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Brought Low
prompt: shadow
~~~
I remember the day you left. The shadow you cast stretched across the pavement, long in the dying light of the setting sun.
“Please..”
My voice had cracked on the word. I’d never begged for anything. Not once in my life, but for you I’ll die on my knees, waiting.
Hi everyone, hope you’re having a good weekend wherever you are in the world! Today’s prompt was submitted anonymously, so thank you to the person who suggested it.
Just a little announcement: I’ll be putting up a quick survey on Tuesday, just to see how things are going and how you think Drarry Microfic can improve. There’ll only be about 8 questions, so it’ll be short and sweet.
Other than that, happy microfic-ing!
bea 📜 ✨
Exothermic
prompt: warmth
~~~
Your laugh wraps around me like a blanket, warm from the heat of our bodies in sleep. I could live the rest of my life within the circle of your arms, happy and safe. Your eyes pierce through me, and your hands burn across my skin, lifting me ever higher.
~~~
Also on AO3.
Hello! As the solstice draws near, it’s always good to reflect and remember that there are warmer days ahead. What does warmth mean to you?
Happy Microfic-ing!
bea 📜 🎄
escape
Harry’s least favorite part about being an Auror was arresting Draco Malfoy. He got arrested quite a lot. Probably every couple months. About once a year Harry was the one to do it.
Every time Draco escaped the arrest paperwork got more extensive and paperwork was Harry’s least favorite part of his job. Anyways, it wasn’t like the paperwork kept Draco locked up Harry thought aggressively as he stared down at the form in front of him. It asked him to describe Draco’s personality. Harry scoffed, like Draco’s personality was why he was so good at escaping. It wasn’t like he had a boyfriend with all the keys and a map of the ministry tunnel system or anything.
Harry pushed himself away from the desk leaning back in his chair and sighed. It was frustrating not being able to take credit for his own work. Draco Malfoy wasn’t the next Harry Houdini. He was just a stupid blonde git with a highly capable boyfriend.
Expectations Rating: G, Words: 407 for the @drarrymicrofic prompt pensive
Harry is cleaning their study when he comes across the small silver vial. The label is written in Draco’s tight font: Lucius Malfoy Casts Love Curse on H. Potter and D. Malfoy, Security Camera Footage. Harry stands for a second looking at it with a fond smirk. They’d never caught Lucius so they didn’t know what he’d been aiming for with the curse but Harry is sure it wasn’t this.
“Draco!” He calls as he climbs the stairs to their bedroom. “Look what I’ve found.” He tosses the bottle at Draco who’s curled up fast asleep across the bright white sheets.
“Harryyyy.” Draco whines squirming a little as he tries to bury his head under the pillow.
Harry gazes at him. Weak sunlight drifts through the curtains and falls across his pale skin. He looks so relaxed, so at home that Harry’s heart squeezes. He’ll never get tired of looking at him.
“No seriously Draco get up. I need someone to reminisce with.” He grabs the bottle off the bed and wiggles it in Draco's face. Draco groans and props himself up in a sitting position brushing his long blonde hair out of his eyes. He squints at the bottle for a second.
“Is this what I think it is? The beginning of our fated romance?” His tone rings of poorly concealed hilarity.
“Yes,” Harry responds grinning. “I thought we could watch it together. You know. For nostalgia.”
“Fine alright. I can’t believe you woke me up for this,” Draco complains as he gazes at Harry fondly.
Harry perches on the bed beside him and accio’s the pensive over. Carefully he upends the swirling silver vial and reaches over to catch Draco’s hand in his own. Together they press their faces into the cool liquid.
Harry’s the first to rip himself from the memory. Eyes wide and hands shaking he waits for Draco to emerge. He stares at Draco’s pale large hands, at his aristocratic posture. He thinks about the way Draco looks in his formal robes, how hard Harry had to work to convince him to grow his hair out because he was worried he would look like his father.
Harry takes a deep breath as everything clicks into place.
When Draco finally straightens up out of the pensive Harry sees his shock mirrored in Draco’s grey eyes.
“Well,” Draco says slowly, looking at him wryly. “I guess we need to get our hands on a time turner.”
For the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Good for You by Darlingside
Draco stands at the summit of the mountain and looks out across the bright rolling hills. He can feel the heaviness of Harry missing him. It’s always there, in the slight pressure just above his sternum, the tight squeeze of his ribs.
Sometimes he feels content, almost happy, here in America and then it hits him all over again. Something about his happiness makes sadness’s edge even sharper.
