#dorthyannwrites

Tags: Angst, Post war deatheater prejudice, light injuries, chronic illness, post war trauma, dark magic, blood magic, alcohol use/abuse, self destructive behaviors,

Suggested rating: Teen

Part 1 || <- Part 4 ||

-

Draco woke slowly, his head pounding with agony. The floor was cold against his bare skin. He was naked. And had been sleeping on the floor. His whole body hurt as he slowly pushed himself up on bruised knees.

The bitter smell of ash and dark magic hit him at the same time he tasted his own mouth, and bile immediately surged up his throat. Draco ran for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before he threw up what little was left in his stomach. He took a hangover potion as soon as he could stand, grimacing through the bitter taste.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, feeling grit; his palm turned grey by ash. He needed a shower badly; he felt disgusting, the slimy feel of black magic clinging to his skin like oil. But first, he pulled on a pair of shorts and returned to his bedroom.

There was a black scorch mark on the floor in the shape of a spell circle, the inscribed runes blurred into illegibility. A dusting of ash was spreading out from the centre of the circle. Near the edge of the circle was a larger pile of ash, fragments of blackened paper and the shell of a leather book cover. Draco knelt and pushed a finger through the remains of the book, trying to see if he could make out any words, any clues as to what he had done. There were a few partial words he could make out, but nothing that gave him any sort of clue. But he could guess.

His memory from the night before stopped somewhere after dinner, likely from drinking too much, as his hangover had shown. But before... before, he had been in the library and had looked at the hidden shelf of books.

"A new life..." Draco muttered to himself, wishing he had a time-turner so he could go back and slap himself. If the war had taught him anything, it was that dark magic was never worth it. Never.

Draco froze, "...where's my wand?"

A surge of panic shot through him, and Draco stumbled to his feet. He looked around the room, scanning every corner.

"No, no, no, no...."

He picked up the rug and shook it out, sending a plume of ash into the air. Draco coughed, his eyes stinging and watering, and went to his bed, throwing off the pillows and duvet, stripping it down to the mattress. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the bolt of pain from the impact and looked under the bed. And then he spotted it. His wand had rolled underneath, nearly to the middle.

"Thank fuck, thank fuck," Draco laid on his stomach and pulled his wand out.

His wand was scorched black and lined with fine cracks from the heat of the fire.

Draco's face fell as he sat up. As long as the core was intact, it would cast for a while, but eventually, the force of magic flowing through it would split the wood and destroy the wand entirely.

He pressed his hand against his forehead, dragging it through his hair and pulling it in frustration.

It had taken years and so many bribes just to find a wandmaker willing to be associated with him. And then he had paid a hundred times the price to get a replacement that only worked half as well as his first wand.

"So stupid, so fucking stupid."

This is what he got for fucking around with dark magic. While black-out drunk. He was such an idiot.

Feeling entirely wrung through, Draco trudged back to the bathroom, setting his damaged wand on the small shelf beside the mirror before stepping into the shower. He stayed under the stinging hot water, scrubbing every inch of his skin until it was pink and tender. It got rid of the worst of the clinging, greasy feel of the dark magic, but he still felt the ghost of it. He could clean his skin all he wanted, but it would never fully remove the lingering taint in his blood and magic. It took years for that to fade.

Draco went to grab his wand as he stepped out of the shower but stopped himself. He couldn't risk any unnecessary magic until he got a new wand lined up. He grabbed one of the fluffy white towels from a neglected shelf and dried himself halfheartedly. He hated using a towel; it was so inefficient. Draco didn't bother with a comb, running his hand through the thin, silky strands. It wouldn't dry straight, but he no longer had the energy to care.

There was no breakfast tray waiting for him by his bed. Though considering the state of his room, he understood the elves giving him a wide berth. He desperately needed some fucking coffee, and not one of Bisci's bitter black drip monstrosities, good coffee. Draco sighed. And he had just promised his mother not to go into town.

Draco usually dressed in the most non-descript robes he owned to avoid notice when he went to Diagon Alley. Which he hated. As a compromise, he liked to wear his favourite pieces under his cloak. He currently had a fondness for styles inspired by the Edwardian era.

Draco picked out a lovely French-tailored long-sleeved white blouse. It had loose sleeves on his upper arms and tightly buttoned cuffs down his forearms, a high-boned collar that went up to his chin and was buttoned all down the back with tiny pearls. Luckily, he didn't have to use his wand to close the buttons; the sewn-in charms did the work for him when he brushed his thumb over the rune mark on the hem.

Draco layered a beautiful green silk waistcoat over the shirt. The intricate filigree pattern was drawn on a deep sage background and highlighted with touches of silver. He wore simple black trousers to complement the look without ruining his outward appearance of blandness.

It was early enough that his mother would still be sleeping, so he was fairly certain he could slip out of the manor, get a latte and a bun, and come back without her being any the wiser. The fireplace grate groaned and stuck several times before he wrenched it open and flooed to the Leaky Cauldron.

xx

Tags below v💜 same as always, leave a message or reblog to get tagged in the next post

@fayerye thank you so much🥰👍 i shall keep on, keeping on

@dewitty1 thank you😁 i couldn't resist a chance to winge

@imawednesdaygirl 💜thank you!💜

Tags: Angst, Post war deatheater prejudice, light injuries, chronic illness, post war trauma, dark magic, blood magic, alcohol use/abuse, self destructive behaviors,

Suggested rating: Teen

Part 1 || <- Part 3 || Part 5 ->

Draco pushed a small pea around his plate with his fork. He had eaten everything served but the peas and carrots. Bisci was otherwise an exemplary house elf chef except when it came to vegetables, which he would only prepare boiled. Sometimes, Bisci might add a little butter if he was feeling fancy. This was not a fancy day.

