Fic writer. Shipper at heart

For @drarrymicrofic - Prompt: Spell - 1115 words

Anything over 1k should not be considered a microfic. This is ridiculous. I know! But I got carried away. Sorry!

“Legilimens,” Harry whispers for what must be the tenth time today.

Draco stiffens, jaw clenched. There’s a hard stone the size of England sitting in the pit of his stomach, a stone he’d very much like to extract and fling right at Robards’s stupid head.

It would be entirely deserved and not the least bit excessive, Draco thinks.

After all, that’s all the prick deserves for deciding on a whim that all Auror partners should learn the art of bloody Legilimency, with daily training sessions on top of that.

Robards dropped the horrific news at the weekly department meeting three weeks ago: “Being able to  maintain a mental connection with your partner on the field can be extremely valuable. You need to learn to link your minds. It’s a skill every auror is expected to master. It could literally save your life.”

Draco thinks he’d rather died, if he had the choice. That would be a far better option than letting Potter wander free in his mind, with full access to ... well, everything.

If Draco were normal about Potter, he reckons he’d be fine with the whole Legilimency thing—not thrilled, but okay ... fine.

If he had a normal crush, he could probably gather all his inconvenient feelings and shove them into some dark corner of his mind, lock them behind a door, or burry them in a bloody drawer or something—surely there was a place like that where you could dump all the things you’d rather die than have discovered, such as your extremely powerful and unrequited crush on your Auror partner for example.  

But here is the thing:  Draco Malfoy is not normal about Harry Potter, nor are his feelings, and if Potter were to step foot in Draco’s mind, he’d be hit by the enormity of it. No drawers would ever be big enough. Potter would be horrified, and Draco would die of mortification.

“Try to relax this time,” Harry says stupidly.

“I’m relaxed,” Draco replies, fingers tightening around the armrest of his chair.

Harry shoots him an unconvinced look, then voice softer, “Okay ... I’m going in.”

Draco braces himself then feels Harry pushing softly at the edge of his thoughts. It’s warm and lovely and Draco hates it. He stiffens and does what he needs to do to protect his heart.

“Malfoy!” Harry sighs, irritated.

“What?” Draco says innocently, pretending he has no clue what Harry is about to say.

“Your walls! They’re up again. Put them down.”

“They’re not up.”

“They are! I can’t get through your mind and make the connection if your walls are up.”

Draco feels Harry pushing harder, trying to force his way in. Draco resists, pushes back, but the bloody wanker is powerful, Draco knows he only has so much time before his walls inevitably start to crumble. He can already feel the cracks.

“Jesus, Malfoy, you’ve built a bloody fortress in there. What the hell?”

Draco rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “Have you considered you can’t manage to get through because you’re pants at Legilimency and not because of my non-existent walls?”

Harry gives him a pointed look. He shifts his grip on his wand, then says, eyes looking away, ”It worked with Justin.”

Draco’s stomach lurches. “You practiced with Justin?”

Harry has at least the decency to look slightly guilty. “Well, I had to know if I was the problem." He rubs the back of his neck. “Justin suggested it when I told him we were struggling.”

Of course he did. That sneaky little fucker. Of course that rate-face, slimy piece of shit was going to jump at the opportunity to prove he’ be a better partner than Draco. Of fucking course. Draco can’t stand him. He fucking can’t stan--

“You’re mad,” Harry says, surprised.

“What?”

“You’re mad. I can feel it,” Harry  says.

Draco’s blood suddenly runs cold because if Harry can feel it, that only means one thing: he’s managed to get through, though Draco has no clue how, his walls, though shaky, definitely still hold.

Unless … Fuck! The bloody cracks. His anger must have slipped through them.     

“Actually, that’s not quite it.” Harry frowns in concentration while Draco desperately tries to locate the cracks so he can seal them before the whole thing collapses and all hell breaks loose. “You...” Harry’s eyes widened. “You’re jealous.”

Draco coughs, splutters, he almost chokes.

“Jealous? Of rate-face Justin?” He squeaks. “Why the fuck would I be jealous?”

Harry’s lip twitches, one smug eyebrow raised as if to say, You tell me.

