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Green

@secretlycrazyhummingbird requested 7. A color so vibrant and honest off my prompt list

Draco’s favorite color was always green.

When he was five his mother gave him a storybook full of illustrations of magnificent green dragons. He would look at those pictures for hours and hours.

When he was eight he learned that green was the color of Slytherin. He consequently demanded that his room be redecorated so that everything - his sheets, his pillows, his curtains - would be green. Narcissa obliged, of course, because she could never deny Draco of what he wanted.

When Draco was eleven he went to Diagon Alley to get all his supplies for the upcoming school year. He was being fitted for Hogwarts robes when he met another little boy who would be starting at Hogwarts in the fall. And what do you know, this boy has green eyes. And not just any type of green, a bright, vivid green, a color so vibrant and honest that it made Draco’s heart skip a beat. For some reason when Draco got home, his green bedroom seemed a little bit off. That Slytherin shade of green just wasn’t his favorite color anymore. He needed a shade of green that matched the little boy’s eyes. So Draco went to tell his mother about the problem with his room.

“It’s just not the right green, Mother! We have to change it!”

Narcissa sighed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Draco. It’s the exact same color as the Slytherin seal, and that’s what you wanted isn’t it?”

“But-”

“No more arguing,” Draco’s father interrupted. “Your mother said your room is fine so your room is fine, understand?”

“Yes, father.”

When Draco was eleven and a half he was glad that his mother hadn’t changed his room, because by this point he’d realized that the boy from the robe shop was nothing special, even if his eyes were. The boy was actually Harry Potter, a horribly nasty git who thought Draco wasn’t good enough to be his friend. Harry Potter was Draco’s worst nemesis, and it was blessing that he wouldn’t have to be faced with Potter’s eye color every time he went home to the Manor.

When Draco was fourteen he changed his mind about Potter. Potter was infuriating, yes, and imprudent, yes, but he was also maddeningly gorgeous. And once Draco realized how handsome Potter was, he started to realize other things about Potter too. Like the way Potter would scratch the back of his neck when he was at a loss for words and the way he’d scrunch up his eyebrows when he was trying to understand something and the way Potter would run his fingers through his beautiful mess of hair without a thought and the way he smiled. By the end of fourth year, Draco had developed something like a crush. He, of course, made sure that no one except for Pansy found out about it.

When Draco was sixteen he was forced to grow up and forget about his schoolboy crush. Potter was not something Draco could afford to think about while he had his mission. Still, he sometimes found himself daydreaming about the green of Potter’s eyes when he was supposed to be writing letters on his progress to his father. Draco was still sixteen when Potter hit him with Sectumsempra. Those green eyes were all he could see as drifted into unconsciousness.

When Draco was seventeen green became his least favorite color. By Easter, he had seen the green of Avada Kedavra two hundred and four times. It was becoming difficult to go into his green-filled room without sicking up. And then Harry Potter appeared. And suddenly green was again the most beautiful color he’d ever seen. He told his father he didn’t know the boy, but of course he was lying. He would know those eyes anywhere.

When Draco was eighteen when he learned that Harry Potter found Draco’s grey eyes just as enamoring as Draco found his green eyes.

“I think that’s why grey is my favorite color now,” Harry said.

“Green was always my favorite color,” Draco said.

“Well, yeah, because of Slytherin.”

“No. Because I love you.”

“Oh.”

Draco turned his head to the side to look at the boy lying next to him in the grass. Harry’s eyes were still on the stars above them.

“You don’t have to love me back,” Draco said.

Harry was smiling when he looked back at Draco.

“I know I don’t have to, but I do. I love you, Draco.”

“Then stop smiling like a loon and kiss me.”

