𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 279 | prompt: dream

Malfoy had Harry pressed back into the mattress, one pale hand buried in Harry’s hair, fingers tightening just enough to tip his head back and expose his throat. The other was braced beside Harry’s head, sleeve rolled to the forearm.

Then Malfoy’s mouth was on his neck, hot and wicked, biting and kissing and dragging helpless sounds out of him. Harry’s hands found Malfoy’s waist, then his back, then the fall of his hair; he wanted to touch him everywhere at once.

“Greedy,” Malfoy said, sounding pleased.

“You started it.”

“I rather think you did.” Malfoy’s lips brushed his ear. “It’s your dream after all.”

“What?”

Harry didn’t have time to think on it for too long, because then Malfoy’s hips were rolling down against his, slow and deliberate, and it was too much, heat and pressure and pleasure from every direction at once. Malfoy’s breath hitched. Harry wanted to hear it again, so he arched up into him and—

Harry sat bolt upright in bed.

The room was dark and empty. Quiet, except for his own ragged breathing.

No Malfoy. Thank Merlin. Well no, not thank Merlin. Absolutely not thank Merlin, because apparently Harry wanted Malfoy here. Wanted his hands, his mouth, his weight pressing him back into the mattress. Wanted him to—

Harry fumbled blindly for his mobile before his brain could sink any lower.

Hermione answered after several rings, except it wasn’t Hermione.

“Mate,” Ron croaked, voice thick with sleep, “it’s four in the bloody morning. This had better be good.”

Harry stared into the darkness, painfully hard and awake. “I think I want to shag Malfoy.”

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 298 | prompt: bond

Harry had only had two pints, which wasn’t nearly enough to explain why he was openly staring at Draco Malfoy after weeks of trying his absolute hardest not to do exactly that at work. 

He blamed the Veela thing. Honestly, it was unfair. The long white hair spilling over Draco’s shoulders. The pale skin that seemed to shine at his throat where his collar sat open. The sharp line of his jaw. The—

“Mate,” Ron said, following Harry’s gaze. “Do you want to relax a bit? You’ve been making googly eyes at Malfoy half the night.”

Harry flushed. “What? Everyone thinks Malfoy’s fit. He’s part-Veela.”

The table went quiet.

Draco, who had been bickering with Pansy over something, looked over very slowly. “Pardon?”

Harry gestured helplessly at all of him. “Come on. The shining hair. The glimmering skin—”

“Potter.”

“—the mouth, obviously—”

“Potter!”

“What?”

“I take suppressants.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“For the allure,” Draco said. “I have since eighth year, when I started presenting. No one here is magically compelled to find me attractive.”

Ron choked on his beer and Pansy made a small, delighted sound. Blaise sighed and handed her three Galleons.

“Oh,” Harry said.

Hermione leaned forward, eyes bright. “Actually, if Harry is perceiving Draco’s Veela traits without being influenced by allure, that might suggest a mating bond—”

Draco went completely red and looked away.

“—and judging by that reaction,” Hermione finished, crossing her arms, “Draco seems to have known.”

“Fine, I knew,” Draco snapped. “But I didn’t say anything because Potter is not obligated to—”

“I don’t feel obligated,” Harry interrupted, heart hammering. “I think I’m just… er, well, interested.”

Draco’s mouth parted.

Harry looked at Draco’s flushed cheeks and his beautiful, vaguely worried face.

Draco swallowed. “In what?”

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 258 | prompt: ball

Draco did not believe in Divination.

It was vague nonsense, which was why he complained for the entire queue while Pansy dragged him towards “the most gifted seer in Europe.”

“You need distracting,” Pansy said.

What he needed, though neither of them said it, was Harry Potter not leaving for Australia in three days. Harry Potter, who smiled at him over Ministry reports. Harry Potter, whom Draco had been meaning to tell he loved for six months, two weeks, and one catastrophic almost-kiss.

When the seer peered into her crystal ball, Draco asked, dryly, “So, who’s my forever partner?”

“A man with spectacles.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Revolutionary.”

“Green eyes, dark hair, and a most interesting scar on his forehead.”

That night, Draco wrote an owl before cowardice could return.

Harry came over instead of writing back.

—

“And that,” Draco said years later, “is how I married your father.”

Their children shrieked with delight and tore back into the garden, apparently satisfied at the answer to their question.

Harry waited until they were gone, then said, “You do realise she was probably a fake, and she read the rumours in the papers.”

“Obviously, darling.”

Harry’s smile softened. “Then why did you believe her?”

Draco looked out at the garden, where their children were laughing and playing, all wild hair and muddy knees.

“I didn’t,” Draco said, lacing their fingers together. “But Pansy paid her twenty Galleons to say it, and I was too desperate not to listen.”

Harry laughed, then kissed his knuckles.

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 231 | prompt: book

Chapter Four: Intentions must be stated plainly, with appropriate respect, ideally accompanied by a sincere compliment and an invitation specific enough to prevent social ambiguity.

“Didn’t think you were a reader, Potter,” drawled a voice behind him.

Harry slammed the book shut. “What are you doing here?”

“Buying books,” Malfoy said, shifting the pile in his hand. “A radical activity, I realise, in a bookshop.”

Harry glanced at the titles. “Romance, really?”

Malfoy flushed. “I am a man of refined emotional and literary appetites. Do not look so startled.”

“You read smut.”

“No, I read literature.”

“With shirtless pirates.”

Malfoy sniffed. “And what, pray, are you doing in the self-help section?”

“It’s just a book on… etiquette.”

Malfoy leaned in before Harry could hide it. His eyes widened. “A Guide to Pure-Blood Courtship Customs. Potter. Which pure-blood are you attempting to court?”

“As if I’d tell you.”

“If it’s Smith, I’ll vomit. Blaise? Theodore? Merlin, not Pansy—”

“No, no, no, and absolutely not.”

Malfoy listed out several other names, to all of which Harry said no.

Malfoy looked genuinely upset. “Well, who else could it possibly be?”

Harry’s face went hot. “Bloody hell. It’s you.”

“Oh,” Malfoy said faintly. “Oh.”

Harry swallowed. “Draco Malfoy, you're stupidly pretty, I’m serious about this, and I’d like to take you to dinner.”

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 199 | prompt: charm

Harry had loved working in the Department of New Spells right up until the moment he got hit by a faulty Complimenting Charm.

It made him blurt out whatever he found attractive about anyone he looked at, which had already made three coworkers deeply uncomfortable.

He had retreated to his office to wait it out, staring fixedly at his desk and trying not to compliment the wood grain.

The door opened.

“Potter. I sincerely hope you’re not in the middle of anything vital. I’ve brought the—“

Malfoy. Shit.

Harry immediately clamped his mouth shut which could’ve passed as normal if one ignored the way he went violently red.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” Malfoy asked, tilting his head. 

Harry lost the battle at once. “Your eyes are really unfair, your hair looks stupidly soft, your shirt is too tight in a way that feels deliberate, and you’re so bloody fit it’s honestly annoying.”

Malfoy stared blankly at him for a moment, then sat down opposite him.

Scene from chapter 5 of @coppercatbird’s One Tall Ginger Nightmare

(in which Draco loses a game, has to grow a beard, it comes in ginger, and Harry is a gay mess for it)

A little excerpt:

I was tagged by @coppercatbird and @ira-dunfort to share the last three lines I wrote! Theoretically, they should be from one of my WIPs, but in actuality it's just a random fluffy snippet I was writing last night.