“Look at me, LOOK AT ME. Now listen: You are her father first. You are not Harry Potter, Auror extraordinaire, rider of dragons, tamer of Malfoys right now. You cannot march to this person’s house and slaughter them, much as you want to. What you can do is bring Lily her favorite ice cream. Hold her while she cries. Watch Frozenwith her for the hundredth time. When she’s ready, tell her love isn’t finite. Tell her it’s boundless, that there will always be more love for her in this life and that you’ll always be there when it takes its time or falters. Tell her your world didn’t end with your divorce, that love will always find her just like it did you. Understood?”
“Yeah, thank you… What did I do to deserve you?”
“Some would say ‘saved the world,’ but I think you’d deserve me even without your saviour complex. Now go save your daughter from her sorrows.”
“Yes, will you release me from this body bind first?”
“Only if you promise you won’t leave this house wands blazing after some sixth year, looking for a duel.”
my very first (!) @drarrymicrofic for the prompt “prank” (350 words, T) thanks to @makeitp1nk for the beta and to all the server members for the warm welcome yesterday!
Pub night attendance was hit or miss in the wintertime, everyone busy with the holidays and weary of the short days and chilly winds that swept through London’s narrow streets.
April 1 signalled the switch. Everyone wanted to be present for George’s birthday; that it usually coincided with the first warm days didn’t hurt.
Draco had originally been invited by Blaise when he started dating the Weaslette; then Pansy when she started dating the Weaslette. Once he felt comfortable arriving without an explicit invitation, he became part of the regular crowd, rarely missing a night.
Harry was the other staple of the evening, guaranteed to show up in his work clothes, bits of wood shavings clinging to his curls on days that he was turning wands on his lathe.
George’s birthday celebrations were a special brand of pub night. You had to mind your drink if you didn’t want to sprout feathers or a tail, and everything was accented by raucous laughter as attendees pulled pranks in Fred’s memory.
“Scooch over.” Harry crowded Draco into a booth where he’d been observing the revelry and ignoring Pansy and Ginny snogging across from him. “Got you a drink.”
“Cheers.”
Harry tapped his fingers against the side of his glass. “Erm, question for you.”
“Yes?”
“Would you like to get dinner with me on Friday night?”
Draco levelled a glare at him. “Like a date?” he asked, dryly.
“Yes, best April Fool’s ever, the Saviour asking the ex-Death Eater out for a lovelymeal.” Draco scowled, hurt swirling angrily in his belly. “Get out, I’m getting up. Honestly, I thought you were better than this.”
“Draco,” Harry growled. “It’s not a prank. Would it help if I asked again tomorrow?”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps.”
“Consider it done.” Harry grinned and he nudged Draco’s knee with his own before standing up. Draco watched him walk away.
–
Draco’s Floo chimed at 7:30 the next morning as he was pouring himself a cup of tea, still in his pyjamas.
When you see this scene from an adult’s point of view, you realize that perhaps Lucius did have reasons to spend his time fightining in Dumbledore’s office… Hahaha.
I really wanted to post these illustrations at the same time, both are product of “simple background” practices I’ve been doing and I totally love them (humility above all).
Fun Fact: The Giant Squid and Fang were last minute additions and somehow ended up being the stars of both fanarts.
Draco’s always had a knack for plants. Whatever he touched would flourish, even in the most hostile environments. Word about his ability quickly spread all over the world and beyond it with even the dead speaking about him in the underworld.
The Master of the Dead was rapidly becoming obsessed with him. Who was this person and what was he like? What would it be like to have that kind of power under his control? And so he set out to find him.
Scorpius had been as sick as a Crup for three days. He’d had a temperature, a horrible achy tummy, and every time he fell asleep his dreams were dreadful.
Daddy had forbidden him from going to school. He had missed the five-a-side Quidditch match against Toadstool Junior School and his favourite art lesson with Mrs Smith.
Worst of all had been the visit from the Healer. The witch had prescribed him a horrible potion that tasted and smelt like old socks.
On the fourth day, there was a knock on his bedroom door. It was Harry Potter, and there was a tray Levitating in front of him.
“Hi Scorpius,” Harry said, settling the tray down on the cupboard beside his bed. “Your dad said you’d had a rough couple of days.”
“I’m okay,” he mumbled, reluctant to say more. Scorpius wasn’t sure that he liked Mr Potter very much. He and Daddy had always been a gang of two, but now it seemed like Harry was always there. He’d never admit it aloud, but sometimes Scorpius worried that Daddy might prefer Harry over him. Daddy laughed a lot more nowadays, and he smiled a lot more too.