Honestly though, headcanon that the Durselys didn’t get Harry Glasses until someone at school called them (for the third time) and said Harry needed glasses and “hadn’t they noticed he couldn’t see things farther then half an arm away from him?” And of course they’d noice but to them it was only fotter for more insults and punishment and a good reason to lock him up. They feigned innocence though, saying that the other calls hadn’t been clear enough and “He seemed to be able to see perfecttly fine to them” and bought him a pair that evening but never renewed the prescription and he’s had the same pair since, but one day draco notices him squinting and teases him about it, but then asks when the last time he got them renewed and Harry just looks confused and casually mentions that he’s had the same glasses since he was 8 and Draco’s appalled because “are you dumb? How can you cast accurately if you can’t even see?” And harry just shrugs and says it never really occurred to him that it would even be necessary , he couldn’t see for the first 8 years of his life and he had glasses now even if things were starting to get a little blurry, and he’s a little uncomfortable now and Draco knows basic details about how shitty the dursleys were and knows Harry hates talking about it because “it’s in the past now and i don’t ever have to see them again. Why would i dwell on something that’s only going to hurt me more by thinking of it” and of course draco can barely fathom such a Gryffindor sentiment but has resolved not to push him on it as it only makes him upset. But he asks for harry’s glasses and cast a temporary augmentation charm on the prescription, mumbling about how “no wonder Harry was bad at potions if he couldn’t see the board or the ingrediants!” and “it’s not perfect but it will do for now” and they go back to working. But the next morning harry wakes up to seven pairs of magical glasses that update prescriptions automatically as they are needed, (Draco also cast a charm on harry himself when he wasn’t paying attention that told him the information he would need he IS after all training to be a mediwizard and he IS incredibly intelligent if he does say so himself), and all they are different but all similarly round. “one for each day of the week” draco says when harry asks and shrugs it off as if he hasn’t just blown this boys mind and Harry’s just left completely flabbergasted and is too embarrassed to wear a different pair of glasses every day so he picks his three favourite pairs “one casual, one formal and one back up” and makes draco send the rest back. But harry knows from then on that anything he tells draco about his time in the muggle world will probably be met with calm aversion, but he will wake up the next day to something draco has done to make it better. And he knows then that draco is completely and utterly smitten.

Fluff In The Eighth Year Commons Room

The wind is gentle. The window is opened a fraction. There is an artificial skylight above them shining warm light over the colorful room. The bookshelf, stuffed to an almost breaking point, shined in the light, and pages of loose books rustled. The sound of the pages mingled calmingly with the rustle of the disturb plants, hanging around them. Many of the torches had been put out for the night, but the fireplace raged on, its crackling and dancing oddly soothing. Students sighed, pages turned, the air was warmer and the windows faced the setting sun. And there sat Draco, trying to just absorb all of it, remember it forever. The weight of Harry’s head on his shoulder, the way his awful, unruly hair tickled his face. The way Draco looked at the sunset, then down at Harry, and couldn’t really tell which was more beautiful. The peaceful look on Harry’s face, as Draco pretended it would last forever. As if it wouldn’t disappear the minute the boy woke up, realizing it was Draco he slept on. Draco pushed away the worry about what to say when the inevitable happened. Harry makes a small sound and grabs Draco’s sleeve in his sleep. The blonde smiles and wraps an arm around him. He hums in contentment and restraints himself from leaning his own head on top of Harry’s. All the eight years had to share a commons room. It was an abandoned classroom of the first floor (second, for Americans), with a fireplace for the Gryffindors, a bookshelf for the Ravenclaws, fuzzy carpet and hanging torches for the Slytherins, and lots of warm lighting and plants for the Hufflepuffs. The huge couches and loveseat were cloth and plush, perfect for a nap in, as everyone knew. But most eighth years had far too horrible of nightmares to actually take naps like normal almost-adults. Nonetheless, Harry. Harry fricking Potter. The boy who has actually experienced death, who faced his worst nightmares, who killed He-Who -Voldemort! Who saw his godfather die, who almost saw many of his friends die. You’d think he would never even close his eyes. Draco couldn’t stand being still, he needed to do something. Harry’s peaceful face, the tiny smile appearing on his sharp features that were so uncommon. Draco memorized it as well, the way his lips turned up at the corners and revealed the tops of his white teeth. A little dorky, a little drowsy, and Draco would never get enough. So he still needed to move. He started to pet Harry’s hair. Upon hearing that they would share a commons and a dorm, both Draco and Harry were taken aback. They didn’t hate each other. It was an understanding, a draw. Although their feud has been childish it was strong, and now they just wanted to move on, but each boy thought the other still hated him. When Hermione Granger stormed up to him yesterday, demanding he help Harry study because apparently, she couldn’t tutor Harry and Ron anymore - Draco fights a scoff - Draco had been too dumbfounded to argue. Harry was grudging as well, but Granger had definitely had the same talk with him, because upon Draco’s arrival, Harry only shrugged painfully, and opened his charms book. Harry’s breathe ghosted against Draco’s neck, a bit foreign and definitely strange but Draco didn’t move. Draco sighed internally, allowing himself to relax into Harry. But Harry was going to wake up, he was going to wake up, hewasgoingtowakeup. He’d be mad, mad, he’d be mad at Draco for… For what? For nothing. He’d be disgusted, though. Falling asleep on a Malfoy? His childhood nemesis? A goddamn death eater? A person who’d tried, wanted to, kill him. Or, well, Harry could hate him for the very fact that he had bony shoulders. It couldn’t be comfortable.