“I don’t give a rat’s arse who you practice with, Potter. If you want to waste your time poking around Justin’s stupid head, be my guest. Though, I don’t know what you could possibly find in there, it’s probably just a big fucking empty hole, the guy’s got exactly one braincell,” he taunts.

Harry huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Right.”

“Actually, come to think of it, you should ask Robards for a change of partner. You’d make a cracking team.” Draco aims for biting but his voice comes out thin, and vulnerable.

Harry hums. His eyes soften, and Draco, horrified, feels the cracks getting deeper and deeper.

“And why would I do that?” Harry says, shooting him one of his infuriating lopsided smile, the one Draco can’t resist, the one that sends his heart bloody racing.  

Draco’s walls tremble. They fucking shake.

Then, softer. “Why would I? When I have you.”

With a deafening sound, the cracks split open.

Draco freezes, heartbeat hammering in his ears, he tries to stop the disaster, but it’s too late. Hopeless. The wall shatters into a million pieces, and suddenly, everything is flooded.  

Harry gasps.

Draco holds his breath, mortified. He stares at the floor, hands shaking. That’s it. His life is over. He will have to resign, go into exile somewhere far way... like Siberia.

“Draco,” Harry whispers as he picks Draco’s wand off the desk beside them and holds it out to him. “Cast the spell on me.”

“What?” Draco croaks.

“Legilimens. Cast it on me.”

Draco looks up, heart pounding. He has no idea what Harry’s on about, but complies anyway. He grabs his wand, points it at Harry’s head, then whispers, voice trembling. “Legilimens.”

In an instant, he’s in Harry’s mind. There’s no walls. Everything is warm and lovely and inviting and ...

Oh.

Draco’s heart stops.  

Oh.

Harry bites his lip, smiling shily at Draco from under his fringe.

“You,” Draco stutters. “You...”

“Yes,” Harry says, his smile huge as he rises, catches Draco by the shirt, and kisses him.

Draco closes his eyes, kisses him back.

“Harry, please walk me through this again,” Draco said, after taking a large gulp of tea.

“Why?” Harry asked sheepishly.

“Because I need to hear it a second time and compare your statements, so I can figure out what happened inside your brain that led to this.”

“But you said—”

“Yes. Tell me, word for word, what I said this morning before you left for work.”

Harry swallowed. “You said, ‘Darling, bring the bonding agent on your way home.’”

“So you did hear me, and you managed to remember it, too. Well done.” Draco took a deep breath. “So why is he here?” he asked, his voice rising in pitch as he pointed at the elderly man in purple robes, who smiled gently at them from a kitchen chair.

“He’s the bonding agent.”

“Hello,” the man offered.

“Ah, ah, ah. You stay out of this,” Draco tutted, before taking Harry’s hands in his. His expression softened in a way that somehow made Harry feel worse. “You sweet thing, explain to me why you brought a Ministry officiant into our house.”

“He’s the bonding agent,” Harry repeated. “I asked Pansy what you could have meant by that, and she sent me to his office.”

“You didn’t question her? You immediately believed that was what I’d asked for?”

“Well, you love me?” Harry tried, heat creeping up his neck and firmly settling in his cheeks.

“Quite.” Draco smiled at him, honest and fond enough that Harry’s stomach gave a smitten little swoop. “Did you ask anyone else?”

“Well, yes. I asked Ron if Pansy was setting me up, because she’d been cackling, and Ron said, ‘She’d never, mate.’”

Draco closed his eyes.

“Should I leave?” the officiant asked carefully.

“Shush,” Draco hissed at him, then turned back to Harry. “Ronald was being sarcastic, and Pansy did, in fact, set you up.”

“Oh.”

“I was asking for a bottle of this, darling.” Draco pointed at the empty container of Apothecary's Premium Bonding Agent 460MT sitting on their kitchen table.

Harry looked at it. Then at the officiant. Then back at Draco.

“Oh,” he said again, because it seemed to cover a lot of ground.

“Gentlemen,” the officiant said, rising slowly from his chair, “if I’m not needed, this is well past my usual hours, and I’d—”He stopped when Draco pinned him in place with a glittering look.

“I’d much prefer it if you stayed a moment longer,” Draco said, still holding Harry’s hands, “and married me to this impossible man, who may, entirely by accident, have had a stroke of genius.”

