#drarry microfic

Ron had meant well, taking Harry out to the pub. A pint and some deep-fried food would surely lift his mood after he’d been axed from the Aurors a few days ago.

“I don’t know what to do with my life. I thought that was it.”

“Mate,” Ron began, putting a supportive hand on Harry’s slumped shoulder. “What’s the thing you can’t stop thinking about? ’Cause that’s what you should do with your life. Bit like fate.”

Ron gave his shoulder a squeeze and waited for him to lift his gaze from his beer and say, Quidditch.

Harry did lift his head, his eyes going wide and his mouth falling open.

This is it, Ron thought. He’s having an epiphany!

“Malfoy,” Harry said.

“What?”

“You think I’m bound to be Malfoy’s husband?”

Ron gaped, unsure where exactly he’d gone wrong in this conversation.

Harry downed the rest of his drink—and he’d already had a few before Ron arrived—then stood and rolled his shoulders as though preparing for a fistfight.

@drarrymicrofic | wc: 550 | prompt: hesitate

“Well,” Harry said, the second Draco’s front door slammed behind them, “that went a bit shit.”

Draco turned on him slowly. “I thought it was salvageable until she asked whether you’d ever pictured me naked.”

“I said no!” 

“You said no comment! Seriously, Potter, you were distracted the whole time.”

Harry blinked. “That was because I was picturing you naked.”

Draco stared at him.

“What?” Harry asked. “I’m only human.”

Draco made a strangled noise and swept towards the drinks cabinet. “I need something strong enough to erase the last forty minutes of my life. Possibly the last twenty years.”

“Bit dramatic.”

“Skeeter asked whether we were lovers, Potter.”

“She asks everyone that.” Harry dropped onto Draco’s sofa, sprawling deliberately, all messy hair and open shirt at the collar. “Also, you didn’t exactly help.”

Draco paused with the whisky bottle in hand. “Me?”

“Yes, you. All that sneering and ‘Mr Potter and I have a complicated history’ rubbish.”

“It is complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated.”

Draco poured too much whisky into one glass. “You are the one that hesitated first when she asked what we were to each other. Is friends not in your vocabulary?”

“Are we friends?” Harry asked, looking up at him beneath his lashes. “Because I thought you’d prefer me to say fuck buddies.”

“We are not—”

“What am I doing in your flat, then?”

Harry stood. Draco hated how casually he did it. He stopped too close.

“What am I doing here, Draco?”

Draco lifted his chin. “Being irritating.”

Harry stepped closer. “Try again.”

“Being impossible.”

“Warmer.”

Draco swallowed. “Being presumptuous.”

Harry’s smile was wicked. “You’re going to fuck me, are you not?”

Draco set the whisky down very carefully, face going hot. “For someone who froze in front of Rita Skeeter, you’ve found your tongue remarkably quickly.”

Harry’s gaze dropped to Draco’s mouth. “Could find yours too.”

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

“We are friends,” Draco said.

Harry laughed. “Right. Brilliant. Friends.”

“Harry—”

“No, it’s good. Really. Let me call Ron and ask whether he wants to shove me against a wall.”

Draco caught Harry by the front of his shirt and pushed him back against the nearest wall. Harry went willingly, annoyingly smug for half a second, until Draco pressed in and watched the smugness fade away.

“What do you want me to say?” Draco asked. “Since apparently you’ve decided directness is tonight’s theme.”

Harry’s breath caught as Draco leaned nearer, though not kissing him yet. 

“I want you to say I’m not your friend,” Harry said, voice low, “I want you to say you were furious because I hesitated. Because you thought I was ashamed of you. Which I’m not.”

“You looked like you were.”

“I looked terrified because for one second I thought you might not want me to say it first.”

“Say what?”

“That you’re mine. That I’m yours. That Skeeter can print whatever headline she likes, so long as she spells boyfriend correctly.”

Draco forgot how to breathe, but not how to snark, because he said, “Boyfriend is a rather juvenile term.”

Harry’s smile returned. “What would you prefer? Lover? Partner?”

