Fluff In The Eighth Year Commons Room

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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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?

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?!

@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.

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.

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.