sweet-s0rr0w:

Microfic: Back In The Saddle

A random little something for @drarrymicrofic ’s prompt ‘back in the saddle’.

***

“Nerve damage, Potter,” said Malfoy, in a voice that aimed for haughty but actually landed somewhere closer to mortified. The bristles rustled gently as he spoke, and as Harry looked closely, he noticed the faint but constant tremor in Malfoy’s slim wrists.

“But – when –?”

Malfoy’s laugh was cold and jarring. “One too many Crucios, it seems. Aunt Bella could be awfully heavy handed at times.”

Harry swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He’d fancied an early evening ride to clear his head; had planned to fly over to Hogsmeade and grab a Butterbeer. The last thing he’d expected was to find Malfoy here, slumped against the back of the broom shed, eyes bloodshot, his old Nimbus clutched tightly in trembling hands.

“And you really can’t –”

“Fly? No. It’s my balance, you see, it’s – oh, don’t look so horrified, Potter, at least you’ll have free run at the Quidditch Cup this year.” He smiled weakly. “It’s stupid, really. My casting’s off; I can barely control my magic. Can’t even chop Potions ingredients. Flying should be the least of my worries.”

Harry reached over without thinking, prised Malfoy’s fingers from around his broomstick and took his hand. Malfoy’s breath caught but he didn’t object, so Harry turned it over, palm down, fascinated. Malfoy’s fingers moved of their own accord, a flickering motion which spread from his fingertips across the back of his bony hand. As Harry watched, he could see the tendons working; could feel the quiver running up his own arm. He traced his finger along the ridges and valleys of Malfoy’s knuckles; pressed it into the soft spot between his thumb and index finger, unable to look away.

“It’s irreversible,” whispered Malfoy, mouth awfully close, sharp gaze on Harry’s face. When he tried to return it, his eyes fell instead on Malfoy’s lips: bitten raw but appealing, nonetheless.

“Fly with me, then,” Harry said, his voice throaty and unfamiliar.

“What?”

“Come on.”

Malfoy looked incredulous, but Harry merely tightened his grip, tugging him up to standing. Malfoy swung his leg over the broomstick, Harry following suit behind him, leaning over to grasp the handle over Malfoy’s still-shaking hands. He tucked his chin over Malfoy’s shoulder, guiding the two of them slowly up and into the still evening sky.

Malfoy hadn’t been exaggerating; his balance was dreadful. Harry had to keep a firm hold on the broom, his arms tight against Malfoy’s sides as they wobbled through the air. They managed to loop around the grounds once before Harry’s aching shoulders began to give out and he guided them down slowly to the side of the lake. Malfoy’s entire body trembled as he dismounted, flopping down onto the grass; whether from curse damage or adrenaline, Harry wasn’t sure. He was lightheaded himself, warm where Malfoy’s back had rested against his chest, giddy in a way he couldn’t explain.

As he watched, Malfoy extended his arm, lazily, dipping his fingers into the lake. Concentric circles spread rapidly outwards, perfectly even, the water lapping at the shore with tiny splashing sounds. Malfoy was frowning, worrying at his bottom lip again, so Harry took hold of his other hand and brought it up to his face. Malfoy’s hand shivered against his mouth, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the palm, feeling them then: tiny sparks of magic, trapped beneath the skin.

***

AO3

lqtraintracks:

Trying Again
Rated: M for a mention of sex
~230 words

Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt, ‘fervor’, and also @the-starryknight’s extra prompt, 'last chance’. <3

Read below or on AO3

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the-starryknight:

let me count the ways

daily micro #40, for @bearcheers , prompt ‘momentous/epocale’

When you’ll both live forever, time doesn’t work right. You toast to yesterday and laugh about tomorrow, but it’s him who reminds you of today.

“Like this moment,” he says, your heartbeat ticking against his palm, tethered to him. “Like touching you right here, like now.”

the-starryknight:

as learned by Draco Malfoy

daily micro #41, for @tackytigerfic , prompt ‘fish’

“There are fish in the Thames,” Draco said, matter-of-fact, as they strolled along the banks.