“Well, that’s good,” Harry answered, “because if you’re feeling better, you could try this soup. It’s carrot and coriander, with one very special ingredient. A dash of nutmeg.”
Carrot and coriander were Scorpius’s favourites, but he didn’t tell Harry that.
“Thank you,” Scorpius said, because there was never an excuse not to have good manners. “Did Daddy ask you to bring up my soup?” he asked, feeling hurt that Daddy hadn’t come up to visit him yet.
Harry shook his head. “Your daddy is still at work,” he answered. “Your nana Cissy let me in. I wanted to make you soup, Scorpius.” He smiled. “It always makes me feel better when I don’t feel well.”
Scorpius looked up and let his eyes meet Harry’s. He smiled too.
Harry left then, and Scorpius ate the soup. It was delicious.
Perhaps, next time Harry came to visit Daddy, he’d tell him how much he’d enjoyed it. After all, that would be the polite thing to do.
“That’s the third time today,” Draco said anxiously, crouching down next to Harry’s shaking form on the floor of their shared bathroom. He laid a hesitant hand between Harry’s shoulder blades; cold sweat on overheated skin. Harry flinched, but Draco rubbed gentle circles, desperate to soothe both Harry and himself.
“It’s fine,” Harry grunted.
“It is absolutely not fine, you git,” Draco argued, peering into the toilet bowl. A mangled white daffodil floated on the surface of the water, dappled with red. Harry had another clutched in his fist, his forehead resting on the bowl as he endured another coughing fit. “If you won’t go to St. Mungo’s, then we have to tell Hermione—”
“No—” Harry’s head snapped up, too fast; Draco grabbed his shoulders as he swayed, “—Draco, not Hermione, I swear—”
“Not me, what?” Hermione’s voice sounded from the hallway just before she rounded the corner into the loo, carrying three mugs of tea. Her eyes widened fearfully at the sight of them on the floor. “Harry, are you ill?” She quickly set down the mugs on the counter and pulled her wand from her hair.
“No, go away, both of—!” Harry was cut off by another coughing fit, his body convulsing violently. Draco cursed under his breath, gathering Harry’s long, sweaty curls at his nape, worry turning his veins to ice as yet another blossom forced itself from Harry’s throat.
When it was over, Draco looked up to see Hermione covering her mouth with her hand, her brown eyes still wide and shining with fear. Her gaze locked with Draco’s, and in an instant, Draco knew that she knew exactly what was wrong, and it wasn’t good.
“Hermione…?”
Hermione lowered her hand, opened her mouth—
“Don’t,” Harry growled, then coughed again. He looked up at her imploringly; Draco hadn’t ever seen him beg like this. It turned his stomach. “Please, ‘Mione. Don’t.”
She stood frozen for a long moment, staring at him, in a silent, frenzied exchange of looks. She picked up her mug and gave a short, frustrated huff.
“Draco, you have sixty seconds to tell him exactly what you told me three months ago on pub night—” she turned to make her way out of the room, as if Draco’s world wasn’t now crumbling around him, his heart dropping through to the tile floor, “—or I will tell him myself, and then I will curse your cowardly bollocks off, mark my fucking words—!” Her voice trailed off into livid muttering, stomping down the stairs. “I’m counting!”
The bathroom was deathly silent, but for Draco’s too quick breaths, his heart beating far too loud in the cramped space. Harry made a small noise, and Draco realized he still had a hand in Harry’s soft, damp hair. He heard Harry gulp.
“Draco,” Harry rasped. “Tell me what?”
It’s the third time I’ve seen this, please @lou-isfake end my misery and tell me what Draco told Hermione during pub night three months ago
ok (three months earlier)
“He’s got the room, Draco.”
“No.” Draco punctuated this by downing the last of his martini, waving the bartender for another. “Not a chance.”
“You’re being stupid,” Hermione said, with a heavy sigh. “What better option is there, honestly? You need a place, he lives in a creepy mansion that answers to your blood, anyway—”
“I’d rather sleep on your floor.”
“My floor is in his house, you idiot. We’re flatmates. Just move in. The only difference would be you’d get your own room and Harry will hopefully stop assuming that you and I are fucking.”