He looked over at his mother's plate, she had eaten a few bites of the chicken, and most of the rice. He had been dawdling, hoping she might eat a bit more but it seemed unlikely. Narcissa was leaning back in her chair, slowly turning the stem of the still full glass of wine in front of her. She looked distant. Whether from exhaustion or memories, Draco couldn't hazard to guess.

Draco cleared his throat, "Did you happen to look at the papers I left you? From the realtor?"

Narcissa's hand stilled on her wine glass.

"I thought the country estate in Kent looked quite good, it's muggle but quite removed, the nearest neighbor is-"

"We're not leaving," Narcissa said shortly.

Draco stifled a sigh. "...Of course not," he said reassuringly, "it would just be for the summer, a nice summer holiday. The sea air would be good for your health." If he could just get her there, get her away from this place then-

"I'm fine, Draco, perfectly fine," Narcissa said, lifting her chin imperiously and sitting up straighter. "You are needed here, at the Manor. It's where you belong."

"Mother-"

"You are the head of the house now. The reputation of the Malfoy's must be restored-"

"Mother, I don't-"

"I know it will take a great deal of work, Narcissa continued, talking over him without any sign of hearing him speak, "but your Father and I did it after the first war, and we can do it again."

Tags: Angst, Post war deatheater prejudice, light injuries, chronic illness, post war trauma, dark magic

Suggested rating: Teen

Part 1 || <- Part 2 || Part 4 ->

-

Draco considered calling Libbi, one of the elves, to take his newly acquired brewing ingredients to his lab but decided against it. They had too much to do, taking care of two people and trying to keep the manor from falling apart around them. He wouldn't need the ingredients until he started brewing anyway.

Draco headed to the library, letting his feet guide him by memory. If he thought about the route he would inevitably get lost. The halls were lit only occasionally by guttering lighting spells, and the old family portraits and tapestries that had hung on the walls were scorched or torn, or missing entirely. Anything that had been on display, four-hundred-year-old vases, statues from lost civilizations, art from famous painters across Europe, all of that was gone now. This house was no longer a place he recognized.

Tags: Angst, Post war deatheater prejudice, light injuries, chronic illness, post war trauma

Suggested rating: Teen

<- Part 1 || Part 3 ->

-

Draco shook the melting snow from his hands and pulled up the collar on his robes, ducking his head down between his shoulders. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets relishing what was left of the weak heating charms drawing the numbness from his fingers.

He slipped into the crowd, doing his best not to get too close to anyone, cutting through the narrow alley leading to Carkitt Market. Before stepping out into the market, he pressed himself into the shadow of Gladrag's awning. He drew his wand, pulling his sleeve down to obscure it as much as possible before casting a basic healing episkey on his knees and hands. It closed the scrapes but left the dull ache of the tender, bruised flesh. The important thing was that it looked good as new.

He followed the episkey with a quick cleaning charm and a reparo on his torn slacks. He ran his hand over the fabric to make sure it took, finding the linen fully patched though it had gotten thinner. Soon there wouldn't be enough fabric left to stretch and they would begin to fray, or unravel entirely.

Draco shivered and quickly put his wand away before stepping back out onto the street. He followed the edge of the square around to the owl post office and stepped inside to use their public apparition zone.

He landed on the gravel drive in front of the manor.

"You're late," Narcissa said. She was standing in front of the doors waiting for him. Her face was drawn and pale despite the heavy cloak wrapped around her. "Is everything okay? Are you alright?"

Tags: Angst, Post war deatheater prejudice, light injuries

Suggested rating: Teen

|| Part 2 ->

-

Draco pulled his robes tighter around himself as he made his way down Diagon Alley. It was meant to be spring soon, at least that was what the calendar said, but the bitter cold of winter still lingered in the air. He wished he had brought a hat, not just for the warmth, but to hide his hair which always stood out far too much no matter the weather. Draco had to settle for ducking his head down into the collar of his robes, eager to get home.

Before he knew what was happening, the world was pulled out from under Draco's feet. He tried to catch himself, his hands skidding out across the slush, his knees hitting the cobblestones.

Draco gasped, desperately trying to catch his breath as half-melted snow soaked into his robes. He slowly pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, his palms stinging. One wrist suddenly gave out under his weight with a throb of pain and he barely managed to keep himself up with the other. No one stopped. The crowd flowed around him, like a stone in a stream.

Someone had tripped him. Draco was almost certain of it, with the tip of an umbrella or a jinx he hadn't seen. He looked behind him at the sound of faint laughter, but couldn't see where it was coming from.

Tags: alcohol use, marijuana use, cigarettes, smoking, reckless behaviour, lack of self preservation, anxiety issues, chronic illness, deportation, racism, the fucking Tories, ptsd, super unhealthy coping mechanisms, Down and out Draco who’s friends with muggles, various OC’s, enemies to lovers, angst, mentions of throwing up/vomit, mentions of suicide, mentions of panic attacks, swearing, explicit sexual content

suggested rating: Adult for sexual content

Part 1 (contains links to all parts) <- Part 47 ||

-

Chapter Twenty One

They woke late in the afternoon and eventually managed to find a brunch place that was still open. Draco ordered two plates of waffles, one with lemon blueberry meringue and another with strawberry rhubarb compote. Potter went in for a more savoury eggs benedict option. Draco made sure they shared because he liked to try everything, and Potter needed more sweetness in his life.

