#drarry microfics

Ron stared at his pint, pretending very hard to focus on the amber liquid and not eavesdrop on Draco and Harry's conversation at the other end of the bar.

"You're in my space, Potter," Draco said, but there was no heat in it. His hand rested on Harry's bicep, fingers curled around the muscle there.

"Am I?" Harry asked, leaning closer. He'd grown broader after Hogwarts, taller too, filled out properly with Auror training. Right now he was using all that extra height to crowd into Malfoy's space. "Didn't notice."

"You're a big, fat liar."

"Prove it."

Ron took a long drink. The Leaky Cauldron was busy tonight, full of witches and wizards unwinding after work. No one else seemed bothered by the fact that Harry Potter, Head Auror, had apparently lost his mind.

"I don't need to prove anything to you," Draco said. His thumb traced a small circle on Harry's arm.

"You like touching me now."

"I'm simply admiring the results of your training regimen. Professional interest."

"Professional interest."

"I work with runes, Potter. I appreciate well-constructed things."

Harry laughed, and Ron wanted to hex him. This was the same bloke who'd taken down three dark wizards last week with perfect strategy and timing. The same bloke who could coordinate an entire team of Aurors through complex raids without breaking a sweat.

Put him near Malfoy and he turned into a lovesick fool.

"How's the Ministry contract going?" Harry asked.

"Tedious. Your department keeps requesting modifications."

"Maybe I'm requesting them."

"Are you?"

"Maybe I just like having excuses to see you."

Ron gripped his glass harder. Hermione had warned him before she'd left for the night. She'd actually warned him that Harry and Malfoy would probably end up like this, but he hadn't listened.

"That's pathetic, Potter."

"You're still here."

"The drinks are good."

"The drinks are terrible. You told me that fifteen minutes ago."

Draco's lips twitched. "Did I?"

"You did. Right before you put your hand on my arm and haven't moved it since."

"I hate you," Draco said.

"No, you don't."

"I really, really do."

"Say it again. More convincingly this time."

Ron looked over despite himself. Harry had shifted even closer, his hand now resting on the bar beside Draco's, their fingers almost touching. Draco had tipped his head back to maintain eye contact, his hair catching the firelight. He looked like he wanted to be exactly where he was.

They both did.

"This is stupid," Draco murmured.

"No, you're stupid."

"Brilliant comeback. Did that take you all day to come up with?"

Harry grinned, absolutely besotted, and Ron wanted to leave. He should leave. He should have left ten minutes ago.

"I should go," Draco said, but he didn't move. "Early meeting tomorrow."

"Skip it."

"Some of us have professional obligations, Potter."

"Your contract isn't due for another week. I know because I'm the one who approved the timeline."

"Abuse of power."

"Definitely."

Blaise appeared at Ron's elbow, signaling Tom for a drink. He glanced toward Harry and Draco, then snorted.

"Finally," Blaise said. "Merlin, I thought they'd never get their act together."

Ron turned to stare at him. "You think this is good?"

"Weasley, I've been listening to Draco talk about Potter since first year. This is mercy." Blaise accepted his firewhisky from Tom. "And you can't tell me Potter was any better."

Ron slumped on his stool. "He wasn't."

"There you go then. It's time these two actually did something about it instead of making the rest of us suffer."

"I'm suffering right now."

"You're eavesdropping. That's your fault."

"They're doing this out in the open. I can't not hear them."

Blaise raised his glass toward Harry and Draco. "To them finally getting together. May they take it somewhere private soon so we can all have some peace."

Ron clinked his glass against Blaise's because what else could he do? His best friend was absolutely gone on Draco Malfoy, standing there with his hand creeping closer to Draco's on the bar, smiling like nothing else in the world mattered.

And Malfoy, the git, looked exactly the same way.

You might have imagined it.

The classroom was hectic, curses crashing against charmed barriers, shaking the air, exploding into sound and sparks.

