Ya Gotta Stop Caring What People Think And Start Being Extremely Weird. But Never Cruel. I Think That

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LCDrarry is a fun Drarry fest where all creations are inspired by movies, TV shows or theatre plays ... as well as audiobooks, audiodramas or podcasts. The LCDrarry works will post anonymously all through the Month of May, and the creators will be revealed on 1 June 2025 on tumblr and AO3 in our LCDrarry 2025 collection

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Your LCDrarry Mods Tami & Suzi @celilasart & @erin-riwen

When I say “I love this artist” I either know 5 of their songs that I play on repeat or I know their entire discography and you just have to guess which one it is

VII. Yawn

<- previous day

After the first accidental encounter with Potter in the kitchen, they kept running into each other. At first Draco thought nothing of it. He got in, made his tea while Potter’s loud machine worked, got his breakfast, and got out.

One day, Potter said, “I made extra, want some?” And Draco stayed around while they ate in silence.

The next day it repeated and before he knew it, they started eating breakfast together.

Draco would go in while the growling machine spat out coffee and the frying pants sizzled. He made tea while Potter loaded their plates. They atd together almost like in school but now at the same table. Across from him, Potter’s hair was still a mess but he wore his sleeping clothes; still bare feet and eyes red from sleep.

Throughout the meal he’d yawn and zone out. But everyday he was in the kitchen and everyday Draco showed up.

next ->

prompt list previous days

At their core, drarry are more like their mothers

I’ve always thought that, despite their outward appearances that remind people of their fathers, drarry, at their core, resemble their mothers more.

Draco was raised with the expectation that he would become a leader. Lucius even deliberately placed two sidekicks by his side to create the illusion of leadership around him. But the truth is, Draco was not a natural-born leader like Lucius. His peers never truly respected or followed him. His authority came from fear rooted in his father's power. And when Lucius fell from grace, they quickly abandoned him.

Draco is also passive at times and tends to rely on authority figures for guidance. And I believe this passivity was inherited from his mother. Narcissa was the third child, and being the youngest often makes someone more of a follower than a leader, especially with an older sister like Bellatrix, who had such a dominant personality.

Yet Narcissa possessed a strong determination beneath her passivity, which surfaced primarily when her son’s safety was at stake. This is evident when she sought Snape’s help despite her sister’s disapproval, or when she lied to Voldemort in order to search for her son. That same kind of determination is reflected in Draco as well, such as when he continued with his assigned task despite consecutive failures, because his family’s lives were at stake.

Harry resembles Lily in her sense of justice. His justice-driven instincts clearly mirror hers. For instance, when he defended Neville against Draco’s attempt to steal his Remembrall, it echoed the moment Lily confronted James for picking on Snape. She wasn’t afraid to challenge someone more popular or powerful and Harry shows that same kind of bravery, just like his mother.

However, while Harry is righteous, he often lets his friends off the hook when they do questionable things, this makes me think Lily might have been similar. Although James stopped bullying people in front of her, it's possible she would have let some things slide if she believed they were justified, especially if she thought he had changed or that his actions weren’t that bad.

James was flashy, confident, and socially dominant, while Lily was principled, passionate, and quietly powerful. Harry is his mother’s son more than his father’s. He may look like James, but his soul leans more toward Lily.

Drarry where the Golden Trio are having a slightly tipsy 'Hear me out' conversation as they passed around a bottle of Elvish wine that they nicked from Slughorn's office.

"What about Gordon Horton?"

Harry and Hermione shared a confused look.

"Come on! Keeper for the Chudley Canons?"

"You're supposed to pick people we know, Ronald."

"Well excuse me," Ron said, throwing his hands in the air. "I forgot that you two have no taste."

"No taste! I will have you know that my taste is sophisticated and refined. Clearly something you don't relate to."

"Oh, oh, I see. Well since your taste is so sophisticated then by all means tell us who is your pick."

"There's Merrill Medlar. She's the chief editor of—"

"Who the hell is that? What happened to people we know?"

Harry hadn't had enough wine to tolerate their constant bickering.

"Malfoy," Harry said loudly, interrupting what would have surely been a row. "What about Malfoy?"

"Which one?" Ron and Hermione said at the same time before glaring at each other.

"What do you mean which one?" Harry frowned. "The choice is obviously—"

"Lucius." They said in unison again.

"What?" Harry gaped at them. "Lucius is a right piece of—"

"Wait," Hermione held up her hands, eyes wide. "You can't mean Draco then?"

"Of course I meant—"

"Don't say his name! Ugh, I never want to know him as Draco," Ron said, shuddering.

"Maybe I do!" Harry said, unsure why he was getting heated.