“He thinks we’re—? Thank you,” Draco said to the bartender, giving his politest smile as they delivered the next round. He took a sip before returning his attention to Hermione. “Why would he think that?”
Hermione looked at him like he was the stupidest person she’d ever interacted with, which was a feat. To escape her withering glare, he turned his gaze out to survey the pub. Harry was with Pansy and two strangers at the dart board, laughing and yelling and high fiving. His curly hair was tied in a messy bun at the top of his head, and his t-shirt was a bit too tight for his shoulders, and two small gold hoops glinted from his ear and then Draco’s vision was obscured by his own empty martini glass. He set it back down a bit too hard, just in time to see one of the strangers sidle up behind Harry, whisper something in his ear.
“No,” Draco said, again, looking away quickly as something ugly happened in his gut. Probably the vermouth. Hermione groaned in exasperation.
“Don’t tell me you still secretly hate him, or something. It’s been years, Draco, and you and I get along just fine, and I thought you and him were getting on, too.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? You’re perfectly friendly with each other, you talk all the time, you make him laugh—”
“No.” Draco’s eyes slid sideways again, and caught green ones. Harry smiled tentatively at him. Draco smoothed out his own expression as best he could, stuck on the other person’s hand on Harry’s waist.
“You’re being so stupid, I cannot believe you—”
“I can’t,” Draco said, and his voice cracked a little, surprising them both. Hermione paused, thankfully, examining him with furrowed brows, but the alcohol had other plans to fill the silence. “I can’t… be that close. To him.”
Hermione blinked at him, waiting. He grimaced, accidentally catching Harry’s eye again. He felt sick to his stomach. The vermouth. Harry’s face fell. He coughed a bit. The stranger patted his back, offered him beer. Idiot.
“I think it would kill me,” Draco said, though he hadn’t exactly meant to, “being that close.” He tore his eyes away from Harry’s back, and Hermione didn’t look pitying, so the words kept spilling out of him, uninhibited. “I don’t want to know how he takes his tea or what mug he prefers. I don’t want to know his daily routines and his favorite pyjamas. I don’t want to hear him sing in the shower.” Draco tilted his head, and regretted it. “Does he do that?”
“He does.”
“Well bully for you, I want no part of it.”
“It’s a miracle I haven’t strangled the both of you,” she said, with another long suffering sigh. “So bloody dramatic.” She waved her wand, conjuring two glasses of water, and pushed one to Draco. “You’ll move in next Friday. Harry doesn’t want rent, but he does want your help getting the house to listen to him. He was very excited by the idea of you moving in, once I assured him we weren’t fucking.”
“Hermione—!”
“Don’t even try. Just a couple months, Draco, and if you can’t stand it, you can save up for a place of your own. But I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
Draco slapped his hand down on the table in frustration, gritting his teeth. “Nothing about being in love with the stupid fucking Saviour is pleasant, Granger.”
She rolled her eyes at him, then left the booth, delivering the second water to Harry.
I’m fine.
But um.
Now we need to jump back to the present and resolve things.
Ahem.
I’d also take one more glimpse to see it end happily ever after, please! If you feel like it!
so sorry to reblog my own long post but, here u go:
“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 your.
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.
Thank you so much gracerene for writing such a wonderful fic and letting me be a small part of it! And thank you so much to the @harrydracobang mods for all of their hard work in putting together an incredible big bang, as well as allowing me the opportunity to pinch hit!
Although I unfortunately didn’t have time to create more than this one piece, the fic also has beautiful illustrations done by the incredibly talented @ano-ka-ba that are full of emotion and really bring the characters alive. ;A;
The cherry trees in Grimmauld’s garden are heavy with pink blossoms. Their sweet scent fills the air. Harry and Draco lay on a blanket beneath, drowsy in the hazy spring sunshine.
Unable to resist, Harry presses a kiss onto Draco’s smiling mouth. He tastes of elderflower cordial.
“You’re not drinking wine?” Harry asks, surprised.
“Not today,” Draco answers. “The Healer said I’m not allowed to drink alcohol. Not good for the bud growing inside me.” He guides Harry’s hand to his still flat belly.
Harry is overjoyed at Draco’s words. “We’re finally pregnant,” he says, before kissing Draco once more.
A few weeks ago, I commissioned a piece from @flyora of a post-Hogwarts Pansy. Needless to say I am absolutely STUNNED with the result ✨✨ The absolute power this woman radiates with is giving me life. Now to go running back to my Panville WIP with all the inspiration I need.
