#owlpostart

Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy - 19th December in the HP Secret Santa(Happy holidays @silveredglass, thanks for the prompt @owlpostart and thank you for helping me brainstorm ideas @lol-zeitgeistic!)

Harry didn’t stop running until he broke through the last line of trees. His trainers were leaking, leaf-mulch working its way inside to rub against new blisters. Bending forward, Harry placed his hands on his thighs as he gulped down air. Fuck.

He…

Fuck.

With a crash and a curse that was either ‘bloody cunt bucket’ or ‘ delightful punk muppet’, Draco slide to a halt beside Harry. He had leaves in his hair, the wet greenery making his cheeks look even pinker than usual.

“Potter, what the f-”

“Don’t even start,” Harry interrupted, holding up a hand.

“Start? Start what? I’m not-” Draco paused to gulp some air, “I’m not starting anything. Dear me, can’t a man-”

“Did you just say deer?” Harry swung around to face him, eyes wild.

“What? I… Oh! No! No no no! I would never…” Draco trailed off, mouth working frantically.

“You said deer.”

“I didn’t,” Draco retreated back into the forest as Harry advanced.

“Fuck you. You think this is funny?”

“No!” Draco’s back collided with a tree. “Well… it is maybe a little, tiny, bit funny.” The last few words were shouted as Harry lost his temper completely and grabbed Draco around the waist, tumbling the pair of them onto the wet grass.

Draco fought back, grabbing hold of Harry’s hoodie and trying to flip the two of them over while avoiding the handful of grass that Harry had ripped from the ground.

“Eat it, Malfoy. Eat the grass,” Harry panted, attempting to stuff the wet handful into Draco’s mouth. “Isn’t that what stags do? Fucking eat it.”

“No! Get… get… off… me…” said Draco, squirming further out from underneath Harry with each word. “Look, Potter. I’m sorry about the animagus thing but you really blowing this out of all proportion.”

“Blowing it out of proportion?” Harry staggered to his feet, lurching closer to Draco who, in turn, skipped back a few feet. “Is that another size joke? Because I’m a cricket?”

“Well, I…”

“And how the fucking fuck are you a stag?” Harry carried on, pacing back and forth. “My patronus is a stag. My dad’s animagus was a stag. How am I a cricket and… and…” It was like he physically felt the fight go out of him. Plopping down on the grass, Harry stared unseeingly back at Hogwarts.

“And I’m a stag?” Draco moved closer, casting a drying charm before gingerly sitting down next to Harry. Harry felt the drying charm nudge up against his arse and felt a twinge of gratitude for Draco’s thoughtful spellwork. Even if the charm was a bit intrusive. “You heard what Hagrid said,” Draco continued, ducking his head to try and catch Harry’s eye. “An animagus takes a while to settle. Just because you’re a cricket now doesn’t mean you’ll be one forever. And I assume that I will have at most a week as a noble stag before settling into life as a ferret.”

Ohhh hiss hiss!

Severus Snape would be fake date. Everyone would think we were whispering sweet nothings to each other but he’d actually be teaching me to make a truly ssssssilibant ssssss. Also I imagine being a Snape date would include learning how to make a dramatic entrance/exit and, tbh, I worry that I’ll reach middle age without mastering the ability to strike fear into the hearts of the young people I work with.

Narcissa Malfoy has to be slow burn. I could not handle or forgive Narcissa as an enemy. We would need a gentle thawing of hostilities, rather than the all-out brawl of enemies to lovers.

Pansy Parkinson would be quite a fun enemy, don’t you think? She’s so blatant about her malocious intentions and the Gryffindor party of me can respect that. And with respect comes friendship and with that comes starring together as Romeo and Juliet in the Hogwarts talent show and that would require kissing practise. So.

Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley - 4th December in the HP Secret Santa(Hi @charlotte-bird​ - some of your beautiful Drarry fan art inspired @silveredglass​ to write the hauntingly lovely Quiet and it was a pleasure to create this for you!)  

requests are still open here 

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Ginny collapsed onto the grass, dark brown eyes fixed on Pansy. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“What a waste of an evening,” Pansy replied, eyes fixed on the bonfire. She had been looking at the moon, hanging full and gold above the forest, but gazing at the moon felt like a dangerous activity when Ginny was nearby.

“Not really, I’m found you, haven’t I?” said Ginny, nudging Pansy’s shoulder and then ducking her head to force eye contact.

Scowling, Pansy turned back to the fire and watched the silhouettes of their classmates dancing. Millicent had finally worked out how to tune the wireless into a Muggle dance station without causing it to belch purple smoke rings and the music spilled across the grass.

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Ginny, reaching over to nudge Pansy. “Why aren’t you dancing? With me?”

“Why would I dance with you?” Pansy kept her eyes on the fire, swallowing thickly as she felt Ginny shift closer to her.

“Um… because you want to?”

“I don’t… I’m not… fuck off, Weasley,” Pansy bounced to her feet as Ginny started sniggering. “Run along and bother someone else.”

“Looks like you’re the one running away, Parkinson.” Ginny scrambled to her feet, the bonfire illuminating a copper halo around her face as she stared at Pansy. “Stop doing that, it’s annoying. Come on,” she took a step forward, “dance with me?”

Pansy glared down at Ginny’s small freckled hand and frantically reminded herself of all the reasons why she had vowed to ignore the youngest Weasley at all costs. The Parkinsons may have come down in the world since the fall of Voldemort but they were not dirty little secrets.

Parkinsons did not allow themselves to be kissed breathless in dark corridors by Gryffindors who got their bravery from a glass of wine and avoided eye-contact the next day.

Parkinsons did not carry around the memory of being fed warm blackberries on cold autumn days for months, aching and hoping and feeling so unbearably frustrated that they just wanted to start tearing down the damned castle, stone by stone.