Everything that Draco hated about himself he was convinced everyone else hated him for. Draco didn’t know what his mind was doing to him. And now he was tense, and Harry’s sleeping form would notice that. So Draco forcibly relaxed, and he willingly let the panic set in.

The pinks and golds of the setting sun faded, and someone closed a window. The other eighth years went to bed, oblivious to the panic of Draco; or maybe forcefully ignoring it. Someone closed the window, complaining to their friend how cold it was.

Draco didn’t say that he thought it was a comfortable temperature.

“Would you like a blanket?” Whispered a something right next to him. Draco did not jump (he lost that reflex when Voldemort moved in, something about his body triggering freeze over flight), but his breath hitched.

Keep reading

@drarrymicrofic’s prompt: love letters

drarry microfic

when draco found out it wouldn’t be long until harry would no longer wake by his side, in his arms, legs a tangled mess, under their covers anymore, draco could’ve sworn he wished the world ended right then. though, his grief wasn’t a lone man’s pie. in fact, the rest of the wizarding world sorrowfully cried too. money for harry’s chemotherapy was being swept off ruthlessly on one end, while draco’s nightmares of the potential death of his love came along on the other. it all seemed like a sick joke. just as their first anniversary as a married couple came around the corner, harry’s oesophageal cancer popped up like a twisted surprise. draco wouldn’t have guessed, though, if harry hadn’t complained of chronic chest pain or difficulty in swallowing—he just thought it was some kind of act in preparation for their first anniversary. like some kind of ongoing skit with a huge curveball to shock draco on the huge day with. though, he would’ve liked it if was kept that way. because as the days went by, the realization that harry just might not make it alive seemed to creep its way noisily–like a broken record–straight into draco’s head. it was quite the matter for him, of course. he never would’ve imagined things to fire back at the very last moment. heck, he didn’t imagine harry of all people to suffer oesophageal cancer. and it was as though harry wasn’t the only one with the short end on the stick, because draco’s mind seemed to slander him in the mud on the other end too. he started seeing visions, as though he was delusional and couldn’t differentiate between reality and what was in his mind. so, whenever draco walked around their now-empty apartment, he would vision a flicker of harry, trapped in their bed, yelling for help, crying and pounding on the sheets, but whenever draco ran to him to aid, harry would sink and disappear into the bed, leaving draco surrounded in his sorrow. draco did tell his mind healer about all of these visions though, and she did suggest draco try to pen his thoughts down. having lost her own child to the ruthless, hunting monster that is cancer, she confessed that writing her feelings down did help for her to visualize them to work on. and draco thought this was a pretty damn genius idea, except he had a little twist to it. instead of making the letter all about himself and what he called his “oh so poor little miseries”, he decided on writing love letters to harry instead. this way, he would give harry as well as himself something to look forward to every day, compared to usual days where he would stride into harry’s ward with his eyes and nose as though dipped in red paint, tear strains a never-ending pour. and so he did. draco poured all his love he would’ve given harry into the form of letters. he figured that writing was indeed his forte, as he elegantly scorched the paper with his undying love for harry. and it did pay off, because at the end, the flashing smile harry gave him after he was done with the day’s letter made draco’s heart soar, as though he fell in love all over again. soon enough, about three anniversaries later, harry managed to beat his oesophageal hell of a cancer and even came home with two boxes filled with four years worth of daily love letters from his husband. as heavy as it was, though, how could he complain? life and love were truly a mystery, and he was only blessed to have explored all strange corners of them with draco all along.

