Also Draco gifted Harry the little chain for his glasses and Harry loves it you cannot convince me otherwise its definitely warded and charmed and when he moves it chimes softly just like Draco’s magic.
draco and harry meeting again in college and oh bugger! of all places, surely! you couldn’t have chosen a different university potter! and they both try their best to avoid each other but their muggle friends keep setting them both up multiple times. they try to reason out that it’s a bad idea but it reached to a point where they have now run out of “why it will nvr workout” bs unless they want to reveal they have already dated before back in eighth year.
they do get eventually found out: they’re in a pub celebrating passing the finals and getting their arses drunk off playing never i have ever ㅡ adam (a muggle friend) is drinking his third shot in a row and josie (another common muggle friend) starts again with the game after they all stop making fun of adam ㅡ “never have i ever slept with someone here sitting around the table” and draco drinks his shot without thinking at the same time with harry drinking his and the table fucking loses it.
draco and harry: we can explain!!!111!!!1 their muggle friends:
“How about
love?” Harry asked, hoping Draco would look up from his stupid homework.
“No.”
“Why not?
Love is cute.”
“You’re the
one who likes pet-names, not me.” Draco’s eyes were still on a boring Advanced
Potion’s book and he was tempted to summon it away.
“Baby?”
“No.”
“Babe?”
“What’s the
difference between the two?” The flipping of a page taunted him, and he really
hated the damn thing.
“Erm,” Harry’s
fingers tapped against the library table, lost in thought. “I don’t know,
different sentiments?”
An arched brow was his response and the silence was another
strike against the book in Harry’s opinion.
“Then no.”
He slumped down with a loud enough groan that Madam Picket
glared at him. He had thought Madam Pince had been bad, but she had nothing on
their magi-university librarian.
“Sweetheart?”
“Call me that
and I’ll hex you.”
Well damn. Harry didn’t
get it. Pet-names did something to him; the way it could show how someone
cared, the softness in the titles and the butterflies it gave him. Why wouldn’t
Draco like that?
“What about—”
“Give it a
rest, love.”
Love. Harry’s stomach
tightened on instinct and he could feel the heat in his cheeks. That was one of
his favorite feelings, it always came with a smidgen of embarrassment, but he
wasn’t sure if it stemmed from how much he liked it or something else.
He looked down at the table, unsure of what to say. If Draco
truly didn’t want a
pet-name, then he’d listen, but part of him felt disappointed, which left him
feeling guilty.
“Come here.”
Harry looked up to see Draco’s
book on the table and his eyes searching his face.
“Please,”
Draco said softly, far too softly. Probably why Madam Picket liked him.
When Harry walked around the table, Draco pushed his chair back
and pulled him onto his lap.
“Tell me what’s
got that frown on your face.” Fingers brushed against Harry’s lips and he tried
not to smile.
“I want to
call you something.”
There was amusement in the way Draco’s lips quirked and Harry did not appreciate it.
“You can call
me by my name.”
“That’s
boring!” Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck.
“Not to me,”
Draco said and there was something in his voice
that had Harry tilting back, forehead wrinkled as he took in a soft pink flush
on his cheeks.
Draco looked at Harry’s
chest, eyes not meeting his.
“I’ve never
been Draco to you, Harry.” The whisper was accompanied by a deeper flush and
Harry wanted to trace the colour with his fingers—so he did.
“It’s
intimate, don’t you think?” Draco asked, eyes flicking up briefly before they
fell once more. “It shows how far we’ve come, allows me to be someone more than
a surname and I get to share that with you. I like when you call
me Draco.”
Oh.
“I’ll call
you whatever you want,” Draco continued, nearly breathless. “As long as you
call me by my name.”
“Okay,” Harry
murmured before he let his fingers fall and he replaced them with his lips;
soft kisses to heated skin.
He still wasn’t sure he
understood but if Draco liked it, that’s all that mattered in the end.
“Draco.”
Barely a whisper but the effect was instantaneous. A small
shudder and a tightening of hands around him had Harry watching his face.
The look Draco gave him was familiar, that was a look that
described how he felt every time Draco muttered love, whispered baby or smiled
through a darling. That’s what he had
been wanting for Draco, that’s what he
had wanted to share.