@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?”

It’s not like Draco planned brunch where he knew Potter and his hangers-on would be. That’s just fucking pathetic.

“Draco,” Pansy grips her mimosa like she is ready to choke it—or Draco—out. “Please stop ogling his thighs.”

“But…” Draco waves his own pomegranate mimosa, sloshing it all over his white t-shirt.

Those thighs.

“I know you’re a thirsty slut for Quidditch leathers and all things Potter, but have some self-respect!”

Draco smirks at Pansy. “No, darling.” He rises from his chair, liquid courage in hand. “I don’t think I will.”

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: retrograde | wc: 250

Harry gave an officious little nod and stood. “It’s decided then.”

Ron frowned. “We weren’t talking about anything, mate.”

“I’m going to do it.” Harry nodded again.

“Do what?” Hermione looked up from her book—honestly, who brought a book to pub night?

“I’m going to go talk to Malfoy. Draco.”

Ron spat out his beer. Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Last time—”

“Last time was different,” Harry said. “I’m trying again. I don’t care if I’m bollocks at it.”

“It’s healthy to do things you’re not very good at sometimes,” Luna said as Ginny slid into the booth. “What are you trying?”

“He’s going to talk to Malfoy,” Ron said.

Luna frowned. “Oh, Harry, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“But you just said!”

“Well, you see, Mercury’s in retrograde right now, which makes communication difficult,” Luna said, eyes wide. “Disagreements are more likely, misunderstandings—well, you and Draco are already rather prone to those, aren’t you.”

“I don’t care how retro Mercury is,” Harry snapped, tossing back his pint. “I’m going to talk to him.”

**Three minutes later**

“Well,” Hermione said.

“That’s certainly not what I would call ‘talking’,” Ginny said with a grin.

Ron looked ill. “I can’t believe this is happening again,” he said, turning away from the sight of Harry’s hands trailing lower down Draco’s body. Draco’s hands were in Harry’s hair, unyielding, insistent.

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: bond | wc: 500 | rating: mild m

“Good news first, or bad?” Ron asked.

“Good,” Harry blurted, just as Malfoy said, “Bad, obviously.”

They glared, then turned away, hands clasped.

“Good news: it’s time-limited. The curse is for newlyweds to get to know one another. It’s not permanent. You’ll just have to wait it out.”

Malfoy sighed. “The bad news?”

Ron cleared his throat; he sounded amused, which Harry thought was a little rude. “We can’t break it, unless one of you fancies giving up your magic.” They both blanched. “The bond’s tied to your magical cores. If it were a permanent bond, maybe we’d try, but the risk of magical core damage—”

“How long, Weasley?”

Silence. Ron coughed; Harry could hear his attempt to restrain his laughter, the tosser. “One year.”

Malfoy gaped. “You expect me to hold hands with this cretin for a year?”

In the corner, Bill cleared his throat. “There are ways to … create distance.”

Harry saw Malfoy’s expression and somehow, he knew.

“I’m not shagging Malfoy!” Harry all but shouted. “I’ll hold his bloody hand for the rest of my life before that!” His face was hot. He didn’t like Ron and Bill’s dubious expressions.

Malfoy sighed. “I cannot believe I hired you as a curse-breaker and you cursed me.”

“I can’t believe your family has a dodgy sex-curse artefact!”

“Really? It seems rather in character to me, which is why I hired professional fucking curse-breakers!” Malfoy sighed. “l’ll pack a trunk.”

Harry frowned. “You’re … coming to Grimmauld?”

“Did you wish to move into the manor for a year?”

“Godric’s gonads, no.”

“I assumed. Come on.”

Harry ignored Bill’s knowing glance and Ron’s barely disguised leer as they left St Mungo’s. It only took Draco ten minutes to pack, despite having one hand clasped in Harry’s. Another few minutes to figure out how to Floo together and they stood in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place.

“I’ll show you to the guest—fuck.”

“Yes, I won’t be needing a guest room,” Malfoy said, tone dry. “Please tell me you have tea?”

Harry nodded. “Even some posh stuff.”

Harry didn’t mention that he’d seen what brand of tea Malfoy preferred in the manor kitchen and bought it, daydreaming about how impressed Malfoy might be if Harry were ever brave enough to invite him over. 