The two of them shared a long look that said a lot more than he could translate and he kind of wished they were back to arguing. At least that was familiar.

"I think I would've rather you had said Snape."

Harry's mouth parted before it closed, and he gave a considering hum. "You know, in the spirit of a true hear me out, Snape would fit."

Hermione snickered as a choked gurgle escaped Ron.

"I was joking!" Ron cried, head in his hands. "Merlin if you ever shag Snape—"

"Shag?" Harry let out a strangled meep. "If I'm going to shag someone it would be—"

"Malfoy," they said together, and part of him wondered if they were really Fred and George under Polyjuice because it was getting freaky.

"I think I'm going to be sick," muttered Ron. "I knew we'd uncover some more about each other, but I'd honestly like to cover it right back up."

"We can pretend it didn't happen," Harry offered, biting his lip as he tried to think of someone else. "What about Charlie?"

"Charlie?" Ron frowned. "My Charlie?"

"Oh," Hermione said, brows lifting. "Yes, I can see it."

"No no," Ron shook his head. "We aren't doing this. Let's get back to Harry wanting to shag Malfoy."

"It's not that I want to shag—"

"I think it's more than that," Hermione said, voice low as if she was sharing a secret. "I think he likes Malfoy."

Ron collapsed backward as if he had been shot, groaned as if he had been too. "This is too much for me."

Harry rolled his eyes, taking a large mouthful of wine. He was going to need it.

"It's not that bad."

"Yes, it is, Hermione. If Harry wants to shag Malfoy and he likes him then they'll get married and have little spawns that look like Malfoy and they'll call me Uncle Ron and then I'll just have to like them because I can't be mean to a child, but they'll look just like him and then I'm going to have a complex—"

"I think you're having a complex right now."

"And whose fault is that? Huh, Harry?"

"I never said I wanted to marry him."

"You never said you didn't though," Hermione argued, tone suggesting she was on to something.

Harry sighed loudly as they continued to debate his future. A future that held Malfoy in it. The longer they talked the more he considered it.

It was true that he wanted to shag Malfoy, but it was also true that he liked him. He just hadn't really let himself think of how much.

"I think I'm going to find Malfoy," Harry said, staggering to his feet and rather proud that he hadn't fallen over. Maybe he hadn't drank as much as he thought he had.

"Great, just great," Ron cried. "My life is over. Might as well start calling me Uncle Ron."

The portrait closed right as Hermione said,

"I think you're being rather dramatic, Uncle Ron."

Tonight House Republicans voted 217 to 215 for a budget that'll take $1 TRILLION dollars from Medicaid, attack food benefits for kids, hurt seniors and vets.

but I don't want to talk about that, I want to talk about these two Democratic members of Congress you've never ever heard of.

Democrats, Congressman Kevin Mullin of California and Congresswoman Brittany Pettersen of Colorado.

Congressman Mullin had knee surgery that didn't go well, two surgeries, a life threatening blood clot and a week long stay in the hospital, and the moment he was discharged from the hospital he got on a five hour flight to DC to vote against the Republicans evil budget, using a walker to get to the floor of the House

Congresswoman Pettersen gave birth to her son Sam, in the picture, exactly one month ago on January 25th. They flew from Colorado to DC after Republicans refused to allow her to vote by proxy after having a baby. Congresswoman Pettersen took Sam onto the floor of the House to vote to protect the Health care of 400,000 Colorado kids.

why talk about this? because so much of the conversion is about telling people there's no one good, no one worthy, no one fighting. I promise you there are people undergoing personal hardship to do the right thing.

Metamorphosis

When Draco awoke in the morning, he found that he was a beetle, and not a particularly dazzling one at that, with a dull black coat and ridged legs so brittle that he almost snapped one trying to get up.

“This was going to happen sooner or later,” Pansy said when she caught him scuttling down the hall toward the bathroom. When he made no word of response except to clack his claws together, she picked him up and asked, “What are you going to tell Potter?”

Potter was Draco’s parole officer, and he didn’t find it funny at all. He harangued Draco to “transform back” for five solid minutes before taking out his wand to cast Finite Incantatem over and over and over, as though it was sheer lack of will and not some bloody blood curse that confined Draco to his hard-bodied shell.

“I wish you’d say something,” Potter said an hour later, his throat dry.

Potter took him home that day, handing him off to Pansy before Flooing the rest of the way to his own home.

A week passed with no change. Pansy left out a bit of milk and bread for him every night. On Saturday, she asked if he couldn’t set her up with a weekly allowance from his vaults for his expenses. “Nothing big,” she said smoothly, presenting him with crisp scrolls fresh from Gringotts and an ink pad for him to press his forked claw into, to sign.

