#lettered's harrydraco drabbles

[letteredlettered]

I'm sure you'll be inundated with the one-word drarry asks, but I can't not put forth my own.

reckless

I did get a lot of prompts, but so far I have found yours to be the sexiest one! I mean the drabble isn't that sexy but I think the word reckless is sexy. Is it just me? Anyway, thank you!

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Reckless

Potter’s here again. The time has probably come for him to say something too profound. He’s eaten all the biscuits.

“I’m not sure there’s enough love in me,” Potter says. “To love someone else. Like I loved her.”

Draco wants a Firewhiskey. He makes himself say. “Have you tried?”

“Who would I try with? I’ve never even looked at another girl that way. Not since school.”

Something is unravelling in Draco’s body. He’s coming apart at all his seams. His throat is burning, and he feels reckless. He feels so reckless.

“Have you looked at blokes?” he says.

Potter stares.

[letteredlettered]

worth

this is such a perfect word for H/D, imo. Thanks!

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Worth

“For what it’s worth,” Potter says, “I forgive you.”

The absolute pillock. For what it’s worth? For what it’s worth?

Doesn’t he know it’s worth the mountains and the sea, the stars in their courses, nights spent so afraid, mornings spent alone, hating the Mark, hating his birth, hating himself, knowing how little he is worth?

And to be forgiven, just like that, so easily, as though it’s nothing? It must be cheap, this goodness, this grace. It must be worthless. It has to be, because if it’s not—

If it’s not, this life might be worth living after all.

[letteredlettered]

"foul"

Thank you so much for this prompt!

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Foul

“They should’ve called a foul,” Potter said.

The Bludger, the collision, the impact on the ground, the broken arm—these were all fair play. Potter’s voice saying, “Let me fix it,” Potter’s hand reaching for Draco’s arm, warm fingers touching something he should never have to touch—that broke rules.

“You can’t.” Draco jerked away, leaving an impromptu Quidditch match that never should’ve happened.

Later, Draco looked at the Dark Mark, fixed on his arm, unfixable all the same.

Call foul, Draco had wanted to scream. Call me foul.

But Potter hadn’t called him anything. He’d reached for him instead.

[letteredlettered]

I actually asked my wife for prompts before I opened up the floor. Here's one she gave me.

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Wedding

Mother and Father had married at the Manor. There’d been faerie lights, Mum had said, a broomstick to step over. Draco had always thought he’d do the same.

The paper sat beside his morning tea, the laughing groom, the blushing bride. The cutting charms came as though casting themselves, cropping left, cropping right, top, bottom. The Prophet became a window, an empty space beside the bride. She could be marrying anyone.

Draco incinerated the paper.

Left only with the black-and-white photo of that smiling groom, Draco knew he’d never marry at the Manor now.

He’d never marry anyone at all.

[letteredlettered]

hello! for the drarry drabbles, if you so choose:

onomatopoeia

this is one of my favorites that I've written so far. Thank you so much!!!

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Onomatopoeia

The tock goes tick.

Draco’s heart goes bump.

The rain goes thip, thip, thip.

Occasionally, Potter sniffles.

Draco doesn’t know how it is that he’s the one to comfort him, a time like this.

“I loved her,” Potter chokes. “I love her.”

“Potter,” Draco says. “I know.”

Water’s boiling, a soft sound, shhh.

Three minutes later, the timer for the tea rings, a bright sound, ding.

“How can you love someone—” Potter sounds gutted—“when they don’t love you back?”

“Harry,” Draco whispers. “I know.”

His heart goes bump.

The rain goes thip thip thip.

The clock goes tick.

[letteredlettered]

Hi, your message got me so excited !!! I’ve been hoping that the drarry inspiration will strike again. And even if it’s just for a Drabble, you have no idea how excited I am about the possibility of reading your drarry again! For the one word prompt, what about : unfaithful

awww thank you! I'm so glad that it was exciting for you! I am happy to be writing them atm. Thanks again!

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Unfaithful

After Ginevra Weasley leaves him, Potter keeps visiting. Draco still doesn’t know why.

