#bi317writes

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: blossom | epilogue compliant

Dear Harry,

Saw you in red yesterday.

Mother’s really proud of her roses, as you well know. They have blossomed beautifully this year. Most of them, at least. Some withered immaturely. They tried, though. But no matter; I digress.

I’ve come to the knowledge that Albus is quite fond of the red roses in our gardens. Scorpius was most adamant that I send a freshly harvested bunch over.

I hope he likes them.

Yours Regards,

Draco.

P.S. - You should wear red more often.

“What does it say? Who’s sent you roses?”

“Uh, no – no, it’s not for me, Gin. They’re for Albus. From Scorpius.”

“Oh, such a sweet boy isn’t he?”

“Yeah......Why don’t you go get some treats for the owl?”

“Sure.”

“But dad, you like roses too, don’t you?”

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt 'proof' | Just something random that floated across my mind and got itself written and it matches the prompt!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

People wonder what Harry Potter – Saviour of the Wizarding World and Gryffindor Golden Boy - could possibly see in Draco Malfoy - Death Eater scum and a good-for-nothing Slytherin snake.

People find it ludicrous to believe when Harry insists that Draco has changed. Why should they believe? How could they?

Because they don’t know how hard Draco tried to learn the recipe of treacle tart from Mrs. Weasley just to surprise Harry on his birthday.

They aren’t aware how Draco is always that one person to believe Harry in a heartbeat – whatever it is – even when no one does just because Harry hates when people imply he’s lying for he must not tell lies so how could he?

They don’t know how tight Draco holds Harry’s hands even long after they’re asleep because he's afraid of falling into the Fiendfyre in his dreams.

They didn’t hear him giving Ron ‘the talk’ when the poor guy was on the verge of a mini mental breakdown mere minutes before his wedding with Hermione.

They didn’t see the tears in his eyes when Harry kissed him hard and said, ‘Yes I will! Of course I will, you idiot!’ while slipping the plain platinum band on his fingers with his pale, trembling hands.

People don’t see any of this and frankly Harry doesn’t coax them to anymore. It isn’t the first time when they have refused to believe him. It isn’t the first time when they have demanded Harry a proof for his claims.

