~Aegis~

Modesty

There are many rules about pureblood society that Harry has had to learn to properly fit in. Which functions and occasions requires long robes and a collar high to cover his entire neck, where it is appropriate to wear nothing but a tunic, and where his place depends only on the words of a select few.

This time, the layers upon layers of robes aren't for modesty, as isn't the mask in his hand. They're for protection. He knows Draco will recognise him, both intimately familiar with each other's duelling style. 

Harry pecks a quick kiss on Draco's cheek before his face, too, is covered by a mask turning him into a faceless threat. 

"Don't die on me, will you?" Harry asks, hoping his worry wouldn't show.

Draco gently cradles his face. "You've already killed Dumbledore and Moody, there isn't that big of a threat to me left."

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: modesty | wc: 50

“If the niffler population’s so out of control, maybe we should just eat them,” Draco says, looking at the sign.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ron asks, aghast.

“I can’t believe you’d say that; they’re so cute!” Harry snaps, cuddling one.

Sweat slicked skin rubbed raw and aching. Desperate breaths, every inhale laced with bergamot. The tremble of twined fingers.

Eyes dark with desire, twin eclipses over silver moons. Silver locks cascading down.

Head bending forward, as if in prayer.

his surname spat like a curse.

entering as an aphrodisiac.

leaves a benediction.

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 234 | prompt: survive

"What is Salazar's name is that?"

Malfoy asks disdainfully, looking down at Harry where he's squatting on the forest floor. In front of him is a rickety pile of misshapen sticks, jutting out at odd angles. If he squints, he can vaguely make out the pyramidal form at one end. Vaguely.

"It's a lean-to," Harry says, rather defensively.

"A what."

"…A shelter."

"Are you having me on? Are we actually supposed to sleep in there?" Malfoy asks, peering into it like it's going to bite him.

Harry sighs, changing the topic. "How'd you do on food?"

"Oh, wonderfully."

"Yeah?" Harry perks up.

"Yes, a whole roast chicken with consommé." Malfoy quips sarcastically. "Only I'm afraid we'll have to make do with chardonnay, I couldn't find a decent pinot noir anywhere this time of winter."

At that moment, the lean-to collapses on itself, the sticks clattering to the ground.

Harry throws down the stick he's been holding onto the pile and sits down heavily. Malfoy joins him, and they share a moment of silence as they stare at the broken-down shelter.

It's broken by the sounds of their stomachs grumbling in tandem.

"I hate this." Harry mutters. "I can't believe this is happening to me."

Besides him, Malfoy intones a hum of weary agreement. 

"If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn't wish this on my my worst enemy - which, conveniently, is you, Potter."

Bill clears his throat. "We heard back from our Japanese consultant. As long as you stay about 10 feet apart, you won't be harmed."

"…However, the counter-curse can only be performed during the autumnal equinox-"

"What?!" Draco shrieks indignantly. "I'm stuck to Potter for 6 months??"

Harry gives a jolt as the string connecting them glows bright red. Heat licking his pinkie like slipping into a bath just shy of scalding. Sharp at first, before melting into something almost soothing.

"What kind of incompetent curse breaker are you anyway? "

While Ron jumps to his feet to defend his brother, Harry stays quiet and watches the way Draco's throat works as he argues, the pink flush of his cheeks, the storm in his grey eyes.

Absentmindedly, he winds the red string around, loops curling into rings around his finger, and feels Draco's heat thrumming through it.

"I'm not going."

"You should," Hermione says.

"C'mon, mate," Ron says. "It's for charity!"

Then he adds, "Also, Hermione and I are going, and if I'm suffering through it, so are you."

"I've been to 5 charity galas this month alone! When does it end?"

Harry spears a potato with unnecessary force. "If these rich prats wanted to help, they'd volunteer at an orphanage, instead of prancing around a silly ballroom."

"Funny you say that, that's exactly what this one's fundraising for," Ron says, skimming the invitation. "Me personally, I'm just hoping Malfoy has some decent food-"

"Hang on-" Harry stops mid-chew. "Malfoy's hosting the charity ball?"

Hermione rolls her eyes. "If you'd read your invitation-"

Harry reaches over and nicks Ron's invitation from his hand.

There it is, in shimmering black ink.

Lady Narcissa Malfoy and Lord Draco Malfoy cordially invite you to Malfoy Manor on the 25th of May for the War Orphanage Charity Fundraiser…

The name Draco Malfoy burns across Harry's retinas. His fingers grip the invitation so hard he can feel the gold cardstock digging into the flesh of his palm.

"Oy, Mate, you're crinkling it-"

"Fine," he grits out, thrusting it back to him. "I'll go."

Already, he's calculating. New dress robes from Madam Malkin's. A new pair of formal shoes for ballroom dancing. Preferably ones charmed not to miss steps.

"Hermione," he says abruptly, "What was that hair stuff you used for the Yule Ball?"

"Sleekeazy's," Hermione gives him a knowing smile. "Don't worry, I have a bottle for you. I'll grab it after we finish dinner.

Ron makes a choking noise into his drink.

