#boldlyinnocent317

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘬𝘴.....

Draco : You want hair styling tips......from me?

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"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 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

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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 the @drarrymicrofic prompt 'Frame'

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“Scorpius, you are embarrassing yourself with those expressions, my son –”

“Shut up, you old git. I think they look adorable…”

“I’m. Not. Old, I’ll have you know –”

“Oh sure, 132 is not old at aaallll, right Al?”

“Dad….” Albus laughs and shakes his head at his bickering parents.

Scorpius slings an arm around his husband's shoulders and fumbles with a wrinkled hand to put the camera in place before saying, “CHEESE!!” for the – Albus doesn’t remember how many they have already taken tonight. His memory has become fickle that way.

But who cares, it’s their parents’ 120th wedding anniversary and they are as endearingly annoying as always even from behind the posh frames of an oil painting, for Merlin’s sake!

for the @drarrymicrofic age old prompt 'Cake' and @flufftober Day 16 prompt "I hate you" - "I love you too" | I truly have no excuses for writing this....

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"We are not keeping this combination."

"We are."

"Harry - don't be ridiculous, this is..... absolutely not my standard."

"You mean my standards are low."

"Seeing that you chose me, apparently not."

"Very funny. I like this. We are finalizing this."

"So my opinion doesn't matter?!"

"You are being stubbo - "

"You are the one with this awful choice and you're calling me stubborn? Me? Wow."

"I - think caramel butterscotch goes perfectly with banana and carrot sponge! I've tasted it myself! "

"Oh yeah? Guess what, I have too, unfortunately, and I'm still feeling nauseous over it! Move aside, I might just throw up at the mere mention of it!"

"Don't be so dramatic! I agreed to your choice of robes, didn't I? Even though they are pretentious as fuck! -"

"They are the best in town, you classless idiot! Thank me that you won't be looking like a twig wrapped in rags on our wedding day with hundreds of guests!"

"I'm classless?! Twig - how! - rags??!! How the fuck - HOW DARE YOU?!"

"YES! It's the truth! Your taste in EVERYTHING besides men is abysmal."

"Well, then why are you marrying me?! Don't punish yourself like that, darling, by marrying a “classless idiot” like myself." 

"What? ….What has that got to do with us marrying??"

“Oh it's got everything to do with us marrying - No, no! I get it! - You are having second thoughts, aren't you, Malfoy? Fine! I'll make it easy for you. Let's begin with returning this ring!"

"Wha- HEY! Wait!"

"I never liked this silly diamond anyway....."

"Fuck, Potter, stop - that's… not what I meant - !"

"I know exactly what you meant, Malfoy! You just don't want me anymore. The thought of marrying me is that bad that you are fighting over cake flavors with me now? For our wedding? Does it stress you that much? Really? Then I should not bother you further, should I?"

"Harry! Listen to me you utter -"

"ARSEHOLE! That's what you are!"

"You are the one being a prick about it! I very nicely said no. You didn't have to make a big deal out of it, okay?!"

"Big deal?! BIG DEAL??!! It's our wedding you shit!! Of course I'll make a deal out of it! You know how much I'm working over it?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA? Even a little bit?!?! I haven't slept properly for days!! And your mother keeps dragging me to this shop to that shop to that florist to that planner! I'm so fucking - mmph!"

Smooch. 

"Mmmmmmmm." 

Small hesitant kiss 

"Unhm ooh…yes…"

Deeper harder kiss

"Shhh...."

Heated, more passionate kiss

"Ahh…hate you."

Breathless panting kiss. 

"Mmm, love you too...."

Loud messy tongue on tongue kiss. 

“The cake…..”

Sucking on the lower lip kiss kiss

“Fuck that!”

Moaning smacking rolling on the couch kiss. 

for @drarrymicrofic prompt 'Found' and @flufftober day 8 prompt 'Shooting Stars'

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Draco examined the book in his hands with an unsettling curiosity. 

It was like the worn hard bind cover with rusted metal tipped corners was desperately trying to attach itself to his clammy skin. 

Something in him was oddly afraid of lifting the cover and seeing the pages. As if a key would slip from between the pages unlocking something he knew he wasn’t ready to accept yet.

He turned and gave Harry Potter a veiled glance over at the crimson sofa by the fireplace. 

He frowned.

Without a conscious thought, his head snapped towards the window to see if it was snowing. It wasn’t. Why wasn’t it? Why should it? It was October, after all.

A star shot across the sky instead, leaving a glittery wisp behind that vanished in a blink of his unfocused eyes.

.....It had been snowing…..then.... 

Then? …..When? ….What..... 

"Would you like me to read it to you?" Potter asked, turning away from the window from where he’d come to stand and took a sip from his cup of cocoa.

Draco suddenly craved a cup of cocoa too. 

Draco, however, never asked for things from Potter. Why should he? He was imposing as it is despite Potter always telling him that he wasn't imposing; ‘don't be ridiculous, it's your home too, isn't it?’ 

Potter gently took the book from his hands and smiled when he looked at the title on its spine. He looked up and Draco, like ever since he had come back from the hospital, tried not to stare too deep into those piercing green eyes. It was difficult not to and he often failed much to his displeasure. 

"Find Me" Harry read in a soft voice, letting his thumb stroke the fading title on the cracked spine. 