Draco made a face. “Fine,” he said, fingers still twisted in Harry’s shirt. “You’re my boyfriend.”

Harry’s green eyes went soft. “Yeah?”

“Yes, Potter. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

The first time Harry hears this ridiculous rumour, he finds it amusing. 

“Me and Malfoy?” He asks.

The intern nods. “Everyone thinks you’re together.”

“That’s ridiculous. People will just make up anything nowadays.”

“Y-yeah, totally.”

The second time, it's less funny because it’s from Dean, a fully trained adult Auror, not some naive teenage intern. 

“Potter, could you ask your healer boyfriend if he could send over the reports today?” 

“...my what.”

“Your boyfriend?” Dean replies, looking up from his work.

“Malfoy isn’t my boyfriend.” He replies quickly, defensively. 

Dean gives him a look. “Right. Just ask him for those reports.”

After the third, fourth, fifth, and even sixth time, Harry stops finding it funny.

"Why does everyone think I’m dating Malfoy? I mean, that’s insane. Right, guys?"

Ron and Hermione exchange the ‘are you seeing what I’m seeing?’ look that Harry has been a victim of since they were fourteen.

"What?" He asks.

“Well, Harry-” Hermione starts, clearly ready to gentle parent him into whatever realization he was missing, until Ron interrupts.

“Maybe you should ask Malfoy, mate.”

Harry is not asking Malfoy. He’ll just ask everyone else. He’s an Auror, after all; investigations like this are his thing. Obviously, this rumour is coming from somewhere. He’ll just ask around until he finds out where. 

He goes up to the Mungos’ receptionist, bracing himself. He inhales, then asks, “Could you tell me where my boyfriend is?”

She doesn’t even look up. “He’s on spell damage today, fourth floor.”

“Malfoy’s not my boyfriend.”

She looks up. “Alright.” She looks extremely unconvinced. 

“I’m being serious. We’re not dating.”

“Really?” 

“Yes.”

"Oh." 

Harry does not like how shocked she looks. He shakes his head. She probably sees lots of people and gets confused; he doubts it means anything.

That is, until everybody’s answer is like that. 

“Isn’t he your partner for every gala?”

“He leaves any case he’s on if you’re injured.”

“You literally threatened the Minister because he accidentally insulted Malfoy.”

“You bring him coffee every morning?”

“You guys go to the same place for lunch every day. Even the Prophet’s bored of it.”

Harry is beginning to suspect he may not survive this investigation with the insane things people are saying. I mean, it’s all true, but clearly taken out of context.

"Malfoy."

Draco doesn’t look up from his paperwork. "Potter."

"Everyone thinks we're dating." 

“I’m afraid they do.” He replies dryly.

“Uh, do you not care?” Harry asks.

Draco looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Harry pauses, realizing he actually doesn’t mind the idea. He was just worried Draco would take offense to such an egregious misunderstanding.

“No.”

“Then there isn’t really an issue, is there?”

“Suppose not.”

“Well, I have work to do. I’ll talk to you later tonight.”

“Er- alright then.” As Harry reaches for the door, Draco speaks again.

"Harry."

Harry turns. "Yeah?"

“Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps everyone else might be right?” Draco asks, suddenly looking at him expectantly.

 “I, er, guess so,” Harry replies, faltering under his sharp stare. Draco looks satisfied with this answer, even though Harry has never felt more confused in his life.

Malfoy acts like everything is normal later that day, but Harry can't stop thinking about it.

‘Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps everyone else isn't misunderstanding the situation?’ What bloody situation? He tries to pay more attention to things.

The next morning, when Harry drops off Draco's coffee, nobody looks surprised, as per usual. One Healer actually says, "Morning, you two."

Draco replies, "Morning." Like, this is normal. Like that is a normal thing to say. Harry doesn't even work here!

During a meeting, Draco throws a hissy fit because Harry’s robes aren’t on right, and he adjusts his collar. Nobody reacts. Draco falls asleep on his shoulder during one of their breaks. Nobody reacts.

Later that day, he gets an invite to a Gala addressed to the both of them. Like they’re a unit. 