He comes for tea and eats all the biscuits. He asks about the students, new charms. He asks, asks, asks, then listens listens listens, as though he’d meant what he’d said once, under a moonlit tree. I want to listen to you.

Draco asks, but Potter doesn’t talk much, unless it’s about kids or Quidditch. But then, he'll just say things, like, “Would you ever be unfaithful? To your wife, I mean.”

“I’m never going to have a wife.”

“Why not?”

Draco looks away. “I’d be unfaithful.”

[letteredlettered]

prompt: vampire!

I know this probably wasn't what you were hoping for with this prompt, but this is what I came up with! Thank you!

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Vampire

Ernest Gimplewhite is a small round second-year who comes to Draco’s office to talk about the exclusions he suffers as a vampire, the calumnies kids cast upon him, the bullying, the jokes.

Draco talks to him a long while. In the end, Gimplewhite seems to feel much better.

“Mister Gimplewhite,” Draco says afterward, “I’m not your Head of House. Why come to me?”

“Oh, Professor Potter, sir,” Gimplewhite says, pushing up his glasses. “He said you were tops at understanding things, and talking to you makes people feel better.”

Draco’s blood is draining.

It’s got nothing to do with vampires.

[letteredlettered]

I made my wife give me another one because I initially found "wedding" difficult.

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Lake

The biographies all said that Ronald Weasley saved Harry Potter’s life, once. There’d been some sort of evil amulet that’d been trying to drown the Hero of the Wizarding World. Weasley’d come along and saved him.

Draco hadn’t been there. Instead, he’d been there when Potter had saved Weasley during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, when he’d emerged from the lake in that indecent bathing costume, hair wet, droplets rolling down bare shoulders.

Sometimes Draco dreams he wears an evil amulet. He’s drowning. Potter comes to save him, hand extended through the waves.

When Draco wakes, he’s wet.

[letteredlettered]

Drabble prompt: silver

Thank you so much for this prompt!!!

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Silver

“You have your father’s eyes,” Mum used to tell him. “Silver, like stars.”

“You have gray eyes,” Potter had told him once. They’d been walking down a corridor, and Potter had glanced over, nothing special. Then he’d done a double-take, stopped. “I’d never noticed.”

“They’re silver,” Draco had said, voice dull. “Like my father’s.”

“No,” Potter had said. “Gray. Like Sirius.” Something urgent had been in his eyes, something that had wanted Draco to have just one family, just one legacy.

Years later, Draco stands before two pairs of eyes, one Black, one like stars.

The tombstones stare back, colorless.

[letteredlettered]

Admission!

Thank you for the prompt!

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Admission

“That’s inadmissible,” Potter said.

Draco’s trial.

The evidence under scrutiny: Rita Skeeter’s article claiming that Potter had saved Draco Malfoy from Fiendfyre.

The headline: Friends? More Than Friends? What’s The Story?

Unknown: How Skeeter had even found out about the fyre in the first place.

Evidence not under scrutiny: the strength in Potter’s hand. The heat of his back as Draco pressed against him on the broom. The scent of him, hot ash, ember. Potter’s steady voice, defending him. Speaking up for his—enemy? Classmate? Friend? More than—

Draco tossed and turned in bed. Inadmissible, he told himself. That’s inadmissible.

[letteredlettered]

choir

for the h/d drabble thing (i hope inspiration strikes you! but if not, it's ok too)

hahhahahah when I think of HP and choir only one thing comes to mind. At least PoA was a good movie.

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Choir

“You sing well,” Potter said, after the wassailing incident. “You should start a choir.”

“A choir,” said Draco, unamused.

“Flitwick had one.”

“Pardon?”

“Third year,” Potter said. “At the Sorting Hat Ceremony.”

“What are you on about?”

“They did a cover of that Weird Sisters song? ‘Double Double’?”

“With Flitwick.”

“You don’t remember?”

“It must’ve been an alternate universe,” Draco said, voice bland.

Potter bumped him lightly with his shoulder. “Prat.”

Scarhead. Potty. Saviour. Hero.

Friend.

Friend friend friend.

“Pillock,” Draco mumbled, bumping back.

