#honeybeet

Fanfic Classics Series ⏳🪐🌌 This batch of fanfiction deals with the multiverse!!! Time travel!!! Imminent thoughts about life and death!! Past lives and dreams of a future together — get ready to witness a love for the ages.

the earth from a distance by spqr

A Beginner’s Guide to the Afterlife by mcsyndrome

Us, infinite (unfortunately) by @thecouchsofa

"An Emerald In The Sky" by @corvuscrowned

In Every Universe by @skeptiquewrites

Our Little Life by @tackytigerfic

Dwelling by aideomai

there will be time, there will be time by @amywaterwings

Harry Potter and the Future He Doesn't Really Want, Thanks. by orphan_account

Everything is Relative to You by @thehoneybeet

The Star Splitter by @oflights

art credits + some cover commentary under the cut :)

Everything Is Relative to You by @thehoneybeet (43k, E)

Tags: Time Travel, Reincarnation, Non-Linear Narrative, Soul Magic

The Manor is crumbling around him, shadows lancing around corners in the dim torchlight along the halls. Draco scrambles across the marble floors of the Manor, littering the tiles with erratic footsteps, the sharp tack of them echoing, rising, towards the cavernous, gilded ceilings. He barges into the office and yanks open the drawer. The Time-Turner sits innocently on the drawer’s velvet lining. Draco takes the chain between his shaking fingers, and finds the small crown on the side. How long will it take to convince Potter? To catch him before it’s too late? On the twelfth turn, one for each hour, his fingers slip away. For a brief, heart-shattering moment, it doesn’t work. And then, nearly imperceptible at first, the light begins to seep back into the day.

Wireless fic claim: the eighth sin (E, 17k) by honeybeet

Tags: POV Draco, unreliable narrator, the seven deadly sins, non-linear narrative, magical house arrest, isolation, solitary confinement, ambiguous ending, Master of Death Harry Potter, the Manor as a liminal space, nightmares, grief, loneliness, implied hallucination, falling in love, pining, jealousy, first time, kissing, explicit sexual content, cutting hair, shaving, tenderness, draco wears silver rings, harry in a funeral suit, a picnic in the late autumn sun, touch starved Draco Malfoy, this is a ghost story but it depends who you ask, because it’s also about living

Summary: When Draco is sentenced to five years of house arrest, without magic, alone, the only person to visit him is Potter. But Draco’s beginning to doubt whether Potter is really there at all.

Notes: For @hd-wireless, a gift for @wolfpants based on their prompt, Seven Devils by Florence and the Machine. Thank you to @epitomereally, @the-fools-errand, and @the-starryknight for your eyes on it!

Excerpt (sloth):

Draco’s all too aware of night coming. Of the light fading and welcoming shadows into the room. “When will you go?” he asks.

“In a while.”

“You don’t have any plans?” Draco imagines Potter walking London in the evening, smelling flowers, picking up takeout. He imagines Potter in a sweltering club, bodies everywhere. He imagines night falling and a warm yellow window looking into wherever Granger and Weasley live.

“Yes,” says Potter. Draco focuses on the weight of Potter’s leg on his, fighting the disappointment filling his throat. “To stay for a while. If that’s okay?”

“Oh,” Draco says. “Did you want—?” He’s tired. His nerves are fraying; he doesn’t know if he can hold himself together for more sex.

Potter sighs, chest and stomach deflating. “Would you be alright if we just…” Potter waves a hand in the air, then rests it on top of Draco’s.

“Yes—that’s fine.” It’s an understatement; it’s all Draco wants.

“Sometimes it’s nice,” Potter sighs. “To do nothing.”

Draco does it all the time, so it’s lost a bit of allure. He was raised in a family where children grew up to be adults who did nothing for a living. But it’s different with Potter—with Potter, ‘nothing’ feels significant. Nothing is the most real thing to do. There’s nothing to hide behind—just bodies and air and silence to float in.

“I like doing nothing with you,” Draco says.

