Mea Momento

Constable Draco Malfoy of the London Auror Force, Auror Special Branch Team Seven-Four-Alpha 

or, soon to be Second Rank Unspeakable Malfoy 

Aged up magic boys.

I don’t like the (canon) idea of Harry ending up as an Auror, he should be travelling and having happy adventures and he should be catching dragons with Charlie Weasley. But the (fanon) idea of Draco mastering his artifacts repairing skills is something I really like. and they should meet again after few years and maybe kiss?

And Ron’s like, ‘Malfoy’s most likely to rat someone out,’ and suddenly all these Slytherins pipe up saying that’s bullshit and Pansy’s like, ‘He never told anyone I was the one who was writing essays for galleons in second year.’

Then Goyle says, ‘He took the blame for most of my ruined potions.’

Blaise glares at Ron when he says, ‘Draco realised I was gay in third year and waited three years until I was okay to tell him myself.’

And Malfoy is just sitting there, trying and not quite managing to pull off his usual arrogant sneer and his cheeks are faintly pink.

And Harry’s looking at him, just looking and thinking about that time at Malfoy Manor. And thinking about how Malfoy clearly protects the people he cares about.

And Malfoy won’t meet his eyes and somehow Harry knows they’re both remembering that night.

You’re the only exception and I’m on my way to believe it.

Prompts: @andallwaswell-ish Author: @queenofthyme

“Malfoy, don’t drink that, it’s got cinnamon in it.”  Harry hadn’t meant to say it. He didn’t even know he was going to say anything at all until the words had already left his lips. By then, it was too late to censor himself.

Malfoy paused, the bottle at his lips, and regarded Harry with a curious expression. The rest of the circle watched on, their game of truth or dare, hardly begun, and already interrupted.

“So?” Ron broke the silence. “What does it matter if it’s got cinnamon?”

Malfoy’s eyes never left Harry. “How did you know?” He asked.

Harry thought quickly. “It’s spiced firewhisky. Seamus and I found– ”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Malfoy interrupted. He spoke to Harry as if there was no one else in the room. In reality, they were surrounded by eighth years from every house, all squeezed together on the floor of the Gryffindor Common Room for a game Hermione had initiated. And to Harry’s surprise – she had secretly invited the Slytherins.

“Can someone please explain what’s going on here?” Ron asked loudly.

“Draco has a cinnamon allergy,” explained Pansy, clapping her hands together excitedly.

“How did you know?” Malfoy asked Harry again, ignoring their audience.

“I don’t know. I just do.” The same way he knew the exact gel Malfoy used on his hair every morning (Merlin’s Magic), the same way he knew how Malfoy liked his eggs (poached), and the same way he knew Malfoy’s favourite colour (red).

Ron, although slow on the uptake, came to Harry’s rescue as usual. “Malfoy must have mentioned it before.”

Of course, Pansy wasn’t about let Harry off the hook so easily. “When would Draco have ever told– ”

Malfoy stood up abruptly, the spiced firewhisky discarded on the floor. Everyone turned to him and Harry was grateful for the reprieve from probing eyes. “I’m not staying sober while the rest of you get plastered. I’ll grab some regular firewhisky from my dorm.”

“Do you need someone to come with you?” Pansy asked sweetly.

Harry saw the trap before Malfoy did, but he had no way of warning him. “Yeah,” Malfoy said, “that’d be– ”

“Excellent,” Pansy interrupted. She turned to Harry. “Potter, you should go with him.”

Malfoy realised his mistake too late. “Wait, I thought– ”

This time it was Hermione who interrupted. “It’s Harry’s fault for only bringing spiced firewhisky anyway. He should help,” she said, sharing a smile with Pansy.

Harry looked back up at Malfoy, waiting for his reaction. Sure, they’d been tricked into it but Malfoy could always storm off without him. It’s not as if their show of being civil to each other throughout the year had fooled anyone.

“Fine,” Malfoy huffed, crossing his arms impatiently. He addressed Harry without looking at him. “Potter, you coming?”

Harry stood up, avoiding the eyes that returned to him once more. “Um, yeah, sure.”

Among the long list of things Draco had not expected — including Potter ending up in his bed last night — was waking up to find the other side of the bed empty. 

Potter, instead of being where he belonged next to Draco, was puttering silently around his kitchen as if he’d been there a million times — which Draco supposed he had, just never like this — wearing nothing but a pair of dark green boxers and Draco’s white shirt. Potter spun on his heels, reaching up into the topmost cupboard to pull down two mugs and Draco could see where two buttons were missing off the top of the shirt from the moment Potter had grown impatient last night and quite literally ripped the shirt open. The normally crisp cotton was wrinkled, giving Potter a rumpled just fucked looked that made Draco’s chest ache with a sort of intimate familiarity. Draco shivered at the memory of the shirt hanging off his shoulders as Potter had dropped to his knees to undo his trousers.

“Do you want some?” Potter asked.

“How did you know I was here?” Draco asked, crossing the room to move behind Potter. He wanted to rest his chin on his shoulder, wrap his arms around him and breathe him in  — wanted to memorize him  — but he held back still unsure. Whatever this was between them felt somehow solid and fragile all at once, and Draco found himself terrified of fucking it up.

“Do you want the long answer or the short answer?” Potter asked, and when he finally turned around it was with two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands. 

“The honest one,” Draco answered as he took the proffered mug, peering into it and smiling  — the cup was nearly white, more milk than coffee, the only way Draco liked it. 

Potter took a long, slow sip of his own coffee before setting the mug down on the counter. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Somehow the confession felt weighted as if Potter meant more than just this morning. Draco thought of years spent working together as partners, of hours spent in each other’s company eating takeaway and listening to the wireless long after their cases were done. After Potter’s confessions last night Draco had been in no doubt that Potter had wanted him physically, but it occurred to Draco now that when Potter had whispered I want everything before pressing Draco back into the cool sheets he had not just meant sexually.

“I’m here now,” Draco said, his voice resounding in the stillness of the morning.

Potter’s mouth curled up in the corner as he plucked the mug from Draco’s hand to deposit it beside his own, moving his hands to Draco’s waist and pulling him flush against his chest. Draco hummed into the kiss, Potter’s chest was warm and solid against his own, his body bracketed between Potter’s spread legs as he kissed Draco.

Potter’s entire body relaxed into the kiss as he opened his mouth to let Draco in and Draco tightened his hold on him, intoxicated by the bitter taste of coffee on Potter’s tongue.

When he pulled out of the kiss Potter’s eyes were bright, his lips were kiss swollen and he had the same smile on his face that he got when they closed a case  — victorious, contented, happy. Draco leaned forward, dropping his forehead against Harry’s as his own lips curled up into a smile.

Potter had stayed the night. Potter had made him coffee. 

The Gang™️ celebrating Love and S.P.E.W. and the Chudley Cannons and Feminism and Equality

Happy (belated) Birthday @goldentruth813

I stared at this for so long and it took me ages to look away from Harry because I’m just in love with him. And look at that bi flag he’s wearing as a cape! MY bisexual heart is weeping with happiness.

Apart from the fact that I did want to draw her, but she just didn’t fit in the picture anymore (believe me, I really would have loved to do the whole gang, Luna, Seamus, Dean, Neville...),