He turns and starts to climb down towards the grass below. The rocky path under his feet is steep and perilous, demands his focus. He’s grateful for it. It keeps him from thinking about Harry’s face when he’d left him, green eyes blown wide and desperate, begging him to stay.
Draco breathes in deeply, lets the frigid mountain air burn across his lungs. Four more months he reminds himself, just 121 more days to rebuild, repair, return better.
He wipes his sleeve hurriedly across his face and it comes away wet.
I love this piece so much! The writing style is so unique and allows such depth of perspective :)
fight just a little to bring back the fire in my eyes
CW: vague references to suicidal thoughts, depression/mental illness. Based on "She Used To Be Mine" from the musical Waitress.
I gave out pieces of myself like candy, after the war. I did before it, too, and during, if I'm honest with myself. But it got worse, somehow, even after I proved to be the hero they demanded, the savior I needed to be.
But it wasn't enough. People want to be saved from more than dangers outside their own control. They want to be saved from the dirty work of confronting their own prejudice, of the struggle of reckoning with trauma from battle. And just because my entire life has put me through a crucible of one soul-wrenching struggle after another doesn't mean I want or need to do that for anyone else anymore.
I look in the mirror and see a twenty-three-year-old man, and while I am hardened and calloused and scarred and used, I am in so many ways still eleven years old and reckoning with the fact that there are other "freaks" and "degenerates" like me in the world. I don't know why I feel like I still need to earn my place here, to be worthy of this home away from the Dursleys. Maybe if I'm useful enough strong enough powerful enough willing enough enough enough enough—they won't send me back.
I still can't believe you are now on the very short list of people I've met to tell me that I don't have to be anything else; with a full household of their own, the Weasleys did more than enough to nurture and love me, but I let myself slip through the cracks, to not be needy, to eat and smile, and to accept and return their love whenever it was given.
But despite Molly and Arthur's best efforts, I didn't have parents to tell me that I was special no matter what. So I guess I'm glad one of us, at least, had one parent alive and willing to teach us that we reach the minimum requirement for love just by breathing.
You're not my father. You're not my mind healer. You're my boyfriend, and I'm sorry if there are times that I make you feel like your job is bigger than that. I know, you'd tell me that I'm not a burden, and I'm starting to realize that, but Draco I don't expect you to carry my burdens for me. I will go to you with my problems, as I hope you still do with me, but I don't need you to do more than love me, as you do.
You're enough, too.
Enough to love me in a way that still takes my breath away, and enough to receive it in return. Enough to be one of the people in my life who make it all worth it, to be worth fighting for. Worth saving, and saving myself for.
I save myself for, well, me. But also for you. And Ron and Hermione, and the Weasleys, and Teddy and Andromeda, for my parents. I save myself every day, and I think that, alone, is all the heroism I need.
It's enough, for me.
When you ask me if I have fallen out of love with you
For the @drarrymicrofic prompt: shattered. Again thanks to @phoebe-delia for the amazing first person advice, you can find their post on how to write in first person here
When you ask me if I have fallen out of love with you
I say no,
I say of course not,
because how could I have fallen out of love with you when I still find your hairs between the pages of my poetry, your fingertips in the dust of my window frame.
You are everything wild and breakable,
a bloody heart beating raw in my hands.
Inexplicable Things
(Complete, Words: 34.8K, Rating: E)
Pairings: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Theodore Nott, Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini
Summary: No way, no way in hell. Draco is supposed to be in France or America or, wherever else he’d deemed more important than Harry when he left five years ago. Draco is not supposed to be showing up at the DMLE out of the blue, forcing Harry to watch him as he struts confidently across the room towards him.
Ironically the longest fic I’ve ever written was inspired by the @drarrymicrofic prompt: new beginnings. You can read it here on Tumblr or on AO3.
Read on AO3
Read on Tumblr
Another fic for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: shattered. As always with my first person pieces thanks to @phoebe-delia for the amazing advice, you can find their post on how to write in first person here
I am not totally whole yet but I am the next best thing.
By the next best thing, I mean that I am alive and I am drunk and I cannot even feel pain as I watch the bright red blood drip down my knuckles and pool on the wooden table.
Draco is beside me. I watch as he tips a shot back past glistening lips. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
I want to reach out and touch him but I’m worried that someone will watch the red stains of my fingers press against his opalescent skin and tell me that I am staining everything.
I am always staining everything.
