Have You Ever Wondered "Hey, Which Person Is This Hermitcraft Fanart Actually Depicting?" And Didn't

Poured so many hours into this ahh piece that its almost embarrassing. Nevertheless… hail Drarry y’all

There’s a reason why enemies to friends to lovers is my favorite trope.

I only hate certain types of fic the same way I hate mosquitos and ticks. Like get these nasty little buggers away from me but also I respect their place in the ecosystem.

[day 10 of Microfic May: scene]

Inevitably, they return to the scene of the crime. It's their fucking locker room adjacent to their home pitch exclusive to their Quidditch team.

And now, every single morning, as Morrison drones on about warm-ups and tactics and offensive manoeuvres, Harry's traitorous mind wanders: to the showers (echoing with Draco's choked moans), to the David's locker (its coldness the only thing keeping him cognisant as Draco licks him open), to the bench Draco is sitting on (and the scuff marks it left on the floor from being… pushed).

Catching Draco's eyes is an accident, but it seals Harry's fate either way.

He's doomed: a future repeat offender.

other days: tumblr / ao3

VIII. Crystal

<- previous

Turned out having breakfast with Harry Potter also meant having dinner with him.

The bastard eased Draco into it. “I’m making curry tonight, you want some?”

Spiraling out of his control, Draco went from rarely seeing Potter to twice a day. Potter’s cooking being just as good at night as it was in the morning was the only upside. 

The rising daylight was accompanied by, what Draco regrets to acknowledge, was amiable silence as they prepared for the arduous days ahead of them. The nighttime was accompanied by actual conversations. It start menially: a bunch of “how was your day?”s and “who do you think will win Quidditch?”. Then Potter would bring up a memory from their eight year and Draco would start gossiping about their old classmates.

On it went, from polite chatter to affable talk then friendly banter—or from an outside perspective: verbal war. 

“You almost murdered me once,” followed by: “Like you wouldn’t’ve.”

“You were a prick in school,” proceeded by: “You weren’t?”

One night they finished eating and Potter asked, “You want a drink?”

Draco, exhausted and always susceptible to alcoholic bribes, said yes.

Potter took out firewhisky from the liquor cabinet and poured it into two matching crystal cups.

Their conversations reached their inevitable climax: quasi-flirtation. Perhaps it was the heat from the liquor—the heat radiating off of Potter—but the air felt tight-knit with tension. It might have been Draco’s imagination warping the way Potter smirked around his glass. The light from the room refracted off the crystal somehow made his green eyes shine even brighter.

“Draco,” his name coming out of Potter’s lips sounded indecent, like intruding on a tender moment. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

Draco pretended he said it with sober fondness and not drunken impulse. He allowed himself this one thing.

next ->

prompt list previous days

microfic may day 4: pathetic

microfic may day 5: hang

drarry. 302 words. forgive me in advance.

“God Potter, to the left.”

“There?”

“No, uhh, a little more?”

Harry was sweaty. Draco was sweaty. Both of them had patience that was running thin. The sun was setting rapidly and the living room was still littered with half empty boxes.

Draco swore he’d only bring necessities. Apparently that meant everything he owned was necessary.

Harry had no illusion that this would be a painless crusade. Draco was a stubborn, stubborn man. He liked things his way, he liked his tea steeped his way, he liked to go to bed at 9:45pm because it suited his circadian rhythms.

“Do you know your left and rights or is this just an attempt at sabotage?”

Harry shifted the frame just slightly. “There. Straight.”

“No, it isn’t.” Draco was being petulant and Harry was trying not to let it irritate him.

“Yes it is, Draco. Please.”

The stair creaked like Draco was crouching to perch on the edge of a step. “Maybe it was pathetic to think this could work.”

Harry’s neck swung like a whip crack. Throwing in the towel already? Over deciding how to hang a picture frame? Well, he supposed, it’s clearly over more than just that. But Draco was here! Here, in Harry’s space, in their space, so surely half the battle was won?

Draco’s head was sunken between his knees and Harry gently clambered down from the step stool he’d been using.

It was strange, to know someone so well just to have it all thrown into disarray by a closer proximity.

Had it been any other scenario maybe Harry would’ve known what to do. Maybe he wouldn’t have touched Draco with such hesitation and comforted him with a stutter.

“It’s not pathetic to want this to work.”

And all Draco could give back was a watery, tight smile.

Yule ‘94