“How long is this going to last?” Potter asked Pansy when he dropped Draco off again the following week.

Pansy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“This — thing. This insect thing.”

“It’s a blood curse, Potter. It lasts forever,” Pansy tutted dismissively.

Draco rather agreed with Pansy’s assessment, but still, Potter came by, week after week, neverending with his questioning: “Black or Malfoy? Are there any records? What species—” as though Draco’s condition wasn’t so hopeless as long as he didn’t stop trying to change it. As though, after all these weeks and years, Draco could still change.

It filled Draco with an idiotic kind of hope.

—————–

For today’s @drarrymicrofic prompt, metamorphosis!

Hi. Im sorry you are hurting. Im feeling a similar way myself currently and it sucks. If you're up to it im really in the mood for a drarry soulmate AU. Maybe a red string of fate? No pressure tho. Hope you feel better.

Hello!

Thank you for your wishes <3333 I’m better, thank you: writing fun drarry ficlets helped. It gave me a lot of joy to write this one, and I hope you like it!

Eighth year, 1.3k, Mature, unbeated.

*****

When Blaise offered Draco a potion that would make him discover his soulmate, Draco only drank it to humour him.

‘There’s no such thing as soulmates,’ he said, twirling the blue vial. The potion inside gave off a strong smell of iodine. He wondered if it was a harmless Muggle medicine or an illegal hallucinogenic drug—both real possibilities where Blaise was concerned.

Blaise was leaning against the frame of his bed. ‘There is. That’s how I learned that Padma is the love of my life.’

Draco scoffed. ‘It’s all right to say you’re smitten, you know. You don’t have to justify it with metaphysical mumbo-jumbo.’

Blaise’s eyes flashed. ‘Just drink it and you’ll see it.’

Draco couldn’t be arsed to argue; he drank it. ‘And now what?’ He deposited the vial on his bedside table.

‘Now fate will contrive that you meet them, and when you see your soulmate, they’ll glow.’

‘You mean my soulmate is at Hogwarts? Out of the entire world? How ridiculous! What if my soulmate is a Brazilian underwear model?’

‘Well then your Brazilian underwear model will somehow, through mysterious circumstances, find himself at Hogwarts tonight.’

‘What a load of bull,’ Draco said and gathered his school bag. ‘Come on. We have Intelligent Plants at Greenhouse Six. Hey, maybe a plant is my soulmate? I could swear my ficus winked at me the other day.’

Blaise didn’t look impressed or amused. ‘You’re mocking now, but you’ll eat your words.’

He followed Blaise out of their dorm, his chest heavy. He didn’t want to tell Blaise the real reason he didn’t want to know about soulmates. It’d be so disheartening to be in love, desperately yearning for a person, and then to get confirmation that he wasn’t the One. That someone else was, someone that perhaps you hadn’t met yet. Even if it was better in the long run, Draco didn’t want the pain of disillusionment. He didn’t want to know the right bloke for him when his heart ached for the wrong one.

Because there was no way that Potter was his soulmate. They’d barely had a conversation these days that wasn’t fraught with tension, weird looks and awkwardness. Potter—who, in former years, had been capable of returning Draco’s jibes with sharp wit—was tongue-tied around him. Avoided looking at Draco even.

It hurt. Potter’s distance hurt, and Draco had no idea how to bridge it. He distracted himself by thinking about their next class when he froze a few metres from the greenhouses. He’d forgotten to bring the ingredients Professor Sprout had asked them to for this lesson. Curse Blaise and his stupid potions!

‘I need to go back,’ he told Blaise and strode back to the castle without another word. He crossed the Entrance, silent and empty now, and was about to head to the dungeons when he saw the school’s psych-healer walk his way. Oh no.

Luckily, she hadn’t seen him, her attention on her folder, and Draco glanced around him in panic and dashed inside a broom cupboard. He shut the door firmly and leaned his forehead on it, trying to listen to her footsteps fading away.

‘What are you doing here?’ said a voice behind him.

Draco froze. Honestly, this day couldn’t get any worse.

He turned around. A weird glow hovered in a corner, which illuminated the silhouette of Potter’s head. Draco’s heart—the traitor—thumped giddily. He swallowed. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I…er…. was looking for something.’

‘So am I,’ Draco hurried to say.

Murmurs came from outside. Draco pressed his ear to the door and groaned. Dr Bells had stopped right outside their door and was talking to someone—McGonagall probably.

‘You look like you’re hiding,’ Potter said.

‘So do you,’ Draco replied.

‘Maybe I am.’

Draco’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could see Potter a little more clearly, shrouded in that golden haze. ‘What’s that around your head?’

Potter glanced above him. ‘What thing?’