“This is insane! To Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy. What the hell are they thinking?”

Ron doesn’t even look up from his paper. “Yeah, Mate, that’s so crazy.” He says, half listening. 

He looks around to see if anyone else saw this insanity, but no one has reacted. Wait. Harry thinks about the stupid coffee. The lunches. The galas. The fact that they almost live together with how often Malfoy’s at Grimmauld.

Oh.

Shit.

take 2

1.1.2005

Malfoy,

Robards tells me you’re joining the Auror Office.

France got boring?

Wanted to reach out before you start. Maybe we could find some time to clear the air? Grab a drink?

H.

4.1.2005

H,

Really? Just H? Am I not worthy of the additional four letters that spell out your name?

I would rather shove the Sword of Gryffindor up my arse than get a drink with you.

Draco Lucius Malfoy

10.1.2005

Malfoy,

I’m happy to ask Neville if he’d be prepared to loan the sword, if you’re keen.

Hope your first day went well.

Harry James Potter.

22.3.2005

Potter,

I suppose thanks are in order. I heard you stuck up for me with Watson. You didn’t need to.

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

24.3.2005

Malfoy,

Watson’s a dick. Don’t let him get to you.

Well done on the Troll case.

We’re going to the pub on Friday. You in?

Harry James Potter.

24.3.2005

Potter,

No.

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

12.4.2005

Potter,

Societal expectations dictate that when a colleague is going through a difficult time, one must offer a sympathetic word.

Bad luck on the redhead. At least you’re now free to seed your field—or whatever agricultural metaphor Muggles favour.

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

15.4.2005

Malfoy,

It’s sow your wild oats.

Not that it matters. Ginny and I weren’t together. It was a cover. We’re both gay as fuck and didn’t want it impacting our careers. We thought it would.

Thanks for reaching out.

It’s Robards’ birthday Sunday, so we’re heading to the pub tonight. Open invite.

Harry James Potter.

16.4.2005

Malfoy,

You missed out on a good night.

Harry James Potter.

17.4.2005

Malfoy,

Or are you just homophobic?

Harry James Potter.

19.4.2005

Potter,

Clearly, you are a defective gay if you’ve failed to recognise I’m about as queer as the sun is yellow.

I’ve simply opted to ignore your persistent requests for drinks.

Now, can you please send over the report for the Niffler case? I put the request in two days ago, and you’re starting to piss me off.

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

29.8.2005

Malfoy,

Sorry to hear about your father.

Hope you’re doing alright.

Harry James Potter.

29.8.2005

Potter,

You’re not sorry. Neither am I.

Enclosed: a sickle. Have a drink on me. Because I fucking am.

D.

04.11.2005

Potter,

Been on field duty for three weeks and come back to find out you’ve acquired a fully-fledged boyfriend?

Have to ask if you’re okay.

Smith.

Really?

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

04.11.2005

Malfoy,

I went on one fucking date because he wouldn’t stop asking. Now he’s picking out wedding linens.

What are wedding linens?

Harry James Potter.

04.11.2005

Potter,

Sorry, but this is hilarious.

I’m actually crying. Robards sent me home. I’ve claimed exhaustion due to emotional instability.

You’re such a twat.

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

23.12.2005

Potter,

Did you really send my mother a Christmas card?

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

P.S. Where’s mine?

24.12.2005

Malfoy,

I only send cards to people who either

a) Saved my life or

b) Have a drink with me at the pub.

No, you can’t use the Manor lie because I saved you from Fiendfyre. We’re even.

Harry James Potter

29.12.2005

Malfoy,

Enjoy the bastard card enclosed. Your stupid puppy-dog eyes at work were sickening.

I expect a drink.

We’re going out on NYE. A bunch of us from work. I’m not taking no for an answer.

Harry James Potter.

31.12.2005

Potter,

Suck my dick.

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

31.12.2005

Totaly wolud if u gave me a chanc.

Hapy New Yr.

HJPotter <3

01.01.2006

Malfoy,

Something tells me I embarrassed myself on NYE?

My owl came back this morning, and the last letter I received was from you. Did I write you something?