Draco had made plans for the day, rather ambitious ones, but with the morning gone and most of the afternoon as well, he frankly couldn’t be bothered.

Potter had no better ideas, so they laid about on the couch and watched the television. Draco liked to chat about whatever was happening on screen, and Potter liked to complain about his chatting, which only encouraged him. They ordered takeout when it got late and ate butter chicken and tikka straight from the containers as the late-night chat shows came on. And at some point, curled up against Potter’s shoulder, Draco fell asleep.

When he woke, the sun had just started its rise. His whole body felt heavy, his mind swamp-thick with a night of sleep so deep he felt half-submerged in treacle trying to draw himself out of it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so hard without potions or alcohol to drag him under. And this sleep didn’t feel like shit to wake up from, just pleasantly heavy.

There was a warm blanket draped over his shoulders, and he felt the gentle rise and fall of Potter’s chest under him. Draco had tucked his legs up onto the remaining couch cushion, leaning against Potter’s chest to sleep. Potter had remained sitting upright, slumped into the corner of the couch. Draco had to assume Potter hadn’t meant to sleep there; he was still wearing his glasses and had left the television on, the volume so low it was barely audible.

An urgent complaint from his bladder, and quite likely the reason he had woken up so early, finally forced Draco to move. He carefully eased his weight off the sofa and went to the loo as quietly as he could manage. After relieving himself, washing his hands and face, and rinsing the taste of last night’s dinner from his mouth, he tiptoed back to the couch. He was plotting how best to slip back onto the couch without waking Potter when a soft tapping made him turn to the window.

An owl was sitting on the empty planter box outside. Draco guessed it was a Ministry issue from the dull scruffy brown feathers, half of which looked ready to fall out. He went to the window, half-expecting it to be stuck shut from years of paint, but managed to wiggle it halfway open without too much noise.

Draco reached for the message tied onto the owl’s leg. The owl pecked at him, flapping its wings in warning.

So the message wasn’t for him then, not that Draco had suspected it would be. He glanced over his shoulder and, seeing that Potter was still asleep, snatched at the bird again. He managed to catch hold of its leg, grimly holding on as the horrible animal tried to peck him to death. He pulled the small scroll of paper free and snatched his hands back. The owl glared at him, its beak snapping after the message and Draco’s fingers. Draco shoved it off the window box and shut the window before it could fly back up.

Draco’s hands stun, already blooming with red welts and a few small cuts from the mail owl’s beak. He glanced at Potter again, making sure he was still sleeping before opening the message.

It was from Robards, saying that if Potter was feeling ‘up to it’ he should come in early for something ‘urgent’. Draco scowled; he highly doubted it was anything close to ‘urgent’.

Draco shoved the message between the couch cushions as he sat back where he had been before, pulling the blanket over himself and Potter as he laid back against Potter’s chest.

Potter twitched at the movement and took a deep breath in. He yawned and went to rub his eyes but ran into his glasses, leaving smudges on the lenses.

“Sleep well?” Draco asked.

Potter grunted irritably as he pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes.

“So articulate.”

Potter grunted again, though this time it sounded a bit more like a laugh. He stretched his arms over his head, his chest rising as he flexed his back and shoulders. He tried to turn his head and winced, muttering a heartfelt “fuck,” as he rubbed his neck.

Draco, most unhelpful, didn’t move.

The couch cushion sank as Potter shifted his weight, pushing himself upright and dumped Draco off of his chest and onto his lap.

“You could have warned me!” Draco gasped, his heart beating a little too fast at the unexpected movement.

“You’re fine; it didn’t kill you,” Potter said with a rueful smile, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with the hem of his t-shirt.

“It might have,” Draco said stubbornly, “You don’t know. I might have a weak heart, and you just callously risked my life,” he pressed his hand over his chest.

Potter slid his glasses back on and put his hand over Draco’s, “Hmm… I think you might make it, really.”

“You can’t feel my heartbeat that way,” Draco said, annoyed. “If you could, you’d know I’m probably dying as we speak.”

“Is that so?” Potter said flatly. He took his hand off Draco’s and placed it lightly against Draco’s neck, “Ah, what a shame.”

“A great loss,” Draco said.

“Do you want to be buried or cremated?” Potter asked.

“Cremated,” Draco said, “I want my ashes thrown into the eyes of my enemies.”

Potter grinned and laughed, “Of course, you’d want that!”

“The list is quite long, I’ll have you know,” Draco said.

“With me included?” Potter guessed.

Draco pondered for a moment, “Maybe not anymore.”

Potter smiled, “I’m honoured.”

“Perhaps you ought to have one of my knuckle bones, though,” Draco said, “You can carry it around as a worry stone.”

Potter raised an eyebrow.

“Because you’re not allowed to forget me,” Draco said.

Potter blinked, “...I wouldn’t.” He smiled a little uncertainly, “I’m pretty sure that’s impossible.”

“Flatterer,” Draco said.

Potter hesitated and then pointed over his shoulder, “I’ve gotta piss.”

Draco sighed dramatically and sat up, “Excellent way to ruin the moment, Potter.”

“What can I say?” Potter said as he got up and headed to the loo, “I have a talent.”

