

"You are not wearing that."

Draco scowled at him, "It’s bad enough I'm lowering myself by going with you-”

“Lowering yourself?”

“-But,” he said loudly, “I absolutely refuse to wear common muggle wear. If I’m going to this school, I will not look anything less than my absolute best.”

Danny stared at him. “Drake you will be thrown into the dumpster if you wear that to my school. Let me just-”

Danny jumped on him, trying to remove the suit jacket from a struggling Draco. Draco shouted and tried to twist away, only for Danny to pull it over his head. Once Draco was out of sight, and swearing loudly at him, Danny subtly used his intangibility to yank it off him. And if he happened to remove all of Draco’s hair gel that he used to keep his hair slicked back….well, that would have gotten him thrown in a dumpster as well.

Danny tried not to laugh as Draco glared at him, his hair fluffed up and looking vaguely like an angry kitten. 

"Do you know how long it takes me to fix my hair? I have to completely redo it now! And how'd you get that off me?" He pointed at the jacket Danny was throwing back in his closet.

Danny grinned at him, "Magic."

Draco gave him a flat look.

"Anyway we've got to go, otherwise I'm gonna be late again, and get detention again, and you'll be forced to either walk home by yourself or stay at school with me."

Somehow Danny had managed to get dressed and drag Draco out the door with him, texting Sam and Tucker his plans to walk so they could meet up on the way.

"What is that?" Draco leaned over to squint at the phone in Danny's hand.

"My phone. I told you about it last summer."

Draco hummed, "I thought it was broken?"

"Yeah, cause your magic blew it up. My parents fixed it." Danny shoved his phone back in his pocket like Draco was about to blow it up again. "Now what happened?"

Draco shot him a glance, before letting his eyes flicker around them. "I did try to tell you muggle 'technology' and magic doesn't always go together."

"Drake, you know that's not what I mean." He said softly.

Draco was silent, his jaw clenched and his hands shaking before he shoved them in his pockets.

They walked in silence for a while.

"You'll get hurt."

Danny looked at him.

"I…." Draco sighed, "I've never…."

Danny waited silently for him to get the words out on his own, knowing that pushing him will only make him clam up.

"You aren't like us. And I don't mean that in any bad way!" He said quickly when he saw Danny's face. "But you know what my parents are like, and their friends are so much worse, and you're the first person I've ever had to worry about. I just want you to be safe."

Oh Ancients, that was a lot to unpack there. 

Danny had known something had happened during school. The two of them spent the school year exchanging letters, both of them wanting to stay in contact. Danny would tell him about his school, and his parents' antics, and explain random muggle technology to get Draco prepared for his summer with the Fentons.

Meanwhile, Draco had complained at length about Potter and a tournament and Potter being insufferable about a tournament. There was a furious letter about being turned into a ferret and how Potter and his friends keep bringing it up. Draco sent him about three feet of parchment around Christmas just making fun of Potter at a dance and how horrible he was. There was a lot about some famous Quidditch guy and then a lot about Potter’s friend stealing the famous Quidditch guy.

Draco complained about Potter a lot, okay?

But Draco never sent him a letter about the tournament results or if Potter got eaten by a bog witch or whatever it was he was hoping for the last task. He just showed up, two weeks early and clearly shaken about whatever it was that happened.

That isn’t a good sign at all. And Danny had eavesdropped enough last summer to get a decent idea as to what was going on.

“This is….this is about him isn’t it?”

Draco flinched, which was enough answer for him. Danny let out a breath.

“We can-we can talk about this later. I care about you too Drake, and I know your family is neck deep in this mess.” Danny bumped his shoulder, “You’re safe here, that’s why Narcissa sent you here right?”

Draco leaned against his brother’s shoulder, eyes still flitting across the street and his jaw clenched. “Yeah. We’re safe here.”