𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚

I’m Marina, a writer & artist, currently posting a lot of drarry & HP (fuck JKR!)

About Me

AO3: pr1m4d0nn4

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 23

Timezone: GMT+0, UK

Languages: English, French, Persian

My Writing & Art

Search #microfic if you want to find my microfics, here is my collection!

Search #art if you want to find my art!

Finished Fic on AO3

Drarry

Miscommunication Studies [E, 8k]

Draco says the oral is dreadful. Harry assumes he means sex, has a complete crisis about being bad in bed, and deals with it in the stupidest, sexiest way possible.

Don’t Cross the Line [E, 16k]

A classroom disaster forces Draco Malfoy to share with Harry Potter for the rest of term, which is bad enough on its own. Worse is the deeply inconvenient discovery that all their bickering might actually be foreplay.

Over the Garden Wall [M, 17k]

Draco did not come to the Highlands to fall in love with Harry Potter. He came for peace, quiet, and a magical garden full of rare potion ingredients. Instead, he gets Harry Potter in the next cottage over: terrible gardener, excellent baker, devastating wearer of rolled-up sleeves, and the single worst person in Britain for Draco to be trapped beside for the summer.

Disclaimers: No racists, homophobes, transphobes, ableists, zionists, AI supporters, or bigots of any kind. I am strictly against all these things and not interested in debating my stance.

Please don’t repost, trace, steal, copy, edit, or feed my art/writing into AI tools. Please don’t repost, plagiarise, translate, or upload my fics anywhere else without permission. (Reblogs are very much appreciated, thank you!)

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 456 | prompt: butt

The first time Harry tried to ask Draco Malfoy out, he got as far as, “So, Malfoy, are you—”

Then Ron appeared, dropped three case files on Harry’s desk, and said, “Good, you’re both here. Please tell me one of you knows where I can find a cursed ferret, I’ve been doing the rounds.”

Draco looked at the files. Harry looked at Ron.

“Not now,” Harry said.

Ron dropped into a chair. “It’s either now or I set fire to the paperwork.”

The second time, Harry cornered Draco in the Ministry lift.

“Malfoy,” he said, shifting his grip on his briefcase, “I was wondering if you’d like to—”

The lift doors opened and Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped in.

Harry immediately changed course and said, “—review the… broom-related… tax fraud?”

Draco stared at him. “Potter, that was six months ago.”

Kingsley looked between them, then very wisely chose shuffling through the paperwork in his hand over whatever this was. 

The third time, Draco was alone outside after work, collar turned up against the cold, smoke from his cigarette curling silver around his fingers.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, walking up, before he could lose his nerve.

Draco looked over. “Potter.”

“I was thinking we—”

“There you are,” Pansy said from behind him, pulling her gloves on. She looked between them and smirked. “Am I interrupting something?”

Draco’s mouth curved. “Only Potter’s latest attempt at a sentence, apparently.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Good night.”

Pansy waved and looped her arm through Draco’s, tugging him away, already complaining about the cold.

Harry watched them go and made a private note to find a way to rid of the entire concept of timing.

A few weeks into this, Hermione had apparently had enough.

They were all crammed into a corner booth at the Leaky, warm with laughter and too many rounds, when Harry glanced at Draco across the table.

“Malfoy, I—well. I was wondering if—”

Everyone else’s conversation died all at once, and their eyes were on him. Harry’s mouth stayed open, uselessly shaped around words that had apparently decided to abandon him.

Across the table, Draco only raised a perfect blond eyebrow, which did not help.

Hermione did not even look up from her drink. “Draco, Harry wants to know if you’ll go out with him,” she butted in. 

Ron and Blaise said, in unison, “Oh, finally.”

Harry turned his head slowly towards Hermione. “Hey, I had that!”

“Did you though?”

Harry was about to retort when Draco’s knee brushed his beneath the table. When Harry looked back at him, Draco was smiling.

“Well, Potter?”

Harry swallowed. “Dinner?”

Draco’s smile softened. “I thought you’d never ask.”

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 173 | prompt: incline

Across the very, very, very boring Ministry gala stood the object of Harry’s undivided attention: Draco Malfoy.

“You don’t have to glare at the pointy git all night,” Ron said.

“What?”

“Ron’s right, you know,” Hermione added. “You might have a better time if you tried forgetting Malfoy exists.”

Harry was only half-listening. Across the room, Malfoy inclined his head in their private way, ever so slightly, towards the left.

Harry coughed. “Er. Yeah. I think what I actually need is some… air.”

Ron clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit. Come back with a fresh mindset and less Malfoy.” Hermione nodded her agreement. 

Harry slipped through the crowd and out into the empty corridor. Moments later, Malfoy followed.

“You look bloody hot in those robes,” Harry said.

“Yes, they are rather thick, and it is quite stuffy in there.”

“The other hot, you git.”

Malfoy’s mouth curved. “Mm. Come here, then.”

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 550 | prompt: hesitate

“Well,” Harry said, the second Draco’s front door slammed behind them, “that went a bit shit.”

Draco turned on him slowly. “I thought it was salvageable until she asked whether you’d ever pictured me naked.”

“I said no!” 

“You said no comment! Seriously, Potter, you were distracted the whole time.”

Harry blinked. “That was because I was picturing you naked.”

Draco stared at him.

“What?” Harry asked. “I’m only human.”

Draco made a strangled noise and swept towards the drinks cabinet. “I need something strong enough to erase the last forty minutes of my life. Possibly the last twenty years.”

“Bit dramatic.”

“Skeeter asked whether we were lovers, Potter.”

“She asks everyone that.” Harry dropped onto Draco’s sofa, sprawling deliberately, all messy hair and open shirt at the collar. “Also, you didn’t exactly help.”

Draco paused with the whisky bottle in hand. “Me?”