Draco stared after Potter for a second, then reached between the couch cushions and pulled the message out. He read it over again with a scowl. Despite desperately wanting to set it on fire and pretend it had never existed, he knew Potter would never forgive him if he found out, and that was… unacceptable.

So Draco went back to the window, wiggling it open and resting his forearm on the sill. The air outside still had its evening chill, and he shivered faintly. He pulled his arms tighter to himself and took a deep breath, the air smelling sweet with morning dew.

It was an age before Potter finally came back, his cheeks smoothly shaved and his teeth brushed. He headed straight from the bathroom to his bedroom.

“Owl came,” Draco said quickly, holding up the message.

“For me?” Potter asked.

Draco nodded.

“It shouldn’t have delivered to you,” Potter said, with a frown, walking over to take the message.

“It didn’t particularly want to,” Draco said, holding up his hand to show off the scratches the owl had left him with.

“Did you read it?” Potter asked as he took the small scroll of paper and unrolled it.

Draco gave him a look.

“Of course, you read it,” Potter said, resigned.

“Of course.” Draco shrugged, “It’s not as if it was interesting.”

Potter let the scroll roll back up and dropped it onto the coffee table, vanishing it with a flick of his wrist.

“Flirt,” Draco said.

Potter shook his head as he fished his wand out of his back pocket and took Draco’s hand in his, “Episky.” The red welts faded, and the scratches healed.

“Thank you,” Draco said far more softly, unable to maintain his normal cheekiness.

“Maybe not get into any more fights with owls?” Potter suggested.

“I won,” Draco said.

Potter rolled his eyes and headed toward the bedroom. Draco followed him, clinging to some slim hope he might be going back to bed, but Potter went to his dresser, pulling out fresh clothes.

“You’re not actually going, are you?” Draco asked.

“They said it was urgent,” Potter said, stripping out of the things he had been wearing yesterday and replacing them one by one with clean but remarkably similar pieces.

“If it was actually urgent, they wouldn’t have sent an owl,” Draco pointed out, “You can sleep through an owl.”

Potter shook his head, “Never have.”

Draco frowned, “It’s the crack of dawn, hours before your stupid alarm would have gone off.”

“Must be urgent then,” Potter said.

Draco’s frown deepened, and he decided to shift tactics, “I suppose they just can’t manage without you. Just you.”

“It’s work,” Potter said stiffly.

“And you’re the only one in the department then?” Draco asked, “Weasley is a cop, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, so-”

“How often is he brought in at the crack of dawn, then?” Draco asked.

“Often.”

“And I’m sure Weasley never takes holidays. Or personal days-”

“Malfoy-”

“-But if he did, they’d be sure to call him in regardless. Just like they do to you?” Draco prodded, wanting to be right, sure that he was right.

Potter froze for just a second, then quickly jerked open the closet and grabbed one of his Auror robes, “There’s no special treatment; every auror does the same work.”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest, “I think other people have to be envious for it to be considered ‘special treatment’. This seems more like a punishment to me.”

“You would say that,” Potter said, probably not even realising what he said had stung like a slap to the face.

Draco’s hands fell down loosely to his sides.

“I was called into work by my boss. It’s my job. What am I supposed to do?” Potter said, charming the buttons of his uniform closed.

“Say no?” Draco said.

“I can’t-”

“You can,” Draco said pointedly, “You’re Harry Potter; they can’t-”

“I don’t want that!” Potter snapped, grabbing a pair of well-worn dragon-hide boots, “I’m not going to use my name to- to just get what I want!”

“Well, they’re using your name to take advantage of you, so you-”

“No! Just stop- can you just stop, already!?” Potter shouted.

And Draco did, already edging away from Potter, far too aware of the wand he still held in his hand. He knew Potter wasn’t like the death eaters that had stayed in his house, like Voldemort, but his feet wouldn’t listen to him.

Potter didn’t notice, shoving his feet into his boots and impatiently charming the laces tied. “I’m going to work,” he said as he straightened up. A moment later he apparated away with a sharp snap, the photos taped to the wall fluttering at the sudden pull of air.

It took several moments for Draco to be able to move again, anxiety roiling in his stomach. He wished he had kept his mouth shut. He wished he hadn’t said any of it. He wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed.

“Coward,” he muttered, hearing his father’s voice more than his own.

-

💜 Thank you for reading! 💜💜

Tags below v (I don’t have a permanent tags list. All tags are of the wonderful people who left messages or reblogs on the previous 2 parts.)

Tags: alcohol use, marijuana use, cigarettes, smoking, reckless behaviour, lack of self preservation, anxiety issues, chronic illness, deportation, racism, the fucking Tories, ptsd, super unhealthy coping mechanisms, Down and out Draco who’s friends with muggles, various OC’s, enemies to lovers, angst, mentions of throwing up/vomit, mentions of suicide, mentions of panic attacks, swearing, explicit sexual content

suggested rating: Adult for sexual content

Part 1 (contains links to all parts) <- Part 46 ||

-

Draco groaned as his sleep was rudely interrupted by the horrid beeping of Potter’s alarm. He pulled his pillow over his head. When Potter didn’t move to turn off the alarm, he kicked at him under the blankets.

Potter twitched and grabbed at the noisy little box, knocking most of the things on his nightstand onto the floor. The beeping followed the mess, becoming faintly muffled. Draco popped his head  over his pillow, watching as Potter leaned over the bed, fumbling around for ages before finally heaving himself back onto the bed. He had put on his glasses while he was down there and was holding his wand in his teeth. He lifted the alarm by its cord and impatiently jerked the plug from the wall.