my heart goes out to anyone with cancer. you are so strong and i believe that you have the fight to beat it. you are so fucking amazing and i literally love you🤎🤎🤎🤎

âme et larmes—soul & tears

drarry drabble:

italics: draco // normal: harry

“and of course am i lying. i’m always lying.

i have always lied,

to you.

because if i told you the truth, you would think i’m insane.”

“and you never thought about me?

us?

not even a ‘what if’”

“i don’t deserve you.

so i act like it doesn’t exist. like you don’t exist.

we aren’t made for this. we aren’t (silence)

possible.”

and harry only ever wished for draco to have his mind with him, to trust, to believe he deserved love. to understand he could love harry, his fucking enemy, to see that they had a chance with each other. but draco? he chose not to.

draco malfoy, age 30, giggling at the sight of his husband tripping on his own two feet, his heart tugging strings as he thinks about how it went from how do i love you to how could i stop.

draco malfoy, age 11, lying face down on his satin canopy bed, crying because potter won’t be his friend.

draco malfoy, age 14, absolutely despising potter and his group of “friends” while simeltaneously trying to get their attention in any and every possible way.

draco malfoy, age 16, realizing that half of him loathes potter and his stupid hair and his stupid laugh and his stupid smile while the other-and more demanding-half of him might….how you say? feel the literal exact opposite.

draco malfoy, age 18, desperately trying to suffocate the long-lasting crush he’s been harboring for potter as he watches the man he (might) love move on from hogwarts and the war and him.

draco malfoy, age 21, pressesd against the wall of a muggle club, lip-locked with a messy-haired stranger in an effort to forget about a certain someone who shall not be named (no, not that he-shall-not-be-named).

draco malfoy, age 24, trying (and failing) to act as non-chalaunt as possible when harry bleeding potter grabs his wrist in the middle of diagon alley, looks him in the eyes, tells him he’s been thinking about him a lot recently and asks him to join him for a cuppa.

draco malfoy, age 25, feeling entirely content for the first time in possibly ever as he wakes up in his apartment to the sound of potter’s loud-ass snores and the feeling of potter’s leg curled against his.

i love this please let me marry you

The Valentine’s Curse

Feb 9th

“What have you done to your hair, Malfoy?!” Potter accused when he caught sight of Draco, he sounded scandalized.

Draco paused his chopping of a piece of mandrake leaf and spared a glance at his Potions partner, who had just entered the classroom, in exasperation. “Since when do you care?”

“I do care,” Potter said indignantly and Draco was mildly aware of pairs of eyes turning on him in the classroom, “When your hair’s gone pink!”

Draco’s hands self-consciously went up to his hair, currently in a shade of pale pastel pink, to fix it. “If you don’t like it, kindly look somewhere else,” he murmured under his breath, tossing the chopped ingredients to Potter’s side of the table.

“And then when our potion fails again, you’ll blame it on me even it is you who told me to look elsewhere,” Potter sassed back, eyes still squinted at Draco as he carelessly threw the mandrake leaves into the bubbling cauldron, ignoring the way Draco tried to stop him.

“At least I still have good hair, even when it’s pink. Unlike you, with your bird’s nest.” Said Draco cooly.

____

Feb 10th

Draco sat at the dinner table, his stomach screaming protests of hunger at him, yet he could not even force down a bread roll.

Eventually, he decided enough was enough. Grabbing his plate, he stood up and stomped all the way to the Gryffindor table.

“Potter.” He spat out towards said person’s direction, “Are you done staring at me the whole day? You have your 6th year stalker face on again. ”

“No?” Potter whispered back, even though no one in the Gryffindor table cared enough to pay attention to the pair, “It’s just. Your hair. It’s very distracting.”

Draco witnessed as a strange look slipped onto Potter’s face, and a glint in his eyes as he kept on looking at the pink hair. Draco was aware that his own face heated up slightly. It must be the embarrassment. “Well, it is not my fault that my hair is pink.”

“You didn’t dye it?” Potter asked faintly. But he already had his eyes fully trained on the pale pink strands that were falling in front of Draco’s face. Draco did not do well with confrontation. So when Potter currently had his full focus on his person, he blushed deeper.

Draco scowled. “I was cursed.”

“It looks like bubblegum,” Potter continued in awe, completely ignoring Draco, “Looks so soft.”

Draco struggled to flip him off. And then promptly stomped all the way back to his table, blocking out the chatter of Potter’s voice behind him.

___

Feb 11th

“So, why is your hair still pink?” Potter plopped down sans invitation beside Draco on the sofa in the 8th year common room, and like always, poked his nose in Draco’s business.

“Go away, Potter.” Draco groaned loudly.

“Can I touch it?” Potter voice slipped back into the soft, wondrous tone yesterday at the table. His hands reached out and moved towards Draco’s direction.

“What - No! Stop it, you wanker,” Draco hurried to bat Potter’s hands off his hair. And Potter turned baby crup eyes on him. Draco squared his face. “You are not permitted to touch!”

“But it looks nice. Edible.” Potter said quietly, his bright eyes wider than usual, dreamy around the edges.

A twisty, unknown feeling creeped into Draco’s gut. Flustered, he attempted to shake Potter out of his weird reverie.

“Potter…Are you even in the right mind?”

____

Feb 12th

“Oh. Not again.” Draco had to stop himself from yelling in frustration when foreign fingers made their way into his, still, pink hair.

He reached up to catch Potter in the act. And the Gryffindor didn’t even look guilty. Instead, he continued running his fingers across Draco’s scalp, leaving tingles behind all the way down his spine. Draco wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to be feeling anymore.

“It really is soft as it looks.” Potter said, as he reluctantly said down beside Draco again.

“So, who cursed you?” He asked, and Draco was glad that he was not back to his weird staring mood. It unnerved Draco from the insides.

“I don’t know,” Draco shrugged, resigned to the fact that he would not be able to study anymore, “It was the Valentine’s Curse. I think it was either Blaise or Pansy.”

Potter gaped at him. “Slytherins curse each other?”

“Oh, it is all good fun,” Draco said, “It is not like you Gryffindors don’t hex each other. When was the last time you did it, Potter?”

Potter face turned sheepish. “Well, I made Hermione’s quill write in incorrect spellings in the DADA quiz yesterday.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “There you have it. Apparently, my friends are somehow, by a miracle, convinced that I have taken up with a secret boyfriend, which I don’t have one obviously. And they thought it would be a good idea to put the Valentine’s Curse on me and turn my hair pink.”

“What does this curse do?” Potter asked, and shifted closer to Draco.

“Honestly, Potter, do you ever listen in class.” Draco said, and as if it was really testing his patience, he added, “It was supposed to cause the hair of whoever I kiss turn pink as well. So everyone knows, and some bullshit like that.”

Potter merely nodded and tilted his head to a side, peering at Draco’s hair again. Eventually, he said with a strange smile, “But it is a nice colour.”

Draco frowned.

____

Feb 13th

“I see you’re still not done with your weird infatuation with my hair.” Draco pointed out, when he could feel Potter’s gaze in his direction in their shared Transfiguration class.

“Yeah, so?” Potter shrugged. And the bugger had the dignity to take that as a cue to walk up to Draco.

“Seriously, if this is your way to pester your former rival into submission, bug someone else.” Draco turned away from the nosy Gryffindor and opted to focus on conjuring a ball of green light.

Contrary to Draco’s expectation, Potter laughed. “Sorry, I don’t bother that anymore,” he twirled his wand mindlessly between his fingers. Draco tried not to focus on that. “Y’know, I used to think blond hair looks good on you. But now I think the pink works just as well.”

It took a moment for the words to go through Draco’s mind. And when he turned to Potter abruptly, Potter was regarding him with an even look. “Hold on…Are you saying you think my hair looks good?”

“Well, I thought that was obvious all along. However, having good hair did not make you less of a prick.” 

A teasing grin stretched on the prat’s face, as he brushed past Draco. Draco growled slightly after him.

____

Feb 14th

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Malfoy.” Potter said when he approached Draco in an almost empty common room, curled up in a corner on a sofa with a book in his lap.

“And?” Draco said, not taking his eyes off his text.

“Do you reckon pink hair will look good on me?” Potter asked randomly, sliding up to Draco’s spot.

Draco leaned slightly back from the sudden proximity. “I don’t know? What does that have to do with me. Dye it to see for yourself, Potter.”

A mischievous smirk made its way to Potter’s face, getting oddly closer yet. “Yeah?” He whispered, warm breath almost tickling into Draco’s space, “You think I should find out myself?”

“Uhh…You do you?” Draco said hesitantly, blushing faintly as Potter’s eyes were for once not on his hair, but on his face.

“Great. Thank you for your input.” Potter said, a light of excitement clear on his face. Draco felt like he missed something very important.

He realized what it was, when Potter’s lips pressed to his.

(and then draco kissed harry, fingers tangled in newly pink hair)

______________________________________

(i can’t get the idea of draco with pink hair and slightly oblivious draco out of my head)

(sorry i just have to do something for valentine’s day)

(like it?)

love galore

drarry microfic:

if the deepest pains and sufferings could talk, that was what they would sound like then. harry’s fight with draco was like an unchoreographed performance, destined to tear apart what was supposed to be healed.

for the past hour, they had been throwing insults and words that cut beyond just from reaching the ear, and either could tell that the both of them were sick and tired of one another, much so, of the fiery argument as well.

draco had said whatever he was thinking, and even though it was to cause harry pain, and as much as harry hated it, he knew wasn’t any different.

“you’re so fucking insufferable, potter! i just wanted a days break from work alone. you just had to ruin everything and be a clingy bitch.” draco reviled distinctively. he could feel the harsh rising and falling of his heated chest, all the anger bubbling up from the pit of his stomach and landing right on the tip of his tongue.

and harry knew. draco never called him “potter” unless something was incredibly foul. no, he stopped that years ago at hogwarts. now they’ve been dating for a couple of years, sharing an apartment and living a life together. how easily could the man throw his former emotions away in a heat of an argument?

harry could feel his tongue shiver slightly in his mouth. his throat was going dry by the second, his palms turning pale from the amount of pressure he used when pushing his fingernails in–a nasty habit he lost himself into every time his mind turned cloudy.

but harry had his reasons to his sorrow. he opened his eyes to let the tears that pricked roll down, and for the first time in the ages of silence, he looked up at draco.

“because i wanted to propose, you fucking moron!”

and in that one frozen after harry had let those words escape his mouth, he could tell the room went silent. the air was thick, and to draco it was as though the words harry let out remained stuck, replaying over and over again like a broken record.

“w-what?”

“i was going to take care of you, give you a nice ass candlelit bath, bring you to our bedroom filled with fucking rose petals, and propose. well, thanks a lot now, MALFOY.”

as harry let his words out, he could just see the agony flash past draco’s diminutive eyes, and suddenly all the fondness and love harry had forgotten was the only thing he could see in him.

“oh, harry..” he breathed, falling with his knees to the floor as he let his hands tangle through the blonde hair that lay on his head. silent tears drove down his cheeks, as draco bit his lip trying to stay quiet. but the rapid beating of his heart and the shaking of his arms said otherwise.

to draco, he felt as if he failed. as a boyfriend, a partner, a potential fiancé too. he could feel the waves of guilt coursing through his veins, clouding his mind as he wished he could cut off that tongue of his that spoke too soon.

“draco..?”

but draco didn’t spare a glance at the man standing above him, because how could he after all he had done?

yet, harry was resilient. dropping down to his knees too, he sat right across the blonde who had his head buried into the depths of his pale palms. harry reached forward as he gingerly pried his palms open, then using the tip of his finger to place under draco’s chin, to get him to look into the eyes of his lover.

“l-listen you-you don’t have to do any-ything. i-i’ll just go-o and le-eave this place. you do-on’t deserve someone who’s q-quick to speak. i-im so so sorry ha-rry i just-”

but instead of a tight slap draco had prepared himself to receive at the end of his little apology, he was cut off with a soft pair of lips that met his own.

this wasn’t like their usual kisses—passionate or lustful. there was no movement involved, just lip against lip, hand against nape but a heart that beat for each other. it reminded themselves of the 6 years of love they had built, with each day underlying a different surprise, a different story.

“draco, i understand where you’re coming from. i don’t hate you whatsoever, i just wished we had more time for each other. i want to make you my husband, love. i want to be there with and for you throughout. if you leave, who else will i turn to?”

and once again, draco crumbled to a pool of tears.

“i’ll marry you” he confirmed, giving in to the grin that danced on his lips. harry could only smile at the butterfly garden released in the pit of his stomach, before leaning forward and kissing his now fiancé harder, stronger, and more passionate than ever. the two men knew nothing could break them now, the layers of love unbeknownst to them unfolded within each second of the kiss, speaking for their emotions.

“cuddles?” harry mumbled against the red of draco’s lip. though they had done lots more than cuddling, the persian hue that never failed to coat his cheeks returned once more.

and draco didn’t have to be told twice. standing up, he threw a merry harry over his shoulders, because who was he to deny such a delicate request?

@drarrymicrofic ’s prompt: roadtrip

drarry microfic/headcanon:

handling the steering wheel while humming the latest song by popular rock band of the 1990s—Nirvana, harry was sure to mark down this day as the best of his life. he never seemed to falter when it came to belting out the lyrics that failed to leave his mind, nor when it came to shunning draco off whenever he tried to make a small talk because shh draco! this is the best part of the song. and all draco could do is huff over how harry’s been saying that for the past 30 minutes over “some crazy muggle song” he’s been having on replay. but when harry finally convinced himself to stop the music so he could pay some attention to the grumpy, thrown off husband of his, he realises he’s asleep (with a rather prominent frown on his face.) harry just bursts out laughing, loud enough to feel satiated but still soft enough to not wake the sleeping beauty up, so he could capture this memory in his film camera before the traffic signal flagged green again. with a giddy smile playing on his lips, harry reaches a hand down to gingerly interlace his fingers with draco’s, making sure to pay more attention to him when he wakes up somewhere along their 18 hour drive to North Carolina.

broken eternity

tw // death

drarry microfic:

draco managed a minuscule yelp through his eternal despair, as he slumped against harry’s cold, hard, shaking body on the floor. with one hand tightly gripping the corner of his lower right abdomen, draco had his eyes shut as the pain that echoed from his belly button started inflaming his appendix, too. harry looked down at the anguished blond on his lap, as he raised his palm to caress draco’s cheeks while there was still life in his body. a hot tear drop jogged down his cheek, before another, and another, and another drowned draco’s face below. silence filled the air. not one bestowed upon silk, not one to appreciate. this silence made the air cold, as though daggers flamed through each corner of the room. silence that reminded the two men the candle was dripping, and soon it would vanish. silence that reminded them that time was soon to be out.

“you never told me you had appendicitis, draco” harry managed through his cries.

“harry..i-” but draco could feel his voice faltering. the life in his body slowly escalated further and further off until he could feel it only at the tip of his fingers, barely able to grasp back.

“i love you” draco slurred, and suddenly all the pain he felt vanished as he let his eyes take one more look at the man he’s come to love since the tender age of 15, before closing in termination. his ears could only pick up the hue of a hospital van, and the vociferous cry of his husband above him. it was too late.

art of love

drarry/bxb headcanon:

its the 5th of june 1997. the summer sun is down, the birds aren’t chirping anymore, and there isn’t a cloud in sight. the lights are out, and people sleep in debt to the moon’s rays.

back in a small apartment in the stubby streets of london, lay two men upon one another, in silence that is as though bestowed upon silk. all that feeds the ear is the terder noise of the fire cracking in its place. and all that feeds the mind is the unfathomable thoughts about one another. but what feeds the soul, what is it that it devours, speaks to, leans in to, you may ask. that is, the language of love—kisses, touches, hugs, sighs, tears and smiles. love.

underneath the moonlight

drarry headcanon:

its around 3 in the morning, and the only source of light draco and harry have is the moon. that too, is quite faint. the two boys are on a field of dandelions, with “The Swan” by Saint-Saens playing tenderly in the back. draco holds out his albino hands for harry to hold, and harry takes it gingerly as he locks his thumb around the side of draco’s hands. draco places his other on harry’s waist, and harry places his own on draco’s shoulder. the both of them—as though practiced—swift their hips to the beat of the piece, their eyes not any where but on each other’s. and the both of them think, “forever”, as they let their love guide their feet through the night.

harry: *standing before his mirror in his dorm room and smoothing out the small crinkles in his robe when he notices draco standing up from his (harry’s) bed and proceeding to gingerly wrap his arms around harry’s waist from behind*

harry: hey lol haha *cock starts twitching violently*

ron: would you believe the shit lavender says. she LITERALLY said she dated me entirely out of pity, when in reality she was obsessed. motherfucker’s the definition of audacity.

ron: do you think i should tell lavender we all know her attempts to sugarcoat her obsession is not working?

harry:

harry: *stoning in the direction of the slytherin table, specifically where draco sits*

ron: hello?? harry?? *starts frantically waving his hands before harry’s face*

ron: mate what the hell were you even listening?

harry:

harry: *licking his lips seductively*

harry: ..malfoy has such a plump ass...

ron: what the bloody FUCK harry will you quit being gay for a second and just listen to what im saying?!

hermione: come on, harry. you can’t keep doing this every night! we’ve all been watching you.

ron: yeah! honestly, mate, im really concerned. he’s really getting into your head — isn’t he? damn.

seamus: listen to us harry, please? you’re living in a fantasy world and you need to realise it.

dean: yeah, harry. you’re becoming obsessed.

*entire gryffindor chimes in on agreement*

harry: sooo....

harry: *clears throat* anywayyyy...

entire gryffindor:

harry: guys come on lighten up a little.. enough with all the sick seriousness. help me pick which cutout of malfoy i should sleep with tonight please :(