“Objects in motion stay in motion,” he muttered, nose in a book of Muggle science. “That’s a law. It’s immutable.”

Later, on pillows meant to muffle, he added another fact to his list: “We belong.”

the-starryknight:

happiness crowding forward

daily micro #15, for @onbeinganangel, prompt ‘no fabric’

The sun’s warmth as their only clothes, they lay, skin on bare skin, tangled in the tall grasses. “I never thought I could earn this,” Draco mumbled, quiet as the breeze’s breath, like he meant it only for the clover’s ears.

“This,” answered Harry, “is given freely and without cost.”

Written for “Behind Blue Eyes” prompt for @drarrymicrofic. | Word Count: 50. Author: @digthewriter. 

Harry reached over, taking Draco’s hand in his, their fingers threading together. No one knew what it was like to be a sad man behind those green eyes. Except for Draco, who had been forced to tell his own lies.

That was going to change now, though. They were free.

Written for Jan 25, 2022 @drarrymicroficprompt “SHATTERED.” (Word Count: 50.) 

“This isn’t me,” you tell yourself, sitting on the bench in the rain.

Yet you wait.

You wait for him to pass by only to chance one look at him while his friends scoff. Your eyes lock briefly. He bites his lower lip, blinks once, and keeps walking.

You wait.

Written for @drarrymicrofic with the prompt “good”.

Rated E with hints of d/s dynamics.

Harry doesn’t know how to be gentle, how to be tender when he sinks inside Draco’s perfect heat. He hasn’t learnt how to touch without bruising, to tame the flames of his need. He wraps his hand around Draco’s thin wrists and pushes, wild and hot.

No one has taught him how to be kind, how to not want everything all at once.

He wants to drape Draco in his warmth, swallow up all the precious sounds he makes every time Harry is on top of him, to make him his and his alone.

Harry knows there’s something wrong with him, that he’s damaged beyond repair, unable to speak or explain or simply ask. But he wants to be good, he desperately does.

Draco pants under him, his eyelids heavy and pink lips parted on a moan, and then Harry pushes a little deeper, presses a little harder, thinking that it’s all too much, that Draco will have enough of him like this; soon he will tell Harry he is too much to bear, that he’s found someone else.

Harry groans, squeezing his eyes shut to bite back the tears as his hips move faster and Draco makes a perfect little sound, so soft and vulnerable, setting Harry’s blood on fire.

“I…” Draco murmurs, a stuttered breath, “I love…this…I love this so much–I love…you.”

Harry still, eyes opening to stare at Draco’s blown up pupils, at the lovely curve of his Cupid’s bow.

Harry’s breath gets stuck in his throat as he watches Draco’s eyebrows crease, his lips trembling, goosebumps on his skin.

He loves him.

Dracoloveshim.

“Fuck,” Harry sobs overwhelmed, claiming Draco’s lips for a bruising kiss that leaves them both moaning and rocking against each other.

Harry lifts Draco’s hips, pushing a little deeper, then moves slowly, sinking all the way in.

“I love you,” Draco repeats, then again, softer. “Love you, Harry.”

Harry sobs into the crook of his neck, against his heated skin.

“You’re mine,” he mumbles, pressing the words into Draco’s flesh, wanting them to sink inside him. “Mine.”

“All yours,” Draco echoes, threading his fingers sweetly through Harry’s curls. “Yours.”

the tribulations of one Hermione Granger and her laconic best friend, for the @drarrymicrofic prompt “good” (T, 50 words) this is so dumb, pls forgive me.

“How’d you do on your NEWTS?”

“Good.”

–

“How was your date with Jean-Paul?”

“Good.”

–

“How’s your cheesecake?”

“Good.”

–

“How was last night’s match?”

“Good.”

–

“How are things going with Draco?”

“Hermione, he’s bloody amazing, I’ve never felt this way before. And he does this thing with his tongue…”

“Harry James!”