So you might have imagined his eyes on you, the curious heat in them, quick and golden as a snitch.

But you don’t think you did.

@drarrymicrofic | words: 409 | prompt: welcome

Part I: The Punishment Fits the Crime

The room erupted with giggles and groans as McGonagall announced the mandatory dance lessons they would be taking twice a week leading up to the yule ball. 

On one side of the room:

Draco—prim, pretty, preening. 

His parents had practically thrown him into ballroom dance lessons as soon as he could walk. Typical purebloods. He turned to Pansy with a smirk; they had been dancing together since they were kids, of course all eyes would be on them at the yule ball.   

On the other side of the room:

Harry—fidgety, faltering, floundering. 

He still wasn’t used to the sudden growth spurt that hit as soon as his body started getting the proper nutrients for the first time in his life. He regularly tripped over his feet, and made it a point to never dance. He turned to Ron looking queasy. He had witnessed the one and only time Harry had attempted to dance. Scabbers still ran every time Harry came near. 

“Now, Harry,” McGonagall deliberated, peering at him over her glasses. “The champions will be opening the yule ball with the first dance. How are your ballroom dancing skills?”

Draco snorted loudly. 

“Umm… I don’t… that is, I’ve never actually danced before,” Harry cringed, trying to slink behind Ron and Hermione. 

Before McGonagall could respond, Draco scoffed, leering at Harry. 

“Of course he hasn’t. This is the same oaf who can’t walk down a corridor without nearly tripping over his own feet,” he sneered. “You expect him to represent our school? What a joke. Thank god we at least have Diggery.”

McGonagall pursed her lips.

“Well, Mr. Malfoy, since this particular matter seems to be of such importance to you, maybe you can teach Mr. Potter the art of ballroom dancing.” 

Draco sputtered. 

“Professor, I don’t—”

“I’ve made up my mind. You will find one day a week to teach Mr. Potter here how to dance. Partner dancing, as I’m sure you know Mr. Malfoy, takes a great deal of trust and cooperation. Perhaps this will help you and Mr. Potter to finally learn some civility with each other.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but McGonagall silenced him with a raised hand. 

“You’re welcome to say no, though I wouldn’t advise it. That would be costing you quite a lot of house points. Both of you.” She warned dryly. 

Twin glares met across the classroom. 

This was going to be a long month.  

Fluff

He had been sitting on the couch for the most part of the evening, reading, like he normally did whenever he was alone. He liked the silence in the flat but only the light traffic from outside he could hear, he liked those moments of being alone. He enjoyed them while it lasted and It was one of his silent alone nights until he heard the door open and the keys being kept on the counter with a long sigh and he just knew. He smiled to himself and waited for the man he loved too dearly for his own good to appear at the door of the living room and soon he did.

Harry looked at him with exhaustion before Draco put his book aside on the coffee table and said, "Long day?"

"You wouldn't believe." Harry sighed.

Draco smiled lightly and sunk a little further in the couch to make some space for Harry and opened his arms for him to join, "Come here and tell me all about it."

Harry walked slowly and tiredly towards the couch shaking his head, saying that he didn't want to talk about his day and instantly collapsed over Draco upon reaching the couch, making him laugh,

"You're gonna crush my bones, Harry." He laughed lightly.

"Well, now you know what my insides feel like." He muffled against his chest.

Draco threw his head back a little unable to control his chuckle. He wrapped one of his arms around Harry's torso and the other one in his hair and kissed the top of his head softly, "You're too exhausted, my love."

Harry hummed without moving a single inch.

Draco gazed at him fondly then shifted a little more closer so Harry could be a little more comfortable and ran his hands through his hair.

"Do you want me to make you some coffee?"

Harry only shook his head and slid sideways so he laid beside Draco now.

"Are you sure?" He asked again and Harry shook his head again.

Draco gave up his question then and only wrapped his arms around Harry and kissed his forehead again, "You really don't want to talk about today?"