‘That— oh dear Merlin!’ Blaise’s words shot through Draco’s brain like a lance: your soulmate will glow.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Draco answered quickly, his heart hammering in his chest. Was Potter…? Was it possible? Draco’s breath came shallow, his lungs straining for air. They strained harder when Potter left his corner and leaned on the door beside Draco. He put his ear on the door, then glanced at Draco with a half-smile.

‘Hiding from Dr Bells?’

In his confusion it didn’t occur to Draco to lie. ‘Yes. She keeps asking me to go see her and talk to her.’ He mimicked the counsellor’s voice. ‘ “How about a chat, Draco? I haven’t seen you in my office yet. How about you tell me about your worst nightmares and biggest shames and—”.’ Draco bit his lip. He hadn’t intended to say all of that and waited for mockery or laughter.

But Potter looked serious. He still leaned beside him, his face turned towards Draco. ‘I’m hiding from McGonagall. Same—well, similar reason. She wants me to make plans about the future, decide on my next few steps, and—’

He didn’t finish his sentence and Draco didn’t hurry to fill the silence. They stared at each other in the dim golden glow. ‘I can’t stand people being understanding,’ Draco confessed. ‘Helpful. Kind.’

‘It’s pity,’ Potter said. ‘It infuriates me. People checking in on me all the time.’

Draco was distantly aware that, outside, the conversation had ended, and he could leave. He remained where he was, breathing quietly, side by side with Potter. ‘All you want is to be left alone,’ he whispered.

‘Yes,’ Potter said, voice equally low. Then, he lowered his face but glanced up at Draco through his lashes. ‘Well, maybe not all alone.’

Draco swallowed. He kept his eyes on Potter’s, desperately trying to keep his knees from collapsing. His voice rasped only a little. ‘You want someone by your side.’ Potter nodded. Draco continued, ‘Someone who’s not kind, though.’

‘No,’ Potter said, coming closer. ‘Not kind, not understanding, not helpful.’ He’d stopped an inch from Draco’s lips, his breath hot. ‘I want someone who’s fierce. And clever. And a bit rude. And—’ he stroked Draco’s cheek. ‘Resilient.’

The word loosened something inside Draco’s chest, and he propelled himself forward. His mouth fell on Potter’s, his hands pulling him close. Potter kissed him back, making small, painful sounds, as if it hurt. And perhaps it did hurt: to be granted this joy. Draco found himself pressed against the door, Potter’s thigh between his legs and Potter’s hot hands under Draco’s shirt. He kissed him breathlessly, relentlessly, savagely, while a voice inside his head rang with joy: soulmates!

Late that evening, Draco lounged on his bed, his skin flushing at the memory of Potter—Harry, sweet Harry—kissing him and stroking him and gasping in his ear. He looked up to see a disgruntled Blaise enter the room.

‘What’s up?’

‘Daphne’s sister, that annoying Sixth-Year, got a hold of the potion, tested it and said it was a tiny strain of Felix Felicis with some other shit which would make someone’s pupils dilate when they saw the person they had a crush on? I didn’t understand it, but—’

‘You wanted it to be soulmates.’

Blaise sat heavily on his bed and held his head with his hands. Almost inaudibly, he said, ‘If we’re not soulmates, Padma might fall out of love with me.’

Draco sat up. ‘Well, then you’ve got to treat her right, don’t you? But if it helps, I did meet someone today. Under unexpected circumstances. Perhaps there is something in that potion; something that hints at fated love.’

Blaise cast a sideways glance. ‘Your Brazilian underwear model?’

Draco leaned back on his pillow with a smile and a half-hard cock. ‘Someone better.’

***

XIX. Heavy

This is part of a continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean

<- previous

After dinner, they moved to the living room as per their ritual. However when Harry had collapsed on the couch, he sank onto the cushions with a veritable weight.

Recently, it was clear he had become more exhausted. There were deep circles under his eyes and his hair was just that bit messier than usual. The way his shoulders slumped with unseen pressure carried him down inch by inch, day by day.

Draco stood behind him and sunk slender fingers vigorously on his shoulders. 

“Is there a problem, dear?” he asked, worry hidden within mockery.

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. A weary sigh left his lips before he spoke, “Auror training.” A repeated sentiment Draco had been subjected to ever since he moved into Grimmauld Place. Ever since they graduated, really. 

“Did real life prove to be too hard for you, my dear?” His fingers dug deeper, more meanly, as he found tense muscles.

Harry hadn’t bothered to reply. He sighed, a little more contently, as he laid his head on the back of the sofa. Little by little, as the night ebbed deeper and deeper into the lazy hours near slumber, a small portion of his heaviness seemed to leave with the time.

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