#drarry microfic

"Boobs or butts, Potter?" Seamus asked him, quite sloshed and pouring more.

"Huh?" Harry blinked his eyes back into focus on the table he sat at.

"Do you prefer big boobs or a big butt?"

@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

@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?

a drarry microfic

“Hey, Malfoy?” Harry hummed, glancing up from his pile of work.

“What, Potter?”

“Have you ever heard the term ‘Drarry’?”

Draco bolted up in his seat, nearly knocking over his mug of coffee.

“W-what?” he croaked, dabbing at the fresh coffee stains on his latest expense report. Who taught him that?! “No, why? What does it mean?”

“Apparently it’s our ‘ship’ name. Draco and Harry. Drarry.”

“Ship? Like a boat? Did someone name a boat after us?” Draco asked, feigning innocence, hoping his blush wasn’t noticeable.

“That’s what I said too, but Teddy says it’s some sort of new slang. All the kids at Hogwarts are obsessed with this whole ‘shipping’ thing apparently.”

Harry furrowed his brow in thought. Draco wanted to crawl in a hole.

“Anyways, I guess it’s, like, short for ‘relationship’, like they take two people they think should be together and they ‘ship’ them.”

Draco blanched.

This isn’t happening.

“Kinda funny,” Harry laughed easily, as if he wasn’t speaking into existence Draco’s literal waking nightmare. “Teds says we are the most popular ship!”

“Is that so?” Draco responded blankly, his mouth dry.

“Yeah! And—”

Oh god, there’s more?!

“—there’s this thing called ‘fan fiction’ where—”

The rest of Harry’s explanation was drowned out by the high pitch ringing that filled Draco’s ears.

I prayed every night this day would never come. And yet.

“So anyways, apparently there’s this one really popular Drarry writer whose work has been making its rounds across Hogwarts—”

No. No, no, no. That’s it. God hates me. It’s the only explanation.

“Someone must’ve gotten it off their older sibling cuz Teddy says it can get a bit saucy at times, but he insisted it was really tastefully done.”

Draco gawked at him, and for the first time Harry began to blush.

“I-I mean, it’s so awkward, right?” he laughed nervously. “but I mean, I gotta admit, I’m a bit curious. Like in a morbid sort of way, y’know? Like, I just want to see what all the hype is about.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck, looking at Draco thoughtfully before continuing.

“So you wanna read it with me?” he asked, reaching into his bag and pulling out a bound stack of paper.

Draco gaped at the booklet laid out in front of him with a title he knew all too well.

“Just the first few pages, I mean,” Harry shrugged awkwardly. “Just to see if it’s any good or whatever. Figured you’d be a good judge since you write in your free time, right?”

Draco’s eyes flickered rapidly between the pages and the curious green eyes staring back at him.