Harry ignores him. He has less than a week to prepare, and he refuses to let Malfoy get the better of him.

Across the table, Ron and Hermione exchange identical smirks.

Harry narrows his eyes on the book Draco's holding. It's a fine thing, with a silver-threaded spine, platinum-edged pages, all bound up in ink-bottle green leather.

"That's not one of our textbooks," Potter says.

Draco raises a brow. "Truly, your powers of observation are unmatched." He drawls. "I can't wait until you join the Aurors, Potter, you'll make such a fine addition to their ranks."

Potter stomps up to him. Draco smiles like the cat who got the cream.

"You've been carrying it everywhere," Potter points out. Something squirms delightfully in Draco's chest to hear that he's noticed.

"And? It's not a crime to read, Potter." Draco says. "Just because you don't know how, doesn't mean I-"

It's then that Potter shoves him back against the wall, his hand fisting into his collar, breath hot on his skin. Draco feels his heart stutter. His words die in his throat.

"What is it then? A tome of dark magic? Going to release another basilisk?" Potter asks mockingly.

"Wouldn't you like to know." Draco sneers.

Potter's fist tightens. His tie will be a mess.

"Give it here then." Potter says.

"No," He tightens his grip on it.

Draco delights in the way his eyes flash, lips drawn into a frown, almost a pout.

Then Potter snatches the book from his hands.

He checks the cover. Blank. Opens it. Flips through the pages. They snap with every turn, crisp and dutifully blank, blank, blank.

Potter pulls out his wand and taps the page.

"Revelio."

Nothing happens.

Draco's smirk grows wider as Potter's efforts grow more and more frenzied.

"Revelio."

"Arcanum Aperio!"

Finally with a frustrated growl, Potter shrieks.

"Reveal your secrets!"

Draco can't help the laughter that bubble up from his chest. Potter glares darkly at him.

"You're up to something." He declares, shoving the book into his chest. "And mark my words, I will find out what it is, Malfoy."

Then he stalks off. Not wanting to be outdone, Draco gets in the last word, just because.

"This isn't over, Potter!"

***

Pansy looks at him. "What have you done to get Potter's knickers in a twist this time?"

"Nothing!" Draco says gleefully, tucking into a second helping of blueberry tart.

He turns a page with exaggerated care, locking eyes with Potter across the tables as he does so. It's borderline pornographic.

Pansy raises a brow and sends a quizzical look at Blaise.

He sighs. "He's been parading that book around all week. Potter thinks it's cursed."

Pansy looks at it, frowning. "What book is it?"

"It's not a real book. It's just a blank journal." Blaise explains. "You can get them custom from Flourish and Botts now."

"Best 100 galleons I've ever spent." Draco says dreamily, his eyes on a fuming Potter who is whispering harshly to Ron and Hermione.

Pansy starts, "That is the stupidest-"

"Oh, look he's coming over!" Draco tugs at Blaise's robes. "Quickly, do the thing!!"

Blaise rolls his eyes but obligingly mutters a wingardium leviosa, flicking his wand under the table. Draco raises both hands, no wand in sight, and cackles maniacally as the open book lifts before him and glows a prismatic rainbow.

"MALFOY!" Potter hollers, breaking into a run across the Great Hall. Draco slams the empty book shut and bolts out, Potter hot on his heels, his voice bright with mirth.

"Catch me if you can, Potter!"

Pansy stares after them shaking her head.

"The rainbow was a nice touch." She concedes, going back to her dinner.

"Thank you." Blaise hums, polishing the last of Draco's blueberry tart.

James: Just rip the band-aid off, buddy.

Harry: It's draco.

“You’ve truly outdone yourself this time, Malfoy.” 

George clapped Draco on the back, but Draco didn’t spare him a single glance, far too busy staring at the man in front of them, bound to a chair and fighting desperately against the bonds holding him in place. Harry had a sock shoved halfway down his throat, but Draco could still hear the desperate pleas that fell from his lips before they’d been forced to gag him. 

“Touch me, please, Draco. Please put your hands on me. Merlin’s tits, Draco, I need you. Please, just a finger, I need it. Please.” 

“The potion is clearly not working as intended,” Draco protested, turning to look at his coworker, shrugging off the praise George had bestowed upon him. “I’ve done something wrong with it. It was just meant to reveal your desires, not make you horny.” 

The two of them look at their test subject, neither surprised to find that Harry’s eyes were still transfixed on Draco, pupils shot. He wiggled some more in his chair, his cock hard and straining against his trousers, desperate for some attention. Harry’s fingers were flexing at his sides, and Draco was thankful that they’d had the foresight to tie Harry down before giving him the potion, or the brute would be all over him. 

George turned to Draco, an amused smirk on his face. Draco had worked at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes long enough to know that George’s smirks were never a sign of anything good. “I think your potion is working just as intended,” he insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think you revealed his desires perfectly. He’s not just horny, he’s horny for you.” 