Harry shook his head, "I just wanna stay here with you and cuddle and forget the world exists." Harry replied closing his eyes and cuddling into Draco.

Draco smiled and nodded, "Fine then, we'll stay here as long as you want and forget the world ever existed."

Draco wrapped one his arms around Harry's body, pulling him closer while with his other hand he turned the recorder on, Can't help Falling in love by Elvis played instantly and he turned his volume just by a notch. He drew small circles on Harry's back and whispered soft reassurances to him like he often did, telling him to not work so much while Harry only hummed and even though Draco knew Harry wasn't actually listening, he almost never did yet he still would tell him because he knew Harry needed to hear those words.

That was the thing about their love, those unspoken words, the understanding in coming home at night and just staying there with each other. Their love wasn't made out of glass or metal or anything, hell they didn't even care about what it was made of because it didn't matter. In that moment, in that time, they loved each other more than they have ever loved anyone else and that's all that ever mattered. Their happiness was in coming home to being two arms wrapped around each other and soft music playing until they would fell asleep right there on the couch and it didn't have to make sense to the rest of the world because their world was right here, in that apartment they bought together and that was all that mattered.

What a 5 minute idea turned into

Tagging some of y'all for a boost, don't hesitate if you're uncomfortable with the tag <3

Draco’s heart is a steel trap; it lies hidden until he missteps and then it snaps tight. No lord or master could compel him to shed its hold on him.

He loves rarely, but fiercely.

Draco knows, with Potter, that it’s coming—feels it seize him, immovable—he will never un-love him.

Inspired by @drarrymicrofic’s prompt ‘caught’

Prompt : Blanket forts

"Daddy!" A bundle of fiery red hair jumped up at him. 

"What do you want Lily? It is 3 in the morning" Harry was pissed. His whole day had been a disaster.

"Papa?" A timid voice said. Harry loved his and Draco's children. He really really did! It was just hard to remember why sometimes. "What happened Scorpius?" Draco asked.

"Dad!". Of course. Of course, a tornado of children will spoil his sweet precious sleep. "What are you both here for?" Harry asked with a sigh.

"When we were at mom's she kinda taught us how to make a blanket fort? And told us to pester you too make it for us as rev-" James started to say.

"That's enough!" Draco said with a side-along look at Harry who gave a suspicious stare back.

James smirked. Bloody smirked. That was when one could figure out he was living with a Malfoy.

"Daddy? Can we build a blanket fort?" Lily asked looking just like her namesake with big green eyes and fiery red hair.

"Sure lils" How could Harry refuse those eyes.

After half an hour Albus, James, Lily, Draco and Harry were cuddled up in a blanket fort.

Harry burst into their cottage, soaked from the rain, clutching a tiny, trembling kitten.

“It followed me home,” He said breathlessly.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You mean you chased it down.”

“She was meant to be, Draco,” Harry said as he held out the kitten towards him. “Look, she even has the same streak on her fur like my scar.”

Draco sighed, already bundling up the tiny thing in a towel. “We are not naming her Bolt.”

Draco woke to a cacophony of beeps and blinding lights that drilled into his skull. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the assult. Everything hurt so bad—his head most of all hurt with a dull throb that pulsed with every sound.

“Easy,” a low gravely said, sounding warm and familiar in a way which made no sense. “I’ve got you.”

The beeps cut off abruptly and the lights dimmed to a soft glow—wandless magic, of course. Show off.

Draco cracked one eye open and he saw a man hovering at his bedside the first thing. This man was tall, had messy dark hair sticking up in different directions and his green eyes were worried behind his round glasses. He looked exactly like the grown-up version of the boy from all those old stories Draco read as as child and then relayed to Dobby, annoying the poor elf.

Draco rolled his eyes, which only made his head hurt harder. “Of course it’s you,” he muttered. “Harry Potter, in flesh.”