<<previous microfic>>

nv-md:

Making Me Mad

cw: drinking and gratuitous cursing

It’s pub night.

I used to love pub night, especially after everything—the War and all the bullshit that came along with it. Pub night was sacred. It didn’t matter who was working or travelling or struggling to get out of bed, every week we’d drag ourselves to this shitty little pub to drink warm pints and make horrible jokes and wallow in our misery.

Now…well, now I hate pub night.

And I hate it because Draco’s here with that stupid wanker he calls ‘darling’, but whose name is really ​​Maximilian, as though that’s any name at all. I refuse to call him Maximilian—or darling—so I usually call him shithead, and sometimes Max, if I’m feeling generous.

I’m five drinks in and losing my train of thought…all that matters is that Max is a pretentious wanker, and I really shouldn’t hate him for it because most of the time Draco’s a pretentious wanker too.

Except I’m in love with Draco and love makes you crazy which means I like Draco when he’s a pretentious wanker.

And they’re at the bar…snogging. Like we’re not public, like there might not be impressionable young children or dark wizards around. You just never know—constant vigilance as Mad-Eye would say. So I’m watching some stupid pretentious wanker kiss my Draco and the pint glass shatters in my hand and I have to pretend it was an accident.

“Oops,” I say, shaking my dripping fingers at Max and his dumb hair. He makes this face and I imagine him getting hit by the Knight Bus, which honestly makes me feel loads better about the whole thing.

“Harry, that’s disgusting,” Draco whines and he’s so annoying—but also so fucking cute—when he’s being a brat that I want to scream. Or punch Max.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to, my hand, uh—slipped.”

“You’re such a heathen,” he says, flashing me that handsome smirk, and I want to scream again. “I can’t believe I’m friends with—”

“We’re not friends.”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

There’s an uncomfortable pause. I’m staring at Draco, who’s staring at me as Max attempts—unsuccessfully—to snog him.

“What did you say?”

Well, in for a Knut, in for a Pound—or whatever.

“You heard me.” I square my shoulders, keeping my eyes fixed on Draco’s blank expression and avoiding Max’s horrid kiss-y face. “We’re not friends.”

“What the hell are you on about?”

“I just—”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because…because we’re just not.” And bloody hell is that the dumbest thing I’ve ever said.

“Really?” Draco sneers, arching his pale brow, and it’s so Fifth Year that I expect to see the Inquisatorial Squad march around the corner. “That’s all you have to say? We’re just not—you know what? Fuck you, Potter.”

It’s the Potter—hissed through clenched teeth, a curse rolling off that sharp tongue—that does it.

“Fine. You know what?!” I’m yelling, and I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. “Fuck you, Malfoy.”

Goddamnit, why did I have so many drinks? The whiskey might as well have been Veritaserum.

“I’m in love with you,” I say, my voice breaking right along with my heart. “And I can’t be your friend—I just can’t.”

Draco looks like he might cry, Max looks like he’s been stunned, and I hate them both. But I hate myself more for falling in love with the one person who could never love me back.

Then Max tries to grab Draco’s hand, and I decide that, actually, I hate him the most.

There’s nothing left to say, and I’m certainly not staying here to watch Malfoy snog someone who isn’t me, so I leave—run right out of the pub like the coward I am. Ignoring Ron’s shout and Pansy’s glare, I stumble out the door and onto the wet pavement.

There’s no way I can Apparate, I’d probably end up with my dick in Bristol or some shit, which means a long fucking walk home. Enough time to figure out how to Obliviate myself so I can start a new life somewhere far, far away from Draco sodding Malfoy.

“Harry—wait, damnit!”

“Can we not do this now?” I slow my steps anyway, even though it’s the second worst idea I’ve had all night. “Look, it’s dumb—”

Except Draco doesn’t let me finish, he shoves me against the nearest wall and kisses me. I’m kissing Draco—he tastes like expensive vodka, Max is nowhere to be seen, and I never want it to end.