A fluffy fic for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Angel Baby by Troye Sivan. I love Troye so this was such a fun prompt to do! Hope you all enjoy this piece :)
Draco shows up drunk. Harry can tell he’s drunk because he opens the front door and immediately stumbles straight into the umbrella holder. There’s a small grin on his lips and when Harry reaches over to help him up Draco leans into his chest and his lips stretch wider. Harry watches as his smile grows teeth.
“Congratulations,” Draco whispers, his hot breath tickling Harry’s ear.
“Congratulations on what?” Harry asks just as quietly. He leans in, watches Draco’s lashes flutter dark against his opalescent skin.
“Having the hottest boyfriend ever, of course,” Draco says flippantly. He shifts backing up slightly to shimmy off his tailored suit jacket.
“Obviously,” Harry chuckles. He takes the cloth from Draco’s hands and settles in gently on the coat rack.
Draco crowds back into his space. His hand falls to Harry’s solar plexus pushing him back against the wall.
When their eyes meet Harry’s breath catches. When their lips meet his chest relaxes all at once in a muffled gasp. Harry likes the idea that Draco’s body has become his breath, that with every rise and fall of his lungs Draco’s pulse will beat faster.
He thinks he could stand here forever, the hard wall digging into his back, his body cradled in the careful warmth of Draco’s arms.
emotional affair
written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt “savior complex” | M, 1.1k | thanks @moonstruckwytch for the beta 💕
“I’ll pick you up from the Portkey office,” Harry says quietly, “when you come back.”
Draco, still flushed pink from orgasm, pointedly rolls away from Harry and off the bed. “It’s just three days, for work. It’s not a big deal.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“You’re not my boyfriend,” Draco spits, sharp and furious. “We’re fucking.”
Closing his eyes, Harry breathes around the ache in his chest.
“I’ll pick you up.”
~
Draco sits pale and tired, curled up in the passenger seat of Harry’s car. The radio plays softly, lyrics unintelligible, and Harry keeps both hands on the wheel.
“I could’ve Apparated,” Draco says, but his tone lacks conviction.
“Apparition sucks after an international Portkey.” Harry keeps his eyes on the pools of streetlight splashed across the dark road; if he looks over towards Draco the terrifying knot of his feelings will overwhelm him.
“I didn’t know you had a car,” Draco says softly after a few moments, shifting in his seat.
“You don’t bother to ask anything about me,” Harry replies levely, and Draco inhales sharply.
“Potter, I can’t–”
“Don’t,” Harry says quietly, suddenly exhausted. “Draco, just don’t, okay? We’re almost to your flat.”
Silence falls. Harry chances a glance across the car, the afterimage of Draco flashing on the back of his eyelids even once he looks away again; pale hair, dark undereye bags, crimson knit jumper.
“Can I come by tomorrow?” Draco asks softly once Harry puts the car in park outside of Draco’s run-down block of flats. Can I come by, the very prim way Draco asks Harry to fuck him. Harry doesn’t reply, staring straight ahead until Draco sighs. “You’re fucked up too, you know,” he says. His voice is flat, a surprising lack of venom behind the words, and for the first time Harry wonders if Draco is also exhausted by this. “I know why you never let me stay the night. Try convincing me to give you more of myself when you’re ready to let me in, too.”
When the car door slams, Harry lets his forehead thunk down on the steering wheel and breathes through the threat of tears.
~
He lasts three days before he’s standing on the threshold of Draco’s flat at midnight, knocking hard.
“What the fuck kind of time is– oh,” Draco says, swaying as he opens the door. “Harry.”
All of the words on Harry’s tongue die down at the way Draco says his name; curved and soft, as though it’s something precious, so unlike the sharp way he wields Potter as a weapon. It’s the way he says Harry’s name when he comes.
“Draco, can I– can I come in?”
“Why?” Draco asks, prickly once more, his expression closed off. “You wanna fuck?”
“No– well, yes, but not just–”
“Fine,” Draco says, trailing further into his tiny studio flat. His bed takes up an alcove off to the side, and he flops down on it, already shimmying out of his pyjama pants.
“Draco,” Harry says helplessly, coming to a stop next to the foot of the bed. There are long lengths of sheer fabric strung above the bed, pink and blue and green; something out of a dreamscape. He knows the sheets here, knows Draco’s body like his own. “Stop for a second.”
Draco cuts him a look but slides his fingers away from the waistband of his pants. “Why are you here if not for this?”
“To sleep,” Harry says before immediately flushing hot with panic. “I– I just wanted to sleep next to you.”