Color broke out on Draco’s cheeks, and he shook his head firmly, ignoring Harry, who was beginning to moan behind his makeshift gag, hips jerking like he was trying to hump the air. “That’s a mere coincidence,” Draco sniffed, though his traitorous heart was thumping wildly in his chest. “It’s only because you’re his brother and I’m the only other person in the vicinity that he did not grow up with. Potter isn’t interested in me. I’ve got nothing to offer him.” 

“Such modesty,” George mocked, snickering now. “Come on, Malfoy, you’re a catch. And besides that, Harry has been in love with you since forever. He’s been pretty obvious about it, and now you have the undeniable truth right in front of you.” George gestured to Harry, but particularly the hard bulge between his legs. 

Draco found his eyes lingering on that spot, his mind spinning at the possibility that George might be telling the truth. That his potion may have dragged Harry’s feelings for him right to the surface. 

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: modesty | wc: 400

The first time, Harry thinks it’s political glad-handing as Malfoy chats to the Undersecretary of Some Boring Thing Harry Can’t Remember at a Ministry banquet.

“You’ve done well for yourself, Malfoy.”

“Well, I try.”

—

The second time, Harry’s certain Malfoy is trying to curry favour—when had he ever been so demure about his academic pursuits?

“Thank you, William, but I think I can do better. I have much to learn.”

—

The third time, Harry’s absolutely positive that Malfoy’s fucking with him.

“Oh, come on,” Harry groans after the diagnostic charm fails for the fourth time in a row.

“You could ask for help,” Malfoy says, not looking up.

“Know anything about diagnostic charms?” Harry asks, sarcastic. They both know Malfoy’s better at charms.

Malfoy removes his goggles with a pensive expression. “I’ve been known to dabble. Show me what you’re doing.”

—

By the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth times, Harry’s committed to tripping Malfoy up.

“Hey, you’re good at potions, right?”

“I have a few skills, yes; what do you need?”

—

“Would you say you’re a well dressed bloke?”

“I suppose I have some sartorial charms, if one cares for such things. You clearly don’t.”

—

“Headache, Potter?”

“Yeah—d’you brew a decent cup of tea?”

“Passable, so I’m told.”

(It was perfect, the tosser.)

—

By the twentieth time, Harry’s at the end of his patience.

“Malfoy, you still play quidditch?”

“… I do.”

“Any good?”

“Well … probably not as good as you.”

Harry makes an aggravated sound. “What is up with you?”

Malfoy raises one perfectly manicured brow. “I beg your pardon?”

“This fucking humility thing!”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Malfoy looks unimpressed.

Harry folds his arms. “You any good at arithmancy?”

“I can muddle through.”

“Board games?”

Malfoy flares his nostrils. “Terrible, as you well know. And a sore loser.”

“Cooking?”

“Capable, what is your point?”

“Playing the piano.”

“Intermediate at best.”

Harry has an idea. It’s perfect. He smiles, sharp and cutting; the little wrinkle in Malfoy’s brow deepens. “How are you in bed?”

Malfoy’s mouth falls open. For a long moment, he stares, his cheeks going pink. Then, he smiles, devious, and steps forwards. Leans in close.

“Why don’t I show you?”

—

“Oh my God,” Harry gasps as he rolls over, chest heaving and glistening with sweat. “Oh my God.”

On a scale of one to ten, how hot do you think Harry Potter is?

Out of ten? Single digits, naturally. One must invoke some modesty, or else his ego will inflate beyond reason.

Nine is a single digit. What would he have to do to get a ten?

DISCOVERY

Finally alone and shirtless in the locked and silenced broomshed, nothing stands in their way. Weeks have gone by since their first kiss. They’ve exchanged stolen glances in the corridors between lessons and have shared, in hushed whispers, what they want to do to each other.

“Let's see it, then, Potter,” Draco murmurs, arms crossed, leaning against the wooden broom lockers.

Heart racing, Harry slowly pushes down his trousers and pants. He releases a shaky sigh as Draco draws nearer and looks down.

“My, my, weren't you being modest.”

Harry smiles, arching an amused brow, then glances down Draco’s bare, muscled torso. He slides his hand down the pale, marred skin—drawing a sharp gasp from Draco’s lips—and pushes beneath his waistband.

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: modesty | wc: 180

Draco was raised with manners. He was raised with a certain decorum. With dignity. With the idea that the body was to be covered with long sleeves and high collars. Most Slytherins held these beliefs. So having a joint common room with the other houses for eighth year has been quite the adjustment for them all.

Especially when Harry wandered through the, albeit mostly empty, common room in naught but a towel clutched around his waist, dripping water on the plush carpets, Draco very appropriately clutched his metaphorical pearls.

“Merlin, Potter, don't you have any modesty?” Draco cried, trying to not ogle the fit Gryffindor. He’d really filled out over the summer, no longer scrawny, but broad chested, bulky arms, and a trim waist leading the eyes tantalizingly low.

“I forgot my clothes. If it offends you, Malfoy, either close your eyes or do something about it,” Harry smirked, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he headed up to the dorms.

"Wizard marriages are sacred, Potter, using ancient magic... Are you certain you wish to be bound to me irrevocably?"