Everything is Relative to You

honeybeet @thehoneybeet

Chapters: 8/8 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Neville Longbottom, Garrick Ollivander, Original Characters Additional Tags: Time Travel, Past Lives, Reincarnation, Dreams, Soul Magic, Magical Theory, Wandlore, Witch Burning, Veritaserum, Animal Familiar, renaissance era italy, Monet References, Brief Lesbian Drarry, Explicit Sexual Content, Wet Dream, Auror Harry Potter, Wandmaker Harry Potter, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, pansy is a legilimens, Desi Harry Potter, egyptian ollivander, Indigenous Character, Sectumsempra Scars (Harry Potter), Temporary Character Death, Suicide Attempt, Magical Assault, Blood, Arrest, Brief Imprisonment, Drinking, Scars, Animal Death, Childbirth, Implied/Referenced Terminal Illness, Mention of colonialism, Implied/Referenced Canon-Typical Child Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Linear Narrative, H/D Erised 2022

Summary:

Potter was supposed to have lived. Draco is certain of this. That Potter would no longer walk the earth was tantamount to the sun moving west to east across the sky. If only he could have stopped this from happening, if he’d have known… It comes to him as ideas often did: too late.

Or, Harry dreams of his past lives, and Draco is in every one.

(੭•̀ω•́)੭* . * ･ ｡ﾟ☆

Excerpt:

Potter collapses on the sofa, the very one Weasley had sat on earlier—no, later—that day.

“I died.”

“Not yet.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know.”

There is a ledge by the window. Draco shucks off his shoes and sits on it.

“What else?”

“That’s it.”

“You can’t give me any other fucking information?” Potter snaps.

Draco examines his fingernails. He has a hangnail. He hates those; he pulls it until blood wells up in its place. Potter’s gaze is intense, but the fire isn’t all anger, once he looks long enough to pay attention to it. The obvious prick isn’t even looking at Draco’s face, but towards his slightly open thigh, where it meets his crotch.

Draco has to do it. If Potter wants to fuck, Draco won’t stop him, especially if it will delay everything enough to prevent the situation altogether. And if Draco fails, Potter will die, and this will have been his last chance to—to not just have sex, but to be something to him.

“I’m here on borrowed time—literally,” says Draco, pulling the chain out of his shirt and holding the Time-Turner up. He frowns at it and puts it away. “Do you really want to hear the particulars of how you died? The gruesome details?”

Potter looks disconcerted. “I suppose not.”

“Right-o,” says Draco, who’s never said that before in his life. “Now that that’s over with, let’s cut to the fun part, shall we?”

Potter’s eyes flick down again. Draco rolls his. “You’re not going to work. We have all day.”

“The raid…” Potter begins. “It has to be today. There are people in danger.”

“People meaning you. Let’s just say I’m warning you out of the goodness of my heart, and since you definitely will be heeding my advice and not going on the bloody raid—”

“I never said I wouldn’t go.”

“—I’m sure I can think of ways you can thank me for it,” Draco finishes.

They stare at each other.

“Don’t be an idiot, Potter,” Draco says finally. It’s too soft.

“You want me,” Potter says, like a question.

“It’s a trap.”

Potter stands, crowds him against the window. “You want me. You’re saving my life.”

“Whether you live or die is irrelevant to me,” Draco sneers. “I’m just looking for a fuck.”

“So you don’t care about me,” Potter says. His eyes are dark. He looks like he’d drink in Draco’s every word if he could and hate every second of it.

Draco opens his legs. “Not at all.”

“Good.” Potter puts a hand just above his knee, pushes it farther apart, grips his inner thigh. “Wouldn’t want you to care about me when I’m dead—”

Draco kisses him, drags his face towards him so voraciously the back of his head smacks into the windowpane. He doesn’t care; if he thought he could undo Potter’s trousers while holding him exactly where he was, he’d do it. Perhaps he needs another go at the Time-Turner—not enough hands. But Potter is pressing back, one hand rising up to palm Draco’s crotch, the other pressing his shoulder into the cold, damp windowpane, so Draco is free to mess up his hair with shaking hands, drag them down Potter’s back, and pull his hips flush against him. He hooks a leg behind Potter’s, trapping him there.

They’re still kissing, if you can call it that, but it’s hungrier than kissing; messier, too. Potter opens Draco’s shirt but pulls away when his fingers brush scar tissue.

“I don’t care,” Draco says. “I don’t care.”

“I did this,” Potter says, and Draco could almost laugh at the mixture of possessiveness and anguish on his face, but he doesn’t.

“Irrelevant,” he says instead. “Are we fucking like you’re about to die or are we going to faff about?”

Potter laughs, soft and low. “I’m not going to die.” He presses his mouth to the hollow of Draco’s throat. Draco reaches down between them, shoving Potter’s fingers under his waistband.

“If you did, it wouldn’t matter—touch me for Christ’s sake.”

Potter pulls his hand back. “No.” He is infuriating in his smugness. “I thought you didn’t care.”