“Yes, you. All that sneering and ‘Mr Potter and I have a complicated history’ rubbish.”

“It is complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated.”

Draco poured too much whisky into one glass. “You are the one that hesitated first when she asked what we were to each other. Is friends not in your vocabulary?”

“Are we friends?” Harry asked, looking up at him beneath his lashes. “Because I thought you’d prefer me to say fuck buddies.”

“We are not—”

“What am I doing in your flat, then?”

Harry stood. Draco hated how casually he did it. He stopped too close.

“What am I doing here, Draco?”

Draco lifted his chin. “Being irritating.”

Harry stepped closer. “Try again.”

“Being impossible.”

“Warmer.”

Draco swallowed. “Being presumptuous.”

Harry’s smile was wicked. “You’re going to fuck me, are you not?”

Draco set the whisky down very carefully, face going hot. “For someone who froze in front of Rita Skeeter, you’ve found your tongue remarkably quickly.”

Harry’s gaze dropped to Draco’s mouth. “Could find yours too.”

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

“We are friends,” Draco said.

Harry laughed. “Right. Brilliant. Friends.”

“Harry—”

“No, it’s good. Really. Let me call Ron and ask whether he wants to shove me against a wall.”

Draco caught Harry by the front of his shirt and pushed him back against the nearest wall. Harry went willingly, annoyingly smug for half a second, until Draco pressed in and watched the smugness fade away.

“What do you want me to say?” Draco asked. “Since apparently you’ve decided directness is tonight’s theme.”

Harry’s breath caught as Draco leaned nearer, though not kissing him yet. 

“I want you to say I’m not your friend,” Harry said, voice low, “I want you to say you were furious because I hesitated. Because you thought I was ashamed of you. Which I’m not.”

“You looked like you were.”

“I looked terrified because for one second I thought you might not want me to say it first.”

“Say what?”

“That you’re mine. That I’m yours. That Skeeter can print whatever headline she likes, so long as she spells boyfriend correctly.”

Draco forgot how to breathe, but not how to snark, because he said, “Boyfriend is a rather juvenile term.”

Harry’s smile returned. “What would you prefer? Lover? Partner?”

Draco made a face. “Fine,” he said, fingers still twisted in Harry’s shirt. “You’re my boyfriend.”

Harry’s green eyes went soft. “Yeah?”

“Yes, Potter. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 330 | prompt: tremble

For three days, the Auror Office had been tearing London apart for Harry’s missing partner, and he had not slept a wink. 

Now, Harry was at Malfoy’s side, blasting through the restraints. Malfoy slumped forward, and Harry caught him before he hit the floor.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, gathering his trembling body carefully into his arms. “Malfoy, look at me.”

Malfoy’s eyes opened, unfocused and dulled.

“Potter,” he rasped.

“I’m here. Help’s coming.”

Malfoy blinked at him. “You look dreadful.”

Harry let out something that was almost a laugh. “You’ve been tortured for three days and you’re insulting my appearance?”

“Priorities,” Malfoy whispered, closing his eyes.

“Stay awake.”

“I’m trying. Don’t sound so bossy.”

Harry pressed his fingers to Malfoy’s throat. His pulse was there, fast and weak.

“Sorry,” Harry said. “I’ll ask nicely next time.”

“Liar.”

Harry’s hand shook where it held him. “Yeah.”

Malfoy stared up at him, breathing shallowly. His whole body kept jerking in little aftershocks.

“I thought about you,” Malfoy said.

Harry swallowed. “What?”

“I—.” Malfoy’s fingers twitched against Harry’s sleeve. “I imagined you, when the pain got too much.”

Malfoy’s eyes fluttered, and Harry tightened his arm around him.

“No. Stay with me.”

“Trying,” Malfoy said again, irritated even now. “Merlin, Potter.”

“Good. Be annoyed. That’s good.”

Malfoy gave the smallest broken huff. 

“The thought of you kept me alive,” he continued. “Without you, what do I live for?” 

“Malfoy.”

“I know. Terrible timing. Always had terrible timing.”

Harry stared at him. “Are you under Veritaserum?”

“Yes, but that means you have to believe me.”

Harry brushed his fingers through Malfoy’s hair, matted and bloodied. “I do.”

“I want you,” Malfoy said bluntly. “There. Bloody humiliating.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do have to. That’s rather the point of truth serum, Potter.” 

Harry’s vision blurred.

“Just believe me,” Malfoy whispered. “Please.”

The door burst open. Voices filled the room as Aurors and Healers flooded in. 

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 228 | prompt: survive

Harry held Draco’s hand, who lay pale against the pillows, hair spread around him like a halo, one hand pressed to his chest. His breathing was shallow. His eyes, usually so silver, were a glassy grey.

“Harry,” Draco whispered.

“I’m here.”

Draco’s fingers tightened weakly around his. “You have to promise me something.”

Harry’s throat closed. “Anything.”

“When I’m gone—”

“Don’t.”

“When I’m gone,” Draco repeated, devastatingly, “you must take care of Mother.”

A helpless sound broke out of Harry. He pressed Draco’s knuckles to his mouth. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Draco smiled faintly. “Always so stubborn.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.” Draco’s thumb brushed Harry’s wrist. “That’s one of the many terribly irritating things I love about you.”

Harry leaned over him, heart cracking wide open. “I love you too.”

Draco’s eyes fluttered shut. “At least I can go in peace.”

Ron stood in the doorway in his Healer trainee robes, holding his clipboard, and wearing an expression of pure disdain.

“The dramatic git only has a bloody cold,” Ron said flatly, “He’s going to survive, obviously.”

Harry turned slowly back to Draco.

Draco sniffed. “That remains to be seen.”

Harry glared at him. “I thought you were actually dying!”

@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.