“Why, the fuck-” Draco said in the sudden silence.

Potter pulled his wand out of his mouth, “Still gotta call in sick.”

Draco gave him a look of utter dismay.

Potter just ignored him. He lifted his wand, closing his eyes for just a moment, a smile faintly ticking at the corner of his mouth before swirling his wand, silently casting a silvery Patronus charm. Draco had always heard that Potter’s patronus was a stag and had even seen it from a distance, but none of that had prepared Draco for how large it was. The spread of its antlers was as wide as the bed, and it had to lower its head to bring its muzzle close to Potter’s face.

Draco unconsciously leaned away, pulling the duvet up to his chin.

“Tell Gawain Robards that I’m sick and can’t come into work,” Potter told it.

The stag dipped its head in acknowledgement and disappeared into a stream of light leading out of the flat.

Draco smacked Potter’s arm, “You could have done that later, after a nice proper lie-in.”

Potter shook his head, dropping his wand back onto the now empty nightstand and collapsing into his pillow.

“No?” Draco prompted.

“Ron or Hermione would come around to check on me,” Potter said.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not them,” Potter said quickly before Draco could speak. “It’s because I never do that sort of thing.”

“Even when you did call in to take time off, they got fussy about you,” Draco pointed out.

“Well, that’s...” Potter sighed, “there isn’t much I can do about that. I did talk to them about it, but it’s like… they’re kind of over-protective after the war and everything.” He was quiet for a long moment before adding, “I probably am too.”

Draco rolled over to lay on Potter’s chest. He smiled when he felt the faint hitch in Potter’s breathing. “Just so you know, I’m not interested in any foursomes,” he said faux seriously.

“Melin, no!” Potter sputtered

“Are you saying you’ve never thought about it?” Draco asked.

Potter shook his head, his chest vibrating with silent laughter.

“Not even once?” Draco teased.

“shut up- shut up!” Potter laughed, putting his hand up to cover Draco’s mouth.

Draco let him, and then gently bit his finger, just managing to follow it up with the tip of his tongue before Potter pulled away.

“You’re the worst,” Potter said.

“I’m flattered you think so,” Draco said, dropping his head onto Potter’s chest.

He let his hand skim across Potter’s chest and the dark hair growing there, up to trance along the line of his collarbone. Draco could hear Potter’s heartbeat and how it sped up as he touched him.

“Malfoy...” Potter warned.

“I’m not going to fuck you, Potter,” Draco said in a singsong tone. “I’m just touching.”

Potter made a noise in the back of his throat somewhere between acknowledgement and annoyance.

“I like to touch,” Draco said, he kept his tone joking, but it was, if anything, a warning. Draco itched to touch every inch of Potter. Not even sexually, though that too, but just to… feel it all.

“Mother always said it wasn’t proper. That wizards of our standing should always remain reserved and in control at all times.” Draco said.

He cracked a wry smile as he cupped the side of Potter’s neck, tracing his thumb down the tendons that shifted as Potter swallowed. “Of course, I would be a disappointment in that as well.”

“You are just about the least reserved person I’ve ever met,” Potter said.

“Exactly,” Draco said.

“It’s better that way, though, isn’t it?” Potter said.

Draco glanced up at him.

“That you’re just you?” Potter said.

“Well, I have to agree because I am, me,” Draco said. “It’s just unfortunate that I was nothing my parents expected of me. Except for my looks.”

Potter frowned, “I don’t… you didn’t kill anyone-”

“Just barely,” Draco said, “Though I’ll agree that I never tried to kill anyone. Except Dumbledore.”

Potter sighed at him. “I just meant that you being their child should have been enough.”

“Baring any murder,” Draco said.

“Shut up, for merlin’s sake,” Potter said, exasperated.

“Mind you, my Father would have preferred slightly more murdering,” Draco said lightly.

Potter sighed louder at him and sat up, dumping Draco off him.

“Hey!” Draco protested.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Potter said, getting out of bed.

“More like have a wank,” Draco said sourly.

Potter ignored him, heading out the door.

Draco rolled his eyes and pulled the duvet back up, preferring to try and go back to sleep.

He had barely managed a light doze when Potter returned, banging around as he pulled open his dresser and took out various clothes.

Draco sat up, “What are you doing?”

“Getting dressed,” Potter said.

“Why?”

“Because I’m up?” Potter said.

“Exactly,” Draco said sourly, “Why are you up? We ought to be sleeping.”

“Yeah, well,” Potter said as if that were an answer, pulling on a worn pair of jeans.

Draco decided to switch tactics, “Did you enjoy your wank?”

Potter didn’t answer.

“It’s more fun with company, you know,” Draco said.

“Have a lot of experience with that sort of thing?” Potter said, his words faintly bitter.

“And he’s calling me a slut again,” Draco joked.

“I am not,” Potter said.

Draco knelt on top of the covers, “None.”

Potter glanced at him with a frown, “None what?”

“I have no experience when it comes to wanking with company,” Draco said. He pushed the waistband of his pants down, his cock half-hard from thinking about what he was doing. “So I suppose I ought to have a little experiment to find out.”

Potter stared at him, frozen in place, “...to find out what…?”

“If it really is more-” he gripped his cock and let out a heavy breath, “-fun with company.”

Draco shivered faintly, cool air licking across his previously warm legs, his cock growing hard as Potter watched him with hungry eyes.

Potter took a step closer.

“Ah, ah, wanking only,” Draco warned gently.

