Me Et Larmessoul & Tears

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.

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?!

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.

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.

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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*