For a moment Draco is frozen, then he sits up and warily regards Harry. “You’re here to sleep?”
“I have bad dreams,” Harry says in a rush, looking down at his clenched fists. “I have– I have nightmares and I thought if I let you see that you wouldn’t want me anymore or worse you wouldn’t even care and I–”
“Stop,” Draco says quietly, reaching out to pull Harry onto the bed and into Draco’s arms. His hands are gentle, gentler than he’s ever been.
“I don’t want to lose you,” Harry whispers, and he didn’t want to say that because it’s too much and it will scare Draco away but he’s panicking. “And I don’t even have you.”
“Ah,” Draco says into Harry’s shoulder with a wry little laugh. “You do, more than you think.”
“Draco–”
“More than I let you see,” Draco amends quietly, and Harry goes silent, still trembling in Draco’s embrace. “Let’s sleep, then.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to fuck?” Harry asks, because he knows Draco, and Draco just laughs before rolling back and pulling Harry above him. His enthusiastic response is lost in Harry’s mouth, in the slide of their skin, in the rippling heat of Harry pushing in slow with his hands wrapped around Draco’s wrists. Draco comes first with a whimper, panting Harry’s name until Harry also shudders and stills, holding Draco tight to his chest. After a moment Draco casts a cleaning charm and they slip under the covers, facing each other, holding hands tightly as though this is a different life, one where they don’t have a war behind them.
“It’s not pretty,” Harry says quietly, feeling the need to warn Draco. “My nightmares. Before we broke up Ginny said it was– bad. If you need to tell me to leave I will, I just–”
“I have them too.” Without Harry’s glasses Draco’s face is slightly blurred, but his eyes are so impossibly bright. “If you want to be here, if you mean it, I’m going to stay.”
“I do mean it,” Harry says, seeing through Draco’s words to the question underneath. Without his usual harsh facade Draco seems so vulnerable, so young, and Harry shifts to wrap his arms around Draco’s slim waist. “I’m sorry I didn’t– that I couldn’t do this before–”
“I’m not easy to hold onto,” Draco says almost apologetically, tucking himself closer to Harry, and for a brief moment Harry can’t breathe because Draco is here, letting himself be held in Harry’s arms.
“I’m fucked up too,” Harry murmurs, echoing Draco’s own words. “I just want you.” He’s never said it so plainly before– Draco’s never let him– but he knows it all the way to his bones. He wants to hold onto Draco, through sex and nightmares and dawnbreak. He wants to keep Draco warm.
“Yeah,” Draco says softly, then more desperate: “Harry. Harry.”
“I’m here.” With a flick of his fingers Harry turns down the lights entirely, throwing the room into darkness. Draco’s breath is damp on his collarbone and he presses a kiss to the soft strands of Draco’s hair. “Just… stay.”
Draco hums tiredly. “As long as you want to stay, Harry, I’ll be right here.”
For the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Good for You by Darlingside
Draco stands at the summit of the mountain and looks out across the bright rolling hills. He can feel the heaviness of Harry missing him. It’s always there, in the slight pressure just above his sternum, the tight squeeze of his ribs.
Sometimes he feels content, almost happy, here in America and then it hits him all over again. Something about his happiness makes sadness’s edge even sharper.
He turns and starts to climb down towards the grass below. The rocky path under his feet is steep and perilous, demands his focus. He’s grateful for it. It keeps him from thinking about Harry’s face when he’d left him, green eyes blown wide and desperate, begging him to stay.
Draco breathes in deeply, lets the frigid mountain air burn across his lungs. Four more months he reminds himself, just 121 more days to rebuild, repair, return better.
He wipes his sleeve hurriedly across his face and it comes away wet.
metamorphosis
for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: metamorphosis
Harry remembers, as a child sat in his dark, dusty cupboard, reading a book about insects. Tracing his tiny fingers, littered with scars from the big clunky iron or a too-hot pan, around the life cycle of a butterfly. Fascinated with the way an unsightly little caterpillar could become something so beautiful. Bright, colourful, and most importantly, free to fly.
–
It's years after the war when Harry sees him. A flash of bright pink hair across the crowded dance floor. He can’t help but be drawn closer. His large, scarred hands caress pale arms that are covered in colourful tattoos – the singular dark black mark standing out amongst the otherwise vibrant canvas. Harry leans in close to whisper something in his ear, the one adorned with a dozen dazzling piercings. And he can’t help but be utterly entranced by the bright, carefree smile that lights up the face he once found so unpleasant.