I’m considering Apparating us to my flat, splinched dicks and all, when Draco breaks away. He’s breathing hard, but he’s still got me pinned and I’m desperate to rip all his clothes off. 

“Since I can’t be your friend, can I be your boyfriend instead?” I ask stupidly, because I’m somehow more drunk from his lips than from the whiskey.

Draco rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are pink and he’s smiling which I hope means we’ll be snogging again soon.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

He kisses me again, and bloody hell, I love pub night.

For the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Burn by Ray LaMontagne.
Previousmicrofics.

SPLINCHED DICKS ALI YOU ARE MY HERO

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt “I’m Lucky” (M, 350 words)

Being the Master of Death came with an especially peculiar side effect. Harry had become, for lack of a better term, reallyfucking lucky.

As he strolled Diagon Alley, Galleons glimmered on the sidewalk.

Over the din of the crowd on pub night, Madame Rosmerta announced him as the winner of a year’s worth of free drinks.

He lost his money pouch one night and thought the streak was broken, only to have it returned by a handsome Frenchman named Jean-Luc who made him see stars. Three times.

A visit to Eeylops turned into a tearful reunion with Hedwig, who had been found over a year ago with a broken wing and rehabilitated. “I’m sorry for making you wait,” Harry choked out as she nipped at his finger.

Who needed Felix Felices?

–

But Harry’s luck came with consequences. His friends refused to play Quidditch with him. “It’s no fun when you find the Snitch within 10 minutes every time, Harry,” Ginny had apologised before launching herself skyward.

Creeps came out of the woodwork, asking for “a little advice” on that afternoon’s Puddlemere game. 

Ron’s jealousy was worse than ever, even as Harry plied him with free broomsticks, free box seats, free dinners.

He had the Black fortunes at his fingertips, but missed Sirius with every inch of his being.

And the intuition that drove his luck, putting him in the right place at the right time every moment of every day? It kept forcing Draco Malfoy into his path. It didn’t stop Draco from sneering at him, lashing out and causing a scene, spitting Potter like an obscenity.

It didn’t stop the two of them from getting trapped at Grimmauld Place, the house holding them hostage. It didn’t stop Hermione from recognising their entrapment as ancient sentient house magic, with irreversible sexual requirements. It didn’t stop Harry from stumbling into a freshly-showered Draco in the narrow, dim hallway, clutching a small towel around his waist.

But as he blinked sleep from his eyes the next morning, greeted by soft sunlight that highlighted Draco’s freckles, Harry whispered to himself, “Lucky me.“

<<previous microfic>>

The sea foam grazes their toes. Harry lifts his face to meet the salty kiss of the water, the cold touch of the breeze.

“Is it like this back home?” Draco asks, possibly meaning the ocean.

“No,” Harry answers, meaning everything but.

And it’s true. Back home, he is another. Here, with his eyes turned towards the open sky and his skin puckering up towards the biting chill of the morning, he finds himself made anew. When he turns to look, he finds Draco’s eyes on him, and can’t help but smile. He doesn’t ask the question, but Draco answers it anyway:

“No way. It’s freezing.”

Harry feels his smile widen as he reaches for Draco’s hand and holds it tight.

“I know you’ll go in,” he says, unable to keep the smile from spilling over into his words. Draco’s fingers twitch in his hold, but Harry doesn’t let go.

“What makes you think that?”

“I want you to.”

Draco has also been made anew, Harry knows. The Draco from home would never have let a comment like that pass without scrambling to find snide remarks to throw Harry’s way in a desperate attempt to hide himself, his feelings. But this man, with his skin sprinkled brown with sun-kisses from the last few months and hair as white as sunlight, only blushes and says nothing.

He squeezes Harry’s hand. It’s an answer.

Later on they’ll go back to the cabin, sleep off the sunburn in the hammock tied to the posts out back, and wake up to meet their small group of friends in the small restaurant on the other side of the small island, their feet bare and their toes burrowed in the loose sand of the roads. They’ll wonder about the oncoming storm, about whether the electricity will go like it always does when the ocean acts up, and, secretly, Harry knows, they will wonder about whether their first kiss will come soon.