Potter’s hands clenched unconsciously as he stopped only a few steps away from the bed.

A faint smile curled onto Draco’s lips as he stroked himself. Draco forced himself to keep his movements slow, teasing his cock as much as Potter. He had to close his eyes for just a moment, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensation.

When he opened them again, Potter’s stare had darkened with his desire.

Potter made an almost inaudible sound, “I can’t see properly.”

Draco huffed a laugh and grinned as he slid his hand up his stomach, pushing the hem of the shirt up.

Potter’s breathing jumped, and Draco began to move faster, squeezing himself tighter. Then he let go of the t-shirt, the edge falling on the top of his clenched fist, and Potter practically growled in frustration.

Draco laughed even as he reached further up, pulling the collar of the shirt up over his nose and breathing in Potter’s scent.

“fuck-” Potter said, his voice sounding strangled.

Draco bit the edge of the fabric as it fell from his nose to keep it pulled up, letting his free hand drop to his stomach, sliding over his skin. He closed his eyes, imagining it was Potter’s rough hand running over his hip and down his thigh.

Draco moaned faintly, sweat slipping down the small of his back as his muscles tightened, his hand moving over his cock growing more erratic. He opened his eyes. Potter’s name caught between his teeth as he came, muffled into nothing by the fabric in his mouth. Pleasure shot through him like a cascade, the warmth of his release covering his stomach and Potter’s shirt as he let it drop.

Draco sat back on the bed, breathing heavily, shaking faintly from the strange intensity of it all.

“Malfoy-” Potter’s voice was rough, nearly strangled with desire, his erection straining against the fly of his jeans.

“Touch yourself,” Draco said.

Potter’s eyes widened, still somehow surprised, uncertain but wanting as well.

“I want to see you touch yourself,” Draco said. He crawled to the edge of the bed and held his hands out.

Potter moved closer, and Draco hooked his fingers into Potter’s belt loops, holding Potter right in front of him.

“Show me,” Draco said.

“Malfoy...” Potter said, far too uncertain.

Draco rose up on his knees and kissed Potter.

“Show me,” he said again, almost in a whisper.

Potter’s hands brushed over Draco’s as he unbuttoned his jeans.

Draco sat back on his heels and tugged the faded blue denim down. Potter’s cock strained against the thin fabric of his pants. Potter’s hand shook ever so slightly as he pushed his pants down.

Precome began to bead at the tip of Potter’s cock, and Draco had to resist the urge to lick the head of Potter’s cock, put it in his mouth, and swallow him down. He forced himself to lean back, to slide his hands down Potter’s thighs, and simply look up at him.

Potter groaned, his jaw clenching like he was fighting not to come right then and there.

“Merling, fuck, I-” Potter broke off, finally wrapping his hand around his cock. His fingers tightened around the shaft but didn’t move. He reached out with his other hand, cupping Draco’s jaw, and Draco tilted his head up at his touch. Potter’s thumb slid over his lips, lightly tracing the shape. Draco let them fall open, his tongue darting out to lick the pad of Potter’s thumb and eliciting a groan from Potter.

The bed creaked as Draco rose up on his knees, so close to Potter that he could feel his body heat and slid his hands up Potter’s chest.

“I can’t-” Potter shuddered, “I’m going to-”

Draco licked his lips, feeling desperately pleased as he kissed Potter, as light and chaste as Potter’s touch had been before. “-then come,” he said softly.

Potter let out a shuddering breath and began to stroke himself, almost clumsily, his grip tight and rushed. Draco felt Potter’s forehead touch his, the top of his glasses pressing into Draco’s skin. Potter’s eyes fluttered shut, a shudder running through his whole body as he came.

Draco’s stomach jumped as he felt Potter’s warm come on his skin, mixing with his own. Draco loosely curled his arms around Potter’s shoulders, sliding his fingers through the short hair at the nape of Potter's neck as his breathing slowed.

Potter’s eyes searched Draco’s face, and he wondered what Potter was looking for. He very much doubted Potter would find it with him.

Before his thoughts could hurt him more, he said, “Seems like very successful experiment, wouldn’t you say?”

Potter huffed a laughed, “You’re the worst.”

“Flatterer,” Draco said. He cupped Potter’s face in his hands and kissed him. “Now, I need a shower.”

Potter glanced down, his brow furrowing for a second as he realised, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t-”

Draco snickered at him, “That’s just what being with blokes is like, a bloody mess.” He kissed Potter again before slipping off the bed. “It’s fantastic, by the way.”

He grabbed his wand from underneath his pillow and headed to the loo. He gave the poor t-shirt a quick cleaning charm to get the worst off before taking a quick shower. He changed into fresh pants and a t-shirt from the pile next to his bed and had jeans in hand when he realised Potter wasn’t out and about in the flat.

Draco returned to the bedroom and found Potter lying on the bed on his side.

“What-?” Draco started.

“I give up,” Potter said. He took off his glasses, folding the arms and setting them above his pillow. He held out an arm, “Let’s have a bloody line-in, then.”

Draco grinned and climbed back into bed, curling into Potter’s chest.

Potter wrapped his arm around Draco and sighed into his hair, “I just don’t know what to do with you.”

“That’s fine,” Draco said, “Neither do I.”

Potter pressed his face into Draco’s hair and held him even tighter.

-

💜 Thank you for reading! 💜💜 this will probably be the smuttiest story I’ve ever written so I can only hope my smut writing has improved🤣 💜

Tags below v (I don’t have a permanent tags list. All tags are of the wonderful people who left messages or reblogs on the previous 2 parts.)