Intimacy wasn’t universal,
experiences weren’t always shared and that’s okay. Harry was looking forward to
learning more, learning other things Draco loved.
“Draco,” He said again, and again. He never
wanted to stop.
Literally had a feral moment and had to sketch this out before I forget it-
Malfoy saves harry from could’ve been a real bad fall during quidditch without really thinking vibe. Which shifts their dynamic~
soooo I was very obsessed with a decided to write a little blurb for it. I hope that’s alright!
There was more than a bit of irony in it, Harry thought, in dying this way.
Surviving six years of plots, a resurrected Dark Lord, and a bloody War. All for him to die in a Quidditch accident. The Boy Who Lived taken out by just a little bit of hubris and quite a lot of gravity.
McGonagall had finally been worn down by Harry’s excessive whinging about Eighth Years not being permitted to play on House teams. “But Professor,” he’d moped on more than one occasion, “don’t we deserve to have some fun after everything we’ve been through?” The stern lines of her face had slowly drooped into fond exasperation, allowing Harry—all Eighth Years, rather—this silver lining.
It was only now, his fingers slipping off the sweaty, glistening wooden handle of his Firebolt, a cry of “Fuck!” tumbling from his lips, that Harry wished he’d just let it go and committed himself to a year of diligent study like Hermione had suggested.
The snitch had pulled down at the last moment, and Harry — overconfident, overeager, and very much underprepared — had tried a move he was a good month or so away from having back in his arsenal. Biting November wind nipped at his cheeks, thrashing against his ribs and burrowing in his bones as he hung there. There’d be no Dumbledore to stop his descent this time.
Harry’s fingers cramped and he knew he’d fall, could feel the realization settle over him like some macabre veil. He felt the air rush through the still-growing gap that now existed between his fingers and his broom. He squeezed his eyes shut, flinching away from the sunlight that shone directly into his eyes, when he felt a pressure on his forearm.
Opening his eyes, Harry peered up, gaze zeroing in immediately on the long, nimble, fingers wrapped firmly around him. Sliding up further, he felt his eyes widen at the sight that greeted him: a similarly wide-eyed Draco Malfoy, ruddy and panting, shoulders and chest heaving under the leathers of his kit. His hair glowed against the backdrop of the sun and clouds behind him, illuminating his face like some kind of god, or at least the subject of a revered renaissance painting.
Harry swallowed, mouth suddenly very dry. “Malfoy…?”
Malfoy said nothing, opting to stare at Harry for a few raw seconds before he began lifting. Dance with Death evaded, Harry jolted into action, extending his free arm towards the free space at the back of Malfoy’s broom. They managed to pull him up onto the broom where Harry lunged forward, wrapping his arms frighteningly tight around Malfoy’s waist, cheek and ear pressed up against his back.
Eyes screwed shut once again, Harry heard only the gasping of his own shallow breaths and the thundering heartbeat of the body against his. He shivered, images rushing in unbidden of the reverse from only five months ago. A room aflame with acrid air.
Wind stung his cheeks, his nose. They were moving. After some indeterminate amount of time, he felt the gentle press of a hand against his knee pad. He opened his eyes to Malfoy’s head angled back towards him. He jerked his chin towards the unassuming Firebolt hovering in the air next to them, as if the blasted twig hadn’t just thrown Harry off.
Harry nodded against the solid muscle of Malfoy’s back before he carefully got back on his broom. The place where Mafloy’s fingers had been burned under the layers of protective gear and robes. They stared at each other, unblinkingly. No words passed between them. The air felt heavy between them, charged with something Harry couldn’t name.
Before long, the fickle snitch appeared in the small space between them, but neither of their gazes faltered.
Harry couldn’t remember how the game ended, couldn’t have been bothered to try, either. He must’ve caught the snitch, though, because he was aware of some hearty back slaps and congratulations among the crowd of mostly worried Professors and students. He barely registered the presence of Hermione and Ron at one elbow, a frazzled Professor McGonagall at his other.
All he had eyes for was the retreating figure of a towering blond in green, flowing robes, who cast a look of his own. Their eyes met for moment, the air stilling around him. Malfoy turned back first, moving into the changing rooms, but Harry was unable to look away long after he was gone.
IM SPEECHLESS!! It’s totally okay thank you for this amazing blurb!!!! 😭😭💕💕💕💕
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