The man—Potter—smiled, small and he looked relieved. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Draco pushed himself up on his elbows, ignoring the way the room titlted and his vision swam. “Why am I here? And why are you here?” Draco asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Well…you were hit with a curse during a mission and the healers say that it’s retrograde amnesia. You lost several years of memories and they said it’ll come back—some of it at least,” Harry replies, rubbing the back of his neck.

Draco blinked. Several years must explain why his head feels like it’s filled with cotton and everything’s foggy. He doesn’t remember much—his parents, Severus, Dobby, going to Hogwarts all very vaguely and after after that it’s blank.

He jabbed a finger at Harry’s direction. “And you’re here because…?”

“Because we’re married,” he stated as a matter of fact.

Draco stared then burst out laughing before stopping sharply because throwing his head back to laugh was not a good decision as it sent another spike of sharp pain through his temples. “Right and I’m the Minister of Magic. Pull the other one, Potter.”

And Harry didn’t laugh he simply lifted his left hand in the soft light of the room and turned it slightly so that it caught the band on his ring finger. The ring sat on his finger looking well-worn and clearly loved—glinting with quiet magic that felt annoyingly intimate to Draco.

Draco looked the ring down his nose and then his eyes flicked back up to Harry’s face. He refused to look at his own hand. “Very cute, but I’m not believing it. You’re probably married to a very nice and sweet redhead girl—someone who doesn’t argue back and bakes you treacle tart.”

Harry eyes sparkled with barely restrained amusement. He leaned in closer and said, “It’s a he I’m married to and that man cannot cook to save his life. He once tried to surprise me with breakfast, set off every smoke alarm in our house and we had to replace our curtains—twice.”

Draco sniffed, crossed his arms petulantly. “You’re lying aren’t you because you get to be the ever great Saint Potter—swooping in to save the poor amnesiac Malfoy. Are you going to tell me we have a cat named after potion ingredients next?”

“Two cats actually,” Harry corrected smoothly, lips curving into a grin he couldn’t hide. “You named them Asphodel and Wormwood.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue but the room swam again so he fixed fixed with a glare. Harry’s expression softened at Draco’s pained face—he reached out slowly, giving Draco plenty of time to pull away and gently took Draco’s left hand in his, fingers around the cool skin ofhis wrist. Without a word, he turned it palm-up, easing the fingers which Draco had curled—revealing the matching band already resting on Draco’s ring finger.

Draco froze, staring down at it as if it had personally betrayed him. His cheeks flushed the faintest pink.

Harry chuckled softly, thumb brushing lightly over the band. “You never take it off.”

Draco yanked his hand back, but there was no real force behind it—just theatrics. He scowled, though the effect of it was somewhat ruined by the way his ears were turning and aggressive shade of red. “This proves nothing! It could be a glamour or a very dedicated Gryffindor prank.”

“Draco,” Harry said, the name slipping out warm and fond, like he had said it a million times before. “You’re being difficult on purpose.”

“Of course I am,” Draco shot bak, lifting his chin. “If I a suddenly agreeable, you’d think the curse had scrambled my personality instead of my memories and I’d have to watch you panic and there’s no fun in that.”

Harry laughd then—relieved and the sound wrapped around tthe room like a well-worn, cozy blanket. He stayed close, green eyes bright with that infuriating patience. “Fair point but when your memories come back—I’m telling you right now that you still owe me for ‘accidentally’ hexing my favourite jumper because it was ‘too Weasley orange.’”

Draco huffed through his nose, settling back against the pillow with exaggerated dignity, though a tiny, traitorous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I stand by that decission. And if this ridiculous marriage is real—which it isn’t by the way—I want you to bring me a treacle tart baked by you, since apparently my so-called husband can actually manage to do so without combusting the kitchen.”

“Deal,” Harry said, grinning now, wide and boyish. “But only if you promise to behave and not hex it or me for being too sweet.”

“No promises,” Draco muttered, then softer, “Harry.”