Malfoy didn’t look impressed. He sighed, running his wand hand through his hair.

“I’d like to try something.”

Harry waited.

A pause; a breath. A tug of their joined hands and they were chest-to-chest, Malfoy’s hand in his hair.

“This is just pragmatic,” Malfoy said. “I’d rather like privacy in the loo.”

“Right,” Harry breathed. “Pragmatic.”

“Making tea will be easier. Dinner, too.”

“Yes. That makes sense.”

“We’ll just … determine the boundaries of the curse. Experiment.”

“I like experimentation,” Harry said.

—

Draco looked up from between Harry’s thighs. “Curse ends tomorrow,” he murmured. “Am I moving back into the manor?”

For @drarrymicrofic | prompt : Rule & Set | 518 words

“Wait,” Malfoy says as Harry picks up his coat. “We still need to agree on the details.”

Harry looks at him, confused. “We’ve already done that,” he replies. “Thoroughly,” he adds, rolling his eyes under his fringe.

Malfoy sighs, “Surely I don’t need to remind you that the success of an undercover mission depends largely, if not entirely on its preparation.”

 This time, Harry doesn’t even try to hide the eye roll. “Jesus, Malfoy. What else is more to discuss. We have our backstory. I’m Mark. You’re David. We are on our honeymoon. You made me go through every little details a million times already.  I feel I know Mark and David more than I know myself at this stage. We’ll be fine.”

Malfoy squirms on his chair. He is not looking at Harry when he says, “Rules, Potter.” He clears his throat. “We still need to...erm...We have to set some. You know. Rules.”

Harry frowns. It’s unlike Draco to fumble for words. “What do you mean?”

Malfoy gives him a look Harry knows well, the one that says, are you daft?

“Potter, we are husbands,” Malfoy says slowly. “on our honeymoon.”  Malfoy lets the words hang, probably waiting for Harry to figure it out himself. When Harry doesn’t, Malfoy drags a hand across his face, exhaling loudly. “They have to buy it, Potter. If they don’t, we’re done. You get that? Newlyweds usually ... you know. We’ll have to ... you know.”  

“What?” Harry says, even though he damn well knows.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. We’ll have to get physical, Potter!” He shouts. “Hold hands. Hug. Touch...Kiss. We need rules! Set boundaries. We have to agree on what we can do. What we’re comfortable with.”

“Oh.”  

“Tell me you realised that before you took the mission. Because if we are not believable, Potter, we might as well call off the whole thing right now.”

“Erm, yeah.. I suppose I knew we’d have to ...erm ...do some of that... but I hadn’t really thought about it until now,” Harry lies.

He did think about it.

He thought about it a lot.  

Malfoy studies him then reaches for a paper on his desk. “I—I made a list.” He fumbles with the paper. “To help us... set the ground rules for this.”

There are at least 20 items on Malfoy’s list. Harry catches the first few: holding hands, stroking back, stroking neck. His stomach flips as he reads the next one, running hand through hair.

Malfoy picks up a quill. His voice wavers slightly as he asks, “Are you comfortable with holding hands?”

“Yes,” Harry replies too quickly.

Malfoy doesn’t look up. He stares at his paper and draws a tick on it. “What about back stroking?”

“Yes.”

Malfoy draws another tick and Harry’s eyes flick to the end of the list where he reads, kissing (with/without tongue).

Oh God.

Oh sweet Merlin.

“What about—“

“Yes!” Harry says. “Yes to all of it.”

Malfoy looks up from his paper. His mouth hangs open. “I—I haven’t finished going through the list.”

Shane & Ilya // Dan & Phil (1/?)

It's not about the girls. Shane's a jealous character; of how Ilya is with Scott, definitely of his relationship with Svetlana and Troy, maybe also a little side-eye at Luca's crush, and he's amusingly transparent about it too, but he knows their situation right now and doesn't truly begrudge Ilya other partners. It's later, when they're in a relationship, that Shane is more open with his suspicion of anything and anyone who could come between them. Ilya's also a jealous character, but Ilya crashes out over Rose because it happens after he tries, because Shane isn't known for his love life, and Rose has what he wants, can openly have it.