Tags: alcohol use, marijuana use, cigarettes, smoking, reckless behaviour, lack of self preservation, anxiety issues, chronic illness, deportation, racism, the fucking Tories, ptsd, super unhealthy coping mechanisms, Down and out Draco who’s friends with muggles, various OC’s, enemies to lovers, angst, mentions of throwing up/vomit, mentions of suicide, mentions of panic attacks, swearing

suggested rating: Mature

Part 1 (contains links to all parts) <- Part 45 ||

-

The flat was dark when he arrived. And Draco almost apparated right back out before spotting a light coming from Potter’s bedroom. He pushed open Potter’s door and stepped inside.

Potter looked up from where he had been sitting on the edge of his bed, still wearing his work clothes.

“You’re here,” Draco said.

“It’s late; I was going to bed,” Potter said stupidly.

“Yes, well, it’s rather hit or miss with you, isn’t it?” Draco said.

“If we’re keeping count, you’re later than me half the time,” Potter said.

Draco rolled his eyes, “Yes, but...”

“But, what?” Potter prompted.

Draco hesitated, unwilling to admit how much he hated that night that Potter had left for some emergency work thing, how dark and empty he had felt and how much he completely and utterly despised feeling that way. He forced a scoff, “As if I’m just going to wait around in your dingy little flat.”

Potter looked unconvinced, so Draco added, “I have better things to do.”

“Right, well...” Potter looked down at his hands and seemed to come to a decision. “I’m taking tomorrow off.”

Draco grinned, crossing the room to Potter’s side, “I knew it. I knew whatever work you had today would be bullshit.”

Potter huffed a laugh.

Draco straddled Potter's lap, wiggling close as his knees sank into the soft layer of blankets.

Potter’s hands caught Draco by the hips, to keep them from tipping over, “What’s this?”

“A celebration, obviously,” Draco said.

“Yours or mine?” Potter asked.

“Both,” Draco said as he combed his fingers through Potter’s hair.

Potter unconsciously leaned his head into Draco’s touch, and the small movement made Draco feel like he couldn’t breathe.

“I suppose I’m supposed to be celebrating having a day off,” Potter said, “So what are you celebrating?”

“Being right,” Draco said.

Potter laughed.

“And getting to have you for a whole day,” Draco said.

Potter’s expression softened, and he tilted his head up to kiss Draco.

Draco leaned into Potter, giving Potter’s hair a gentle tug as he kissed him, eliciting a soft hum of pleasure.

Then Potter frowned, “You taste like cigarettes.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “I taste like a cigarette.” He leaned forward, hoping for another kiss, but Potter just tipped his head away.

“Nope,” Potter said.

Draco affected a pout.

“I’m not kissing an ashtray,” Potter said.

“I didn’t eat it,” Draco said.

“Go brush your teeth. It’s late and I’m tired,” Potter said.

Draco huffed a sigh, “Fine, keep your pants on.”

Draco went to the bathroom, quickly brushing his teeth and washing his face before returning to Potter’s bedroom. The lights were already off. Draco cast a floating lumos that hovered near the ceiling, bathing the room in a pale blue light.

“What-?” Potter said, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table and fumbling them on.

“I will be staying here tonight,” Draco said matter-of-factly.

“I don’t-”

“I told you to keep your pants on, didn’t I?” Draco said, ignoring him, “I meant literally. Not that I mind if you’re naked, but you probably do.”

“I am not, it’s just- it’s...

He went over to Potter’s laundry basket. Keeping his back to Potter, Draco took off his clingy tight black shirt and pulled on a t-shirt from the bottom of the basket. It was far too large for Draco, or Potter for that matter, the hem going down to his thighs. Draco pushed off his jeans and kicked them into the laundry basket.

“...different,” Potter’s voice faded to a whisper.

Draco pulled the collar of the shirt up over his nose, breathing in the smell of Potter.

Potter was staring at him with a slightly strangled expression that made Draco feel very pleased with himself.

Draco walked over to the other side of the bed.

“W-wait-” Potter held up a hand, “wait.”

“What? I left my briefs on,” Draco lifted the edge of the t-shirt to show him.

Potter looked away, flushed and annoyed, as he scrubbed his hand through his hair, “...you’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered.

“I doubt I’d be so lucky,” Draco said pleasantly. He pulled back the edge of the covers and went to sit.

“Malfoy,” Potter said, a warning edge to his voice. “You- you know  I’ve never been with a bloke before, right?”

Draco sighed at him, “I never said we were going to fuck. I do other things.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Potter said.

Draco sat on the bed and put his legs under the blankets. He wasn’t going to sleep alone; he wasn’t sure he could survive it. “So don’t touch me.”

“That’s also not what I meant,” Potter sighed.

Draco laid back on the mattress, filled with the sudden regret that he hadn’t brought his- Potter’s- other pillow with him.

Potter tucked the blanket tighter around his waist before grabbing his wand off the side table, “Accio pillow.”

There was a pof sound as something soft hit the door, the momentum slowly easing the door open until the pillow could fly through and into Potter’s hand.

“Here,” Potter dropped the pillow onto Draco’s face.

Draco laughed, too pleased to complain, pulling the pillow down and hugging it to his chest.

Potter huffed almost fondly at Draco, even as he tried to hide it.

“What did you mean then?” Draco said.

“What did I- Oh, you mean earlier?” Potter said.