The corner of Potter’s mouth ticked up. His eyes flickered warmly.

Mine, Draco thought.

My friend.

[letteredlettered]

"lucent" for your H/D mood ❤️

lucent is such a pretty word. Thank you!

shout-out to @phdmama, who gave me the prompt "Amaryllis," which I used for an OC. I have written another drabble for that prompt, which should post soon!

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Lucent

“Is that a charm?” Potter asked, glancing at the white stone hanging from Draco’s neck.

“Miss Crouch made it,” Draco said, referring to one of his fifth-year students.

“Amaryllis? Really? She’s come so far.” Potter leaned in, picking up the charm, which began to glow soft gold. “Incredible. You must be proud,” Potter said. “What does it do?”

The charm lit up when danger was near.

Draco swallowed hard, cheeks too hot. “It’s for safety.”

“Really?” Potter murmured, finger brushing Draco’s throat as he let go the stone. “You must feel safe with me.”

The stone shone like a star.

[letteredlettered]

For the drabble prompt: coffee

@popqorn I'm so sorry that I don't think this will quite satisfy your or my wife's secret desire for a coffee date, but it's close! My wife actually helped with this one, making Draco snootier, the way he should be. <3

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Coffee

“I’m headed to Hogsmeade for a drink,” Potter said. “Care to join?”

Draco froze. He’s married, he’s married, he’s married screamed through his mind as though written on a Howler. “I don’t drink,” was what came out.

“Coffee, then.” That was all. Potter didn’t pry, ask questions, didn’t have things to say about substance abuse, apparently, even though he had to know.

Everyone knew, what Draco had been, before coming to teach at Hogwarts: the liquor. Dreaming Draughts. Faerie dust. The men. So many men.

He’s married, Draco told himself.

“Tea,” was what he said, lifting his nose.

Potter laughed.

[letteredlettered]

Prompt: Smile

thank you for this prompt!!!

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Smile

Potter’s smiles used to be small, secret things he doled out to bestow his favour, Draco had always thought. They were personalized, private—a smile for Granger, one for Weasley, one for Dumbledore. Later, one for Lovegood, one for the girl-Weasley.

But now, Potter seems to have found an absolute largesse—smiles for fellow professors, smiles for students, smiles for librarians, house-elves, squids. Then there’s that one in particular, that subtle uptick in the corner of his mouth, the flicker in his eyes. Why does it always look so goddamn surprised?

Oh.

Oh, Draco sees.

This one is for me.

[letteredlettered]

Drarry Drabble prompt: cheese?

@moonflower-rose I was so stuck on this prompt until I included the question mark as part of the prompt. Then it all slid into place. Thank you!!!

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Cheese?

“Does he like cucumber sandwiches?”

“Er . . . probably?” Potter says, seeming confused.

“Scones?”

“Sure.”

“Crudités?”

“What’s that?”

“Cheese?”

“Cheese.”

“Cheese, does he like cheese, Stilton? Brie?”

“Mate,” Potter says. “You’ve met Teds before. Loads.”

“But I haven’t hosted.”

“He always pops round to yours after visiting. He did it from the beginning. I told him to.”

Eyes narrowing, Draco repeats, “’You told him to.’”

Potter just shrugs.

Draco’s shoulders fall. “I should’ve been there for him. Sooner.”

“You had your things to work through.”

I love you, Draco thinks suddenly, violently.

He doesn’t say it.

It’s a thing to work through.

[letteredlettered]

abandon

Thank you for the prompt!

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Abandon

“I won’t abandon my principles, just because they abandoned theirs,” Harry Potter says, when asked what should be done with Death Eaters. “Everyone deserves justice.”

The Malfoy principles are predicated on pureblood men marrying pureblood women and raising pureblood children. They haven’t abandoned that at all, yet Draco’s dreams are hot flashes of color: golden skin, red smiles, a shadow of a beard.

I won’t abandon my principles, Draco repeats, waking in a sweat. “Principles,” he knows, secretly means “parents.”

He cannot face that fact that by believing what they believe, by being what he is, they’ve abandoned him already.