I love that you went for this one 😂

🍯: What is one thing you like about yourself?

wild with all regret by @thehoneybeet (4k, E)

Tags: dacryphilia, humiliation, begging, draco gets what he wants AND what he deserves

Harry hadn’t wanted to be a part of it. But he was there, his hand clutched in Draco’s white-knuckled grip as Draco explained in stilted sentences what it was, exactly, he wanted. Draco wouldn’t meet Ron’s gaze. “To be clear,” Hermione said, and Ron loved her, “you want me—you want us to humiliate you?” The tip of Draco’s tongue breached the crack of his mouth, wetted it. “Yes,” he said, voice hoarse. “I want you to punish me, I want you to make me beg for forgiveness—” “But Draco,” Hermione said. “It’s been years. You’ve changed. We’ve forgiven you.” “—and then refuse,” Draco finished. Finally, finally, he glanced over at Ron. Swallowed. His shoulders were rounded, leaning towards Harry’s. God, they would be so easy to break, Ron thought, and sat back in the chair and spread his legs. Draco’s face went pink at the motion. It had been funny at first, Draco’s crush on Ron, even while he and Harry were figuring things out. They still were, as far as Ron knows. Maybe this was a part of it. Harry hated hurting anyone, but, as Ron watched the way Draco scratched at the beds of his nails, bit his lip to near bleeding, he wondered how badly Draco wanted to be hurt.

[Malfoy falls asleep in herbology. A bowtruckle is making a nest in his hair.

It’s long and gleaming, falling like water down his back, except for the tendrils gently woven together at the top, making a tiny little cup. The bowtruckle is dipping the ends of it in the corner of Malfoy’s parted mouth, wetting the strands slightly before threading them together. Harry thinks Malfoy might have a conniption when he wakes.

He doesn’t. Instead, he smiles, a secret thing, and gently cuts the hair attached to the nest, slowly floating it to the table, the bowtruckle along for the ride. Tiny tufts of blond stick up in the middle of his head now, an odd kind of mullet.

Harry can’t bring himself to look away. No one else seems to notice. He looks down. His bowtruckle is nowhere to be seen.]

I literally think about this opening all the time, and I’m not exaggerating. You’re brilliant! 💜

Hi mj! Not cheating at all! I'm so touched that plant me in your garden is the fic you chose; it's special to me because it's my first fic and it was written during a time when I was thinking a lot about what it means to be genderfluid and nonbinary. I transplanted a lot of those feelings into my characterisation of Draco, who is probably the closest character I've written to myself, my interests, my view of life (that said, he's definitely not me for a myriad of reasons). Commentary below the cut:

hi anon! I am so sorry it took me so long to answer this ask, especially because I love answering questions like this. thank you for asking!

sometimes writing (for me) is like pulling teeth. a lot of sweat, blood, tears, etc. but writing desiderium wasn't like that at all! I had written Harry's death scene/memory in a moment of inspiration, along with the very last phrase, and then I sat down over a few days and wrote the rest of the story in chronological order. I also wanted to challenge myself to write longer, continuous scenes, so the structure was born out of that.

this fic was for @hp-poetry-fest. i really loved working from a poem as a muse, especially this one. the poem itself makes no sense. or at least very little. but the images are so vivid. his flashing eyes, his floating hair. close your eyes with holy dread. the shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves. and I thought, there's something yearning about this. like seeking some creative (or sexual, or spiritual) pinnacle that is just out of reach. it's also a very sexual poem, if you read it that way (sinuous rills, caverns measureless to man). for harry and draco, i wanted to encapsulate that sense of seeking something like paradise in each other and not quite finding it. but that's alright, because the mutual yearning is enough.

so much of it was a joy to write, but my favorite parts are probably the moments when things change for them. I love the conversation they have when they first go to bed, which sort of re-calibrates both of their understanding of their club fuck-buddy situation as something both sweeter and yet fundamentally missing something. and watching through draco's eyes as harry makes the decision to treat him better.

i'm also a sucker for endings, and writing them is always a bit of a thrill when i feel i'm getting it right. it's like music, when you gradually build the tension and emotion until you get this moment of release.

what did i learn? i love this question. this fic was really self-indulgent. i love thunderstorms, i love edging, i love intimacy, i love small yet life-altering confessions, i love poetry, and i guess i learned that when you let yourself just run with it, people sense that in your work. people connected to it more than I expected, which was wonderful. it's the kind of writing I want to do more of.

thank you so much for the ask, and here's the link if anyone wants to check it out!

read Desiderium on AO3