#drarrymicrofic
Hitchhiker
Draco hummed along to the car radio, enjoying the gentle breeze and empty roads, unaware of his buzzing mobile on the backseat when he saw a hitchhiker a few meters ahead. A very attractive hitchhiker; The man was around his age with sparkling green eyes and a gorgeous smile.
“Need a lift?”
“Yes, please, just to the next town, if you don’t mind.”
“Hop in,” Draco said as his phone buzzed once again.
The man flashed his dimples at Draco while a message from Pansy flashed, Serial killer on the loose. DONT stop for ANYTHING on the highway.
@drarrymicrofic March Prompt #3 - song prompt: car radio
No fools here, just 100 words of G-rated angsty, dramatic pining.
For@drarrymicroficpromptprank
Thank you @thebooktopus for the beta <3
My life must be a joke, one massive prank. It has to be – why else would I yearn for you so desperately? Me, with the losing side marking my arm. You, with the scar of the chosen one on your forehead.
So I mock you. I tear through your most tender wounds. I live to watch you bleed. Because you have everything and without you I have nothing.
I am nothing. I fall prey to the torment of never being close enough. The prank persists for years as this love rips me to shreds.
Does anyone know?
Does anyone laugh?
Written for @drarrymicrofic with the prompt “blossom”.
Rated M + warning for memory loss.
“How did you get those scars?” he asks, green eyes narrowing as he runs his fingers all over you, as if mesmerised by the traces he left on his skin.
He may not remember, but you will never forget.
“Car accident,” you lie, but he doesn’t seem to believe you.
“Do you have more?” he asks, hands fumbling with your belt, trying to sneak into your trousers.
“The Healers said it’s a bad idea,” you remind him, gently pushing him away. The hurt in his eyes stings more than the dittany did on your wounds.
You know he’s been rejected most of his life. You promised him it would never happen again, not with you. You swore when you married him, and yet you’re hurting him.
“Right…” he mumbles, but you take his hands in yours and kiss them tenderly.
“We’ll get your memories back,” you whisper, trying to blink away the tears. “I promise, my love.”
You take him to Godric’s Hollow, but he stares at the graves as if they belonged to strangers.
You hold his hand as you walk down the Hogwarts corridors, hoping he will remember something, even the ugly sides of you.
You run down the hill where you got married, the wind in your hair as he looks so alive and laughs when you both stumble and end up in a tangle of limbs among the wildflowers and the grass. You kiss his lips, and they taste like lemonade and sunshine. You let him take you there, slow and feverish, his lips parted on a gasp as he sinks inside you, and he still doesn’t remember.
You take him to Tromso to see the Northern Lights, and he stares at the sky with the same awe and wonder as the first time.
You take him to Marrakech to get lost in the souk with him again.
“We used to travel a lot,” he notices as he hugs a koala in Australia, a delighted expression on his face.
“You’d never been anywhere,” you explain, “so I took you wherever you wanted.”
You scream as you zoom along the zipwire to see the gibbons in Thailand, and he turns to smile at you, so full of life and yet empty of memories of you.
“Want you,” he whispers against your skin in a Venetian calle, his hand sneaking under your t-shirt, thumbing at your scars. He loves them because he can’t remember he put them there, and you won’t tell him.
“I love you,” you confess, as if the matching rings on your fingers were not enough. “Always, even if you can’t remember me.”
He doesn’t say it back.
You take him everywhere. Machu Picchu, Grand Canyon, Paris.
He’s eating a cherry blossom ice-cream in Kyoto when it happens, and his green eyes widen.
The ice-cream lands on the floor with a splat, and his hands shake as they grab the front of your shirt, pulling you closer.
The memories come back, one by one, your awful past and his mingling together, finding a reason to belong.
“I love you,” he says, and you smile through the tears.
He’s back.
Calm in the Storm
Chosen One on coffee date with Ex-Death Eater? The headline glares at them from the counter. ‘There were bound to be rumours,’ Harry shrugs.
‘Wonder what they’d write if they knew what we do despite drinking coffee…’ Draco smiles deviously as he presses a kiss to Harry’s bare shoulder.
Exactly 50 words for the @drarrymicrofic song prompt Rumors by Ava Max (18 February).
Microfic: Tell Me Later
for@drarrymicrofic prompt ‘dystopia.’ with thanks to the wonderful @moonstruckwytch for the beta. cw: minor injury, implied violence
“Malfoy.” Thick mud streaks Harry’s cloak where Draco dragged him behind a tree, curses flying fast. A complete ambush. Someone must be passing information again. They barely made it to the safe house this time.“Malfoy, don’t ignore me. If I say run, you run.”
Soon Hannah will come to take their reports, check for any major injuries. Draco sits and rolls his right shoulder, and it’s a blurry ache, nothing constant. He’s tweaked it again. He closes his eyes. Now that Harry’s going to be fine, the sight of him is too much to bear.
“They only let me stay with you because you can’t talk me into leaving you behind,” Draco murmurs. The sofa settles with Harry’s added weight.
“You used to tell me I was no more important than anyone else.” Harry’s voice is like the crack of a whip. He gets like this sometimes, when it’s gone badly.
“I was wrong,” Draco says simply.
“Sometimes I hate you,” Harry replies.
This has the same meaning as ’I can’t be your boyfriend’ and ’what the fuck have you done to your shoulder’ and ’tell me later. Look at me, there will be a later.’
Draco sighs. A door to the right slams before he finishes his usual reply: “You have to be alive to hate me, so mission accomplished.”
Trying Again
Rated: M for a mention of sex
~230 wordsWritten for the @drarrymicrofic prompt, ‘fervor’, and also @the-starryknight’s extra prompt, 'last chance’. <3
Read below or on AO3
Microfic: Something Like That
for@drarrymicrofic prompt ‘zombie’
“You look like shit,” Dean says, as Harry staggers to their usual table in the university canteen at noon. Harry has already missed one class, and Magical Theory at one isn’t looking likely either.
“Thanks.” Harry’s voice is hoarse with sleep.
“Malfoy keeping you up?” Dean inquires.
Draco sat on Harry’s bed last night and offered him a corner of Molly’s quilt like it belonged to him. “Tell me about zombies.” Their conversation drifts into the early morning from there.
“Something like that, yeah.”
Dean makes a sympathetic noise and turns back to his heavily battered copy of the Aeneid.
Microfic: Mercy
For@drarrymicrofic prompt ‘bared’
He’s maddening. From the steadiness of his breath, the sweat pooling in the hollows of his collarbone to his languid posture like his hands are always tied behind his back. I press my wandtip hard and his response is to bare his neck, to lean into it.
“Hello again, Draco.”
Microfic: Cake
for@drarrymicrofic prompt ‘cake’
On Saturdays, he bakes. Draco takes requests, though he pretends otherwise. Harry loves the cakes the most. They feature thick icebox frosting or piped citrus-flavoured roses or crepe layers with delicate rose and cardamom buttercream. There’s always a slice for him, accompanied by a litany of changes for next time.
Microfic: Turning of the Tide
for@drarrymicrofic prompt ‘angels fall’ by breaking benjamin
There’s a part of Draco that hadn’t quite believed Harry would actually come to his party. The two of them alone was one thing, mingling with his friends is another.
It’s a good surprise as far as surprises go.
Harry’s smile is tentative but genuine. “Sorry I’m late. Happy birthday.”