This time, however, he’s more than content to be selfish enough to keep the pure and simple truth all to himself.

~~~~~~~~~

"We ruined it, didn't we?"

Harry ignored Ron's frantic question and dipped his head dangerously close to the hot cauldron to take a good sniff. Citrus is it...𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴...? he thought and sniffed harder. Hmmm.... Maybe something blonde.....

Wait. Wha -

"It's okay, Potter. There are better ways to die than sinking your head in a boiling cauldron."

Malfoy.

MALFOY.

"Malfoy!" Ron hissed.

"Malfoy...." Harry breathed into the swirling pink concoction.

"You know what you're doing, don't you?" 

Draco gazes at the seagulls soaring against the pink-orange sky and  takes Harry's hands in his own.

"I do."

"You know the consequences this might have, don't you?" 

Draco thinks about the ruckus they left behind and breathes in the cool, salty air.

"I do."

"You really want us to do it here? Now?"

Draco tightens his grip, steps closer and admires his fiance in the shimmering white robes.

"I do."

"You know that we don't have the rings, don't you?"

Draco brushes a wind mused curl out of Harry's face and bends down to untie the laces of his own perfectly polished shoes.

"I do."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You stole my books for him?" She asked with a severe frown worthy of McGonagall.

Harry's elbow jerked at the sudden question making his chin crash painfully to the hardwood table.

"Fuck!"

"You did that too?! When?! And why did you not tell me??!!"

"Fuck!"

He was so fucking screwed.

for the @drarrymicrofic prompts 'Full Moon' and 'Jam'. i saw the two prompts at the same time and they fused in my head to form this.....

CW: implied lycanthropy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I never had scent kink, at least not until three months ago. Not until a little after I was turned that night.

Not until I found my mate.

I close my eyes against the warm glow of the vanilla scented candles and try to relax with my head resting against the edge of the tub as I sink lower into the soothingly hot water. The water is just the right temperature I need for my tired bones, aching muscles and still fresh wounds.

Just the right temperature for a bath after a full moon night.

I eagerly wait for that one scent to grace my frenzied senses and cloud them into syrupy oblivion, masking the chaos of the other scents around me that fight for dominance over my olfactory cells. But they too know which one will win in the end.

So I sigh and wait, trying not to get agitated by the burning smell of smoke and wax that overpower the vanilla, the coppery, salty smell of blood on my skin and the lingering, unwelcome smell of wolfsbane that I can still taste at the back of my throat.

But just then, finally, finally the door opens and my face splits into a tired but giddy grin. It’s not the sound of the door opening or of footsteps that tell me he’s here. Harry always makes sure not to make any sudden sounds, knowing how jumpy I get due to unexpected auditory impulses.

No, it’s the scent. The scent I can pick from miles away. One that I can never get enough of - the addictive, heavenly scent I didn’t know I had around me until I did. The fruity, plumy aroma that drives me wild with lust even when I’m very much human.

The beautiful, thick, heady sweetness that coats my senses like a soft but surprisingly strong shield, warding them against the ugliness of the outside world.

The scent that makes me feel good about who I am.

Slippery and balmy and intoxicating – like a liquid, like mist spreading thick and heavy in the air as he moves closer – a smooth, velvety weight on my prickling skin.

Like plums crushed and simmered in glittering sugar for hours – rich, pure and bottled all in one person.

Like a new summer after a long winter.

Like a new life. A tangy-sweet life.

Like Harry. My Harry.

Like home.

for @drarrymicrofic prompt : 'sticky'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry rested his head on his folded arms and closely followed the delicate but swift glide of the henna cone over Padma’s outstretched palms. His eyes swiveled in every direction to catch up with every loop, every frill and every petal that painted her bare skin with effortlessly gorgeous patterns.

“Would you like to try it, Harry?” Harry looked up, adjusting the collar of his kurta. He blinked as if coming back from a trance and allowed the sound of girls singing and dancing in vibrant lehengas fill his ears. When he glanced at her intricately painted hands and then down at his own, they looked unnaturally empty all of a sudden.

The next second he was rolling up his long sleeves, sitting down next to the would-be-bride and wordlessly offering his hand, palm up. The mehndi-artist, a young girl with a long braid with flowers threaded into it smiled encouragingly at him. She flipped her thick braid over her shoulder and got to work.

Harry twisted the fingers of his free hand in the fabric of his dhoti when the cool, greenish-brown paste touched his skin, soon to become a part of the very lines of his palm once dried and washed. Within seconds half his palm and fingers were covered in delicate designs of every kind. He shared a fascinated smile with his friend who grinned and blew on her own hands coated with henna right up to her elbows.

“So whose name should I write?” the girl with the flowery braid asked.

“Huh?”

“She means,” Padma began and Harry turned sideways to face her, “do you have someone special whose name you’d like written on your hand with the henna designs? It’s a wedding tradition here to hide the name of your special one in your mehndi and let them find it later.” Harry blushed at her meaningful wink.

“Oh….”

Harry’s eyes automatically wandered to look at the man with the kohl lined silver eyes, blonde hair clashing adorably with the sapphire sherwani and those pale hands clutching the crooked golden dhoti as if his entire posh life depended on it while he tried not to choke on the barfi Ron was pushing into his mouth.

Harry bit his lips to hide the fond, smitten smile and softly whispered, “D.L.M.”

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt : Trust me | Epilogue compliant | unrated

“Name?”

“Draco.”

“Full name.” Where did he learn such a condescending drawl?

Sighs  “Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

“Age?”

Ugh.... “38.”

“Are you sure?”

Honestly? Is that a compliment or an insult?

“....Yes, I'm quite sure.”

“Occupation?”

“Financial advisor.” Thin red eyebrows scrunch in obvious confusion but quickly smooth airily.

“Um, favourite colour?”

What even – “Green.”

A sneer matched with a disdainful sniff, “Pfft, Slytherin nerd –”

“– Don't be rude, James!” Green eyes glittered softly behind black framed glasses.

“Huh, whatever.”

“Any way, do you like kneazles?” Small freckled fingers with purple nails tap impatiently on the hardwood table.

“Nope.”  

Tapping stops with a haughtily raised chin, “Good.”

“Do you brush your teeth twice a day?”

Good lord – why am I even -  “Of course I do!”

“Hmmm, good. Very good.”

Hazel eyes narrow slightly for some reason, “Then they must be very sharp –”

Nodding proudly, “– Very.”

“– Then you will do well to keep them away from our Dad’s skin!”

 “Lily!”

“What the hell....”

“Silence!”

Damn this is more awkward than promised.

“Okay. Okay, so, er, you like chocolates?” Wide green eyes doing a miserable job of looking threatening.

Indulge him. just a kid, “Yeah....I’m pretty fond of chocolates.”

“You - Will - Share.” Not that bad a job after all. Holy hell.

“Sure! Definitely! I’ll share everything – sweets, cookies, fruits, clothes, oxygen, bed, lube –”

“DRACO!”

“ENOUGH! That’s - that’s quite enough. Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.”

Phew..... “So I'm cleared then - ? ”

“Wait! .....Will you make him cry?”

Light brown eyes roll dramatically, “Adults don’t cry, Alby. Not everyone’s like you, bro.”

“Well, will you?!” Identical emerald eyes glare in inquiry.....So fucking similar. It’s getting difficult to focus. Damn. Look at the original then. Right.

Looking at the adult version and voice dripping with utmost sincerity, “Never. Not even in my dreams.” They don’t need to know about the actual dreams, thanks.

“Oh....oh, fine then –”

“You made me cry just last night –”

“POTTER! There are kids...”

“Oh Fuck!”

“DAD!!!”

“Shit!”

“CLEARED OF ALL CHARGES!!”

.......Salazar.......Honestly, kids.