#quality fic

“You cooked.” Malfoy’s voice is flat, and Harry can’t tell if he’s already fucked up or if Malfoy approves. “And you’ve… bathed.” Well, it’s hard not to take that one as an insult. “I take plenty of showers, Malfoy,” Harry says, affronted. “I’d go so far as to call them daily.” “That’s not—” Malfoy turns to him. “Is this— Are you practising? For a date?” Harry looks at the kitchen with new eyes. It had seemed silly not to open a bottle of wine to go with the roast chicken (who has a roast without wine?). And since he’d opened a bottle, it seemed only natural to light a candle. The whole thing taken together, though, does give off a rather date-y vibe. Fuck. Harry opts for honesty. “Not really. It just felt rude not to offer you dinner. Are you not hungry? Sorry about—” He gestures at the candles, the romantic lighting, the wine “—this. I promise I’m not trying to seduce you.” “Right.” Malfoy still looks suspicious. “Believe me,” Harry says hurriedly. “If I was trying to sleep with you, I probably would have already managed to insult you, and spill something on you, and dinner would be burned, and the wine would be off. My dates are never this successful.” “You insult the people you want to sleep with?” “Well, not on purpose.” Harry rubs at his temples. He wishes he’d managed to eat something today. His stomach feels fucking horrible. “It’s more like I accidentally say something stupid, and it gets taken the wrong way.” “Ah.” Malfoy walks over to the table and lifts the bottle of wine, inspecting the label. Harry hadn’t even looked at it when he’d grabbed it from the cellar. He thinks it’s red. It’s very dusty. “So﹕ when you’re interested in someone, you call them names and ruin their dinner. But when you’re not interested, you comb your hair and serve them two-hundred galleon wine.”

“It’s hot,” Malfoy said, as if Harry couldn’t tell that from looking at him. His face had flushed pink and his hair had gone limp with sweat. His robes remained buttoned all the way up to his throat, and the fine black wool had to be stifling. “Then take off your robes,” Harry said. Malfoy’s chin came up a fraction. “No.” “Then quit complaining,” Harry told him. Like that would ever happen. “Fuck off, Potter,” Malfoy snapped at him. He shoved a hand through his damp hair and it stood up oddly on one side. Harry fought down the urge to taunt him about it. “One or the other, Malfoy. Either take off your robes or shut your mouth.” “I can’t,” Malfoy said. Harry rolled his eyes again. “Well, I knew that much. If you were capable of keeping your fucking mouth shut—” “No,” Malfoy interrupted. “I mean, I can’t.” He fixed his gaze on the wall just beside Harry’s head. “I’m a wizard.” “I’ve noticed that,” Harry said dryly. “I’m a proper wizard,” Malfoy clarified, his eyes darting to Harry before sliding away again. “Unlike you.” Harry’s hands clenched into fists. “If you’re going to lecture me on blood purity you can just—” “I’m not wearing anything under them,” Malfoy said. He gave a haughty sniff. “It ruins the lines.” Harry blinked at him. “So you’re, er…” “Yes.” “Not even, um…” “No.” “Bloody hell.” Harry felt a bit faint, and he couldn’t quite blame it on the stuffy warmth of the small room.

"Ron, you can't just—" "I don't care if he's balls deep in—oh, hi, Malfoy. Speak of the devil." "Unfortunately not, Weasley, as you can see." Malfoy leans back against the headboard, sheet pooling around his very-clearly-naked hips. "Not a single cock inside me." "Ron!" Hermione admonishes. "Sorry, Harry, erm. Malfoy. We just wanted to check in." "Yeah," Ron says, throwing up his hands. "Seeing as the papers just released an emergency edition saying you'd left the hospital with life-threatening injuries, and the Ministry saying they had no further information! Ever heard of a patronus Harry?" "Sorry," Harry says, but he can't help grinning. "I'm okay. Obviously. Also, I'm—er. Into men." "Obviously," Malfoy drawls. "Yes!" Hermione blurts out earnestly. "Well, what I mean is, that's good. Thank you for telling us!" "Yeah. Such a big surprise," Ron says, deadpan. "Never saw it coming."

“I heard about your catastrophic foray into homosexuality.” Harry choked on his drink. “My—? What?” So he’d just come over to mess with Harry, like he always did. Harry could already anticipate a new segment appearing in the quarterly Potter reports Malfoy insisted on delivering to Harry’s inbox—a chart of his valuation as a lover over time, right below the sections on the going rates for paparazzi shots of him and the market demand for saviour memorabilia. And the last report had already been twenty pages long—soon Harry was going to need to clear out a second desk drawer to store them in. “Now, I’m not judging,” Malfoy said gleefully as Harry suffered a coughing fit. “No, that wouldn’t be like you at all,” Harry finally managed to croak.

would you ever make a list of your favorite drarry fics? ive run out and i trust ur opinion lol

“I still can’t quite get my head around this…” “What? Oh, oh." His face fell. "I get it. It’s a one and done for you, is it?” “No. Merlin, No, I’m just finding it difficult to believe…” “Believe what, Potter?” “Well. That you find me , uh... sexy. I’m so, you know… wonky. Crooked.” “And? I’m gangly and too pale and am a martyr to my greasy t-zone. What of it? Nobody’s a supermodel around here. Have you seen our year?” “Except Blaise.”