A Heart Needs A Beat ♥

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt bound

Under Pressure

Harry watched the crup bound around the garden and blinked a few times.

Shaking his head to clear it, he turned to his husband. “Draco, love, why is there a crup running in our garden?

@drarrymicrofic | 191 words | prompt: bound

Harry checks his pockets (for the tenth time this morning.) Keys, wallet, wand, and portkey. (Five minutes until it takes him to the Ministry, right into the Wizengamot, bypassing the reporters.) 

In the other pocket is the vial of Snape’s memories (foggy, pulled from his own muddled head, as he already gave the originals to Kingsley. Still, can’t hurt to have a backup of the evidence.)

Lastly, Malfoy’s wand. (Eager to return to its owner. Leaving Harry a sad step parent. He runs his hand over the handle and shudders at the feel of it, cold sparks on his palm.)

“I don’t understand why you’re even bothering,” Ron grumbles (for the twentieth time this morning.) “Malfoy wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

Harry shivers, blinks too hard. (He was on fire, in a way. That day, at the Manor.) He manages to mutter, “I’d rather he not piss on me, to be fair.”

Ron rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. You’re stressing out over nothing. Let the git follow his daddy to Azkaban, I say.”

"Why are you sitting all alone? Come join us." Ron said, pointing towards the exit to of the restaurant he had found Harry in. "Sorry, can't. I'm bound by a prior commitment." he said, waving him off with his right hand. Ron grumbled a quick "Suit yourself" and left. A few moments later, his 'commitment' waltzed in and took a seat in front of him. "Did you really have to handcuff me to the chair?" Harry asked, annoyed but also turned on by the jingle of the metal handcuff keeping his left hand, and by extension Harry, secure.

New prompt: bound 📚🐇🪢💍

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt butt

Harry was less scared when he was dead. He could move at King’s Cross. Talk. Decide.

Inside this curse? Nothing.

Draco materialises in Harry’s mind, grip solid on Harry’s jacket.

“It will hurt,” Draco says. “But you’ll be out.”

Harry blinks. All he’s got.

Claiming has begun! Initial claiming of prompts will be open until the 30th of June 8PM CET+2.

We've gathered such a wild variety of summer themed ideas, from wholesome family outings, to weather magic going haywire, one of them going into heat during a heatwave, and even Christmas in hot Australia.

@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.”