Pott - Harry had a nice voice, Draco had noticed during his time here; deep and smooth during day and low and silky at night.

And something inside him wanted to hear more of it, more of this book which he was scared to open himself but that beckoned him with all its frayed pages and maybe set aside his pride and also ask for that cup of cocoa he so wished to drink while sitting on that plush sofa with crayon scribbling under the warmth of the fireplace with its coral red brick work and the beige rug with soot spots and the cinnamon candles that never ran out and perhaps - perhaps Harry. 

Harry...... 

"Harry." 

Draco had no idea why he had just blurted out the other man's name out of nowhere. 

So he quickly added, "I'd like that. The book I mean, if you want that is."

Harry blinked for a second, his lips parting, then slowly turned to look out of the window with eyes just slightly wide if you looked close enough – which Draco always ended up doing - before facing Draco back again.

And Harry's face glowed under the soft shimmer of the fireplace as he, all at once, grinned one of his wide, bright grins that made the glasses on the bridge of his nose shift up with his flushed cheeks. 

Draco immediately received a cheerful, "of course!" and aah, the hot mug with steaming cocoa, the mug that had a crooked creature printed on it which looked a mix between a dragon and a peacock. It was somewhat creepy but Draco was getting used to it. 

Now, all he had to do was wait for the snow. 

“To me it proves that life and time are not in sync.....” Harry began to read from a dog-eared page and yeah, Draco could definitely wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt 'Eyes' | Muggle AU | Trans Harry

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I wonder if she was ever aware.

Aware of how much she was offering to me – silently, unknowingly or perhaps deliberate in a way she didn’t even realize – through her eyes.

I had always scoffed at those lines in cheesy romance novels about how eyes could talk, how two lovers could exchange the deepest promises of their hearts through just their eyes - with a mere blink, through a mere flutter of lashes. Now, however, I’ll be lying if I were to say that I'm not the most devoted of believers of these whimsical notions ever since I put my eyes on hers.

I was late. The college was too big and it was only natural that I got lost. The glare that I received from the professor and the other baleful looks directed sharply in my direction were making me highly uncomfortable as I looked around the big lecture room, almost deciding to leave out of embarrassment but then something flashed – like a beacon – and my gaze narrowed down to those startlingly bright, luminous green eyes.

I, in a blink, felt myself go colour blind with a ridiculously strong bias to green; glinting, emerald green to be precise.

There was something amused about those glimmering eyes, even though there wasn’t any trace of amusement on the rest of that pale, crystal-cut face. They rolled slightly – surely at my tardiness and my sheer inability to do anything besides standing there like an utter fool, wasting the class’ time – then subtly flicked towards the seat next to herself and then casually turned back towards the professor who had started teaching again.

I blinked, as if pulling myself back from a trance, and rushed into the classroom, taking the seat next to her on the front row. The curious and judging looks from the rest of the class burning holes in the back of my head should’ve bothered me but they quickly blurred into oblivion as those eyes turned to look at me again, still with that poker face and gave me one slow blink, like telling me – ‘chill, it’s okay’ – and I, by God, felt like it had never been as okay as it was then.

***

The library was packed. The view of her face was fully blocked by a red head, leaving only her eyes. Since my attention was solely focused on those jade orbs, I couldn’t help but finally admit to myself that they were tremendously pretty. They also looked highly bored and tired though, the usual glittering shine dim, the eyelids heavy and the green dark as it peeped from behind long, bowed, inky lashes. They inevitably fluttered close and I wondered if those sooty lashes would leave equally sooty impressions on that smooth skin of her cheekbones where they rested.

Then, all of a sudden, they snapped open and pierced straight into my eyes. They were sharp and fully awake now and I, for a second, stopped breathing. I should’ve looked away, it’s rude to stare after all, but it was impossible for me to do so as I was pinned to the spot by those calculating eyes.

My own grey ones were wide and alert but I felt my eyes go soft, like molten silver – so people say – for I noticed a slight redness on her cheeks, whatever little of it that was visible to me anyway. The green shone brighter, if that was even possible, and I wished for that inky curtain to hide it away lest the darkness of the world steel the brilliant sheen out of it. No wish of mine had ever been as swiftly granted as this one as that stunning gaze slowly shied away from my positively stunned and admiring one with a demure fall of dark lashes.

It was as if, from then on, another course had been added to my curriculum – Gazology, Eyeistry, Irisography, take your pick. The world seemed to blend into black and white every time my eyes found those green ones. How they would soften with warmth like a sea of liquid emerald. How they would narrow in annoyance, flash in anger, making the green look like jagged, broken shards of the church frescoes. How they would squint and glitter with life as she laughed, the little flecks of blue and amber twined in threads of jade like stars; threads that would pull me in, into the deep forests of enigmatic twilight. For enigmatic they were because I could never get enough of them even if I spent hours after hours studying them and nights after nights dreaming of them.

Now, as I dive into these jewelesque eyes again and swirl through the maze of luscious greens and dense blacks and a scatter of gold and a touch of cyan and gently, like a feather, stroke those long lined lashes on her half-lidded eyes. Her pupils blown wide - intense and deep and all consuming in its need and bold passion; making me wonder, yet again – if she’s aware.

Aware of what she’s offered to me and I, despite all the generous offerings, have so utterly failed in the Honours of her eyes.

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