Julian Morrow

and maybe i’ve purple prosed too close to the sun

he hid a vial of veritaserum in his sleeve and snuck it into draco’s drink when he walked pass their table at the three broomsticks. the plan was to confront draco and his posse as they leave, he’s already planted a recording device inside of his coat.

draco slides a lid over the cauldron, his hand lingering on the handle as if he never meant to close it at all. just for a few more seconds, he wishes he had taken in more of that scent—of pine sticking to a clumsily knitted wool sweater. his sweater. of his skin, his hair, the way they would be freshly off of his broomstick on an early english november. all exactly how draco remembers it.

where harry was sent to be a knight at the malfoy court. the kingdom is in ruins, half of it swallowed by the stench of war. lucius, the king, rumored to be delirious and have come to worship an idol, practicing dark magic. his only son, prince draco, rules in his stead.

the potters have long been shunned by the court for their association with the order of the phoenix—an organization standing in protest against the king. sending their oldest, harry, to obtain his knighthood, stating to the public it is an act of diplomacy, of them seeking to rekindle their relationship with the throne. but only known to a few, harry’s true purpose at the court is to investigate the status of the king, allowing for the order to usurp the malfoy rule.

he spent years training for this, to be at court. to fulfill his mission and free the kingdom of its incompetent tyrant.