#wip rip

Do you ever just want to scream because details

tagged by the lovely @lou-isfake and @americanmoths and probably other folks before as I'm incredible disorganized about this. Tagging @sweet-s0rr0w and @onbeinganangel (who helped with the original version of this) plus @pineau-noir, @nv-md, @lastontheboat, @shealwaysreads and @maesterchill, and you, the person reading this, if you wanna play along!

I started working on this piece as a Summer Writin' entry (house of shadows/lost fae child) and was unsatisfied with what I could accomplish in 1k, so I set it aside and wrote my bittersweet vampire smut instead. I'm treating the "finished" 1k as a prompt for a potential future piece.

context: Harry has just entered a nature-reclaimed Hogwarts nearly two decades after the end of the war.

@lou-isfake tagged me to play and the incredible @softlystarstruck came into my DMs with this idea & I couldn't stop it from spinning. So have some random, unedited snips sent to Bee well past my bedtime. Tagging whoever wants to play!

"I know your body, I carved every rib, every bone, every bit of skin into existence."

-

Harry finally set down the chisel and stepped back from his work. The man in the stone was meant to be a hero, but there was something painfully melancholy in his eyes. Was it regret? Harry looked at his worn, calloused hands. Had these fingers writ that ache into the statue's marble gaze?

-

Unable to hold back, Harry rushed forward. He put his hand against the statue's bare chest. The surface was smooth and cool, unmoving, but this close, Harry looked up at the carved chin and aristocratic nose and could swear he saw a twitch of life, could feel heartbeat in the cavernous stone chest.

-

(sectumsempra but made marble ahead)

Fear overcame him too quickly to comprehend. Stone things aren't meant to live. He lashed out without thinking, sharp chisel slashing violently against the sculpture's pale chest.

His breath caught.

some wonderful humans tagged me this week! thank you @nv-md (amazing vampires here), @tackytigerfic (magical bonding deliciousness), @sweet-s0rr0w (debauched Auror partners) most of my current work is about to get posted or is anon, so I thought I'd share a rejected draft for this week's summer writing challenge, to be posted very soon! I still like this version, but this approach was going to be too long for 1k, so into the WIP graveyard it goes warnings for minor injury, and also last week I was tagged in a "codependent drarry" rec list, so I've decided to lean into that moniker on this one :')

Draco’s breath was hot on Harry’s mouth, so close they were sharing oxygen, and all Harry had to do was lean in a little closer. Harry grinned instead, a little too much fire in his eyes, in his mind, in his chest, burning like he was still flying through the night.

“Show me everything,” Draco gasped out as Harry’s fingers caught a bruise on his ribs, on his thigh, on his throat. “I know you did it, show me how.”

Harry kissed him then — finally — kissed him breathless, till Draco wanted to press him onto the shabby mattress and hold him down till morning. They didn’t have to run anymore, but he’d stay in every broken down hut if it meant Harry would stay with him.

“Look at me,” Harry said, and it was so easy to find those burning eyes.

Harry’s presence was a subtle spark; his wordless Legilimens too powerful, too clean, too easy to miss. Draco knew it, though, knew it for its slip into his mind like dew on dry leaves, he was too easy for Harry. He would do anything to let Harry sink his hands into his mind.

Hi Tee & @aminathescorpio thank you guys so much for asking!  This WIP is very, very barebones, mostly an idea-dumping doc because I desperately want to work on Potter’s Cottage.  I did just a teeny bit of it in my epilogue to Room Up There because it was in doing the original fic that I realized how much I love thinking about homes & spaces as a sort of character.  

The plot is inspired by a mash-up of a prompt that @meandminniemcg put in the Drarry Discord free-to-write channel ages ago (”Draco's community service entails working on the repair of the magic of  the Potters' house at Godric's Hollow...”) and @funkygourmetrva-blog‘s ideas about pensieve places. And my deep affection for family/house tapestries as a heartline of the house.

In which Draco becomes accidentally linked to the emotional/physical characteristics of Potter’s Cottage in restoring it by imbuing his memories into the place and taking on some of the painful memories from the walls.  When Draco retreats to Spinner’s End, I believe he’ll lose his magic, or willingly give it into the Cottage.  Draco remains as the primary caretaker for the grounds around the Cottage (and the Potters’ gravesite, and probably some sort of memorial site in Godric’s Hollow).

Enter Harry, who is disillusioned and unhappy and doesn’t actually know how to care for the house.  There’s the conflict between Draco caring so deeply and Harry not, and Harry hating Draco for having a deeper connection to Harry’s history and house, and of course, all of their shared history.  Anyway! It’s just ideas for now, and one little intro bit that I’ve picked around with (and possibly shared before:

It had rained in Godric’s Hollow every minute for the past seven months and seven days.  The residents had long since ceased their complaints to each other and had instead increased their letters to the Ministry.  Gone were the thick wool wizarding robes, as each resident had taken to a new uniform: bright yellow raincoats and sturdy black umbrellas.

49. What do you find the hardest to write in a story, the beginning, the middle, or the end?

D., all of the above! LOL! For different reasons, though. The beginning is hard because I don't know the story well yet. And the middle is difficult because I'm afraid all the work I've put in won't matter if it doesn't turn out well in the end. And the ending! Ugh! I'm not ready to be done with it, and I need a satisfying ending to justify reading so much. (But likewise -- the beginning is exciting because it's diving into something I've never tried yet, and the middle is fun to discover little threads I wasn't expecting, and the end means I get to share it with folks <3)

19. First line of a WIP you're working on.

Most of my WIP's are anon right now, but here's an excerpt from an abandoned Quidditch-fest idea I'd like to return and keep writing. Drarry sailing:

Splashed across the surface of the rippling Black Lake, a dozen small boats hesitated, propelled by magical and real wind together: the fifteenth annual Alumni Triwizard Tournament.

14. What's the most research you ever put into a book?

Honestly, I probably should put more research in. I think I might actually do more research on writing craft than the content of it? I tend to write with things I know already (and I happen to know some really bizarre niche things). Which means that my stories have lots of little bits I've picked up over time, and these may or may not be accurate. But want to know something about unreliable narrators? Oh, I've read loads and loads.

@lou-isfake​ absolutely adore that you asked about this one, as it’s the outtake from the Master-of-Death!Harry-saves-Draco abandoned WIP that I’ve mentioned before and you pointed out!!  This is the scene I built the idea for that WIP to get to write, and I’ll eventually turn it into something and publish that. Here’s a little snip from it:

Harry looked up at the shrouded figure.  They were staring. Or so it seemed, though he could not quite make out the figure’s features clearly enough to tell.  

Harry put his hands up again to tug off the mask, and they drew their wand, pointing it at him.  He put up his hands in surrender, startled, shaking his head.  

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, voice muffled by the mask.  

“Prêts?” the figure said, stepping backwards.  Definitely a man.  Harry watched him line up his feet over a golