Ron: Would You Believe The Shit Lavender Says. She LITERALLY Said She Dated Me Entirely Out Of Pity,

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?!

oh god😩

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.”

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.

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.

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

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?)