“Yes, obviously,” Draco said.

“It’s just, when I was with-” Potter stopped.

“The Girl Weasley,” Draco finished for him.

“Her name is Ginny,” Potter said.

“I know,” Draco said. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to say it. “You were with her for years or something.”

Potter nodded slowly.

“Was it just her?” Draco asked, and wondered why stupid things were always coming out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Potter said.

Draco took a deep breath and let it all out at once. He knew he had no right to be jealous, not of her. She was made for Potter, his perfect partner. “Go on then; what about her?”

“We were friends first, and she was Ron’s sister before even that,” Potter said slowly, carefully picking out his words. “It was easy in a way. I didn’t know that then, not till now, anyway.”

Draco snorted, “As if I would ever make anything in your life easier, Potter.”

Potter rolled his eyes.

Draco stayed quiet, wondering what Potter would say next, even though he knew it would hurt him.

Potter continued, “But we were... fucked up by the war. Everything happened so fast. We were scared and hurt and trying to heal by clinging to one another,” He spread his hands in his lap, looking at them in the pale blue light. “...It was a mess.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad; you stayed together,” Draco said dryly.

Potter huffed, “Yeah, but only because Gin went back to Hogwarts for her last year. And by the time she was back, I was busy with the aurors. I thought about taking time off, but Gin was scouted by the Harpies, so she was as busy as I was, doing all the training camps and whatnot. We were more roommates that fucked than lovers, especially at the end. It wasn’t all that surprising when she told me she was moving out.”

“A bit anti-climatic,” Draco said.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it was,” Potter sighed, “Sorry, I shouldn’t be going on about an ex. It’s probably last thing you want to hear. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Draco had to roll his eyes, “It must have meant something; otherwise, why bring it up?”

Potter paused, and Draco could practically see him replaying the conversation and trying to remember his own point. Draco laughed and earned a distracted swat at his shoulder from Potter.

“…I just don’t want to rush things this time,” Potter said.

Draco pressed his face into the pillow. Of course, Potter was taking things seriously again. It was almost more than Draco could stand.

“...Malfoy?” Potter asked.

Draco sighed and forced himself to relax, to let go of the pillow and answer honestly. More or less. “I had been thinking of a snog mostly.”

“What?” Potter asked.

“Before,” Draco said,  “I just wanted to snog your brains out.”

Potter looked meaningfully at Draco lying in his bed.

“What? I didn’t want to sleep alone. Do you have a problem with that?” Draco snapped.

Potter blinked. “That’s it?”

“Yes, you fucking dunce,” Draco said.

“Oh,” Potter said.

“God, you think me quite the slut don’t you?” Draco said bitterly.

“No-” Potter started.

“Don’t lie,” Draco said. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“I lie all the time,” Potter said.

“I don’t doubt that,” Draco said, “but don’t do it to me. You’ve never minced words with me before, don’t fucking start now.”

Potter hesitated, “… I don’t think you’re a slut, you- you just seemed to have a lot of partners… before.”

Draco shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t have anyone to cling to after the war. I made do.”

“I’m- I’m sorry,” Potter said.

“Blech,” Draco said, exaggerating his expression to be as disgusted as possible. “Fuck off with that.”

“But-”

“If you feel sorry for me, for even a second, I’m leaving,” Draco said.

Potter shook his head, “You make everything difficult.”

“The pot says to the kettle,” Draco said.

Potter sighed and raised his wand again, pointing it at the dresser,  “Accio pants.”

The dresser drawer rattled ominously, wiggling open to allow pants, after pants, after pants through, flying through the air and smacking into Potter’s hand and arm and face, falling into a pile on his lap.

“Don’t-”

“HAHAHAHhhahahhahah-!” Draco could hardly breathe, squeezing the pillow to his stomach for support.

“Oh, shut it,” Potter muttered, pulling a pair of boxer briefs off of his head.

He slipped off the bed, his back to Draco. This succeeded in shutting Draco up as he propped himself on his elbows to get a better view. Potter only gave him a few seconds, quickly pulling on the boxer briefs and getting back into bed, taking off his glasses and setting them on the bedside table.

Draco sighed, “You have a lovely bum.”

“Shut up,” Potter said tightly. He looked embarrassed.

Draco smiled, “It has dimples.”

Potter rolled towards him in the bed, “Malfoy-”

“I like dimples,” Draco said.

“Malfoy, go to sleep,” Potter said.

Draco cupped Potter’s face to feel the heat of Potter’s blush on his palms and kissed him. “Fine. Just so long as you know, I quite like your dimples.”

“I was here the whole time,” Potter said. Harry tugged Draco’s hands off his face, holding them loosely as he relaxed into the pillow. “Dispel the lumos?”

“No,” Draco said, wanting to look at Potter’s face as long as possible. “I can’t be bothered. It will fade out soon.”

“Fine,” Potter conceded.

“I don’t know what your rush is, anyway,” Draco said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he watched Potter's eyelashes dip closed. “You have tomorrow off.”

Potter sighed into the pillow, pulling the duvet up to his cheek, “ ‘M tired, you.”

Draco wanted to tease him with a, you what?, but he held his tongue. Watching Potter fall asleep was far better.

-

💜 Next update will be sometime, eventually 😅 I can’t wait for summer, at least that when things should calm down for me 💜 and thank you for still reading! it means the world to me💜  

Tags below v (I don’t have a permanent tags list. All tags are of the wonderful people who left messages or reblogs on the previous 2 parts.)