All that will come, later on. But for now, Harry runs towards the ocean with a roar to match the wind and Draco’s hand held tight in his. They meet the crash of the waves head on, together.

Draco’s phone rings. He gives it a couple seconds — just a moment’s pause, just so it won’t seem like he’s been waiting a week for this call, ever since the club, ever since that kiss, even though he has.

When he picks up, it’s with the line ready.

“Mum always told me to walk away when trouble called.”

Harry’s laugh is deep, and sends a thrill through Draco’s belly when it seeps into his answer, “and did you listen?”

“I’m talking to him instead.”

And that is how it starts.

shock

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt of “shock”. thanks to my dear @ladderofyears for the beta!

CW: description of a burned body

* * *

Auror Potter stands with his hands braced on his knees. He takes a deep breath, another, before he unbends and wipes away the sweat from his brows. Purposefully, his eyes don’t drift down where whatever remains of Amaethon Hughes lies, a mere lackey of the chairman of the corrupt gambling industry, backers of extremist neo-pagan politics on the rise and the actual centre of their investigation. 

Instead, they watch Auror Malfoy. He doesn’t even flinch when he takes a step towards where the wizard stood only seconds ago. He even squats down to inspect the damage closely, like he would with just any other body they’ve encountered in the line of duty. It encourages Auror Potter to peek.

Hughes’s legs and torso have melted into a strangely shaped pile on rugged cobbles, charred beyond recognition. Only an oval shape above two oblong ones suggest a human skull and two arms. They look as though reaching for something, anything, while the rest of the body has been sucked away underneath him.

“We could Vanish some of that,” Auror Malfoy says, calm and collected. “Maybe clean up the rest by hand, should something remain. This though,” he points, and Auror Potter looks up into a pale spot of sky, surrounded by the angular rooftops of industrial buildings, “this will stay for a few days. Not much we can do about it.” It takes a few beats before Auror Potter understands that his partner didn’t point at the sky. The air is still crackling with magic. It’s a sound but it might as well be a corporeal sensation, static and pinching as it is. “Or we can follow protocol. Report what happened.”

And what are you gonna do? Hughes’s voice, his last words, ring in Auror Potter’s ears. The tone is smug, teasing, at best.

“Harry?” Auror Potter’s eyes snap to Auror Malfoy, still crouching close to the coal-blackened  thing. His sharp, imploring eyes, though, are now trimmed on Auror Potter’s own. “Would you prefer to follow protocol?”

Auror Potter shakes his head. He must have done so more forcefully than he’d meant to, for his wand, the Elder Wand, after its first strike drops with a hollow sound from his hands onto the concrete.

* * *

thanks for reading! you can find my other microfics here.

<3

the-starryknight:

midnight exes

#55
“Let me guess,” Harry grumbled as he healed Malfoy’s thigh, thinking of the last time they were so close in this kitchen. “You didn’t know where else to go.”

“No.” Malfoy dug his fingers into Harry’s shoulder as he winced at the pain. “There’s other places. I came to you.”

tsauergrass:

He starts feeding the Thestrals with Luna after the war. They bundle themselves up with scarves and heavy coats and toss the bloody meat with bloody hands; blood splatter on the pristine snow. Luna doesn’t mind. Draco learns not to, either.

They can all see them now. Dark, skeletal, elegant, quiet. Omens of misfortune.

Then Harry joins them, broody and silent. He blinks at his blood-stained hands. They sit together and watch Luna walk around in her muddy boots, checking on the foals. Their fingers almost touch; blood-stained fingertips on cold snow. It doesn’t feel out of place.

Someday, Draco thinks, when Harry no longer blinks at his bloody hands, when he sits and hears the quietness of the forest all around them—

Spring is coming.

*

Written for @drarrymicrofic: magical creature