Harry James Potter.

02.01.2006

Potter,

Pure blackmail material.

How about I show you on Friday?

One-time offer.

Leaky Cauldron—8 pm.

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

14.05.2006

Draco,

Sorry, I had to dip early this morning. You look beautiful when you’re sleeping. Might be the lack of talking.

See you tonight.

Harry James Potter

X

09.09.2006

Harry,

I’ve thought about it. I’ll move in.

I didn’t mean to react so negatively. But come on—I was balls deep when you asked.

I’ll pop over tomorrow, and we can discuss the details.

Draco Lucius Malfoy

XXX

19.11.2006

Draco,

You said I was moving quickly when I asked you to move in—and then you go and propose?

What a way to make a bloke feel special. Running off before I can answer.

Get home and do it properly. I’m not answering until you’re on one knee.

Yours,

The future Harry James Potter-Malfoy

XXX

24.12.2012

Love,

Don’t forget the milk.

Scorpius is adamant that we leave a full pint out for Santa. He says you promised him.

Such a bizarre Muggle tradition you’ve brought into our house.

Draco Lucius Potter-Malfoy

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: modesty | wc: 180

Draco was raised with manners. He was raised with a certain decorum. With dignity. With the idea that the body was to be covered with long sleeves and high collars. Most Slytherins held these beliefs. So having a joint common room with the other houses for eighth year has been quite the adjustment for them all.

Especially when Harry wandered through the, albeit mostly empty, common room in naught but a towel clutched around his waist, dripping water on the plush carpets, Draco very appropriately clutched his metaphorical pearls.

“Merlin, Potter, don't you have any modesty?” Draco cried, trying to not ogle the fit Gryffindor. He’d really filled out over the summer, no longer scrawny, but broad chested, bulky arms, and a trim waist leading the eyes tantalizingly low.

“I forgot my clothes. If it offends you, Malfoy, either close your eyes or do something about it,” Harry smirked, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he headed up to the dorms.

“I’d fuck Potter, marry Potter, then fuck him again before we inevitably kill each other.”

Harry gasped.

He’d snuck into the Slytherin common room, expecting schemes, not Malfoy’s voice echoing through a circle of eighth-years playing some party game. He absolutely wasn’t prepared for such filthy yet intriguing words tonight.

*

“Fuck, marry, kill: Potter, Weasley, Longbottom.”

Draco smirked, satisfied, when a small gasp sounded behind him at his answer. He could practically feel Potter hovering under his cloak.

“Of course you’d say that,” Pansy teased, “you’ve been in love with him for eight years.”

Another gasp. Draco's smirk dropped instantly.

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: tremble | wc: 250

“I always get it wrong,” Harry mumbled, sounding confused. Worried. “I think I’ve got it wrong.”

Draco’s heart was hammering in his throat as his fingers tried to remember the movements, as he hummed the healing charm as best he could. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything perfect. You’re always so bloody perfect, so shut up and stay alive.”

“I don’t know. Is it right this time?” He was fading. Draco bit his lip as he paused the charm. The blood flowed. He cursed.

“Stay with me. Stay with me, help’s on the way,” Draco whispered. He started humming again. 

Harry’s shaking fingers met his. He was almost as pale as Draco.

“It’s ironic, right? You always tell me it’s a coincidence. But … this is ironic. I think.”

Draco gasped out a strange sound, something between gag, laugh, and sob. “Yes, this is ironic.”

“Because I’m going to die saving you from the curse I almost killed you with.”

“Almost die. Almost, you hear me? You won’t—”

“‘Snot a coincidence,” Harry mumbled. “It’s ironic.”

Draco heard a crack and felt a swarm of healers surround them. He pulled Harry’s face close.

“You want irony?” Draco asked, feeling hands pulling him away. “Irony would be you saving my life the day I was planning to tell you how I felt, and then dying before I got the chance.”

“You hate irony,” Harry slurred as the sleeping charm hit.

“And I love you,” Draco whispered, finally letting the tears fall.

Shall I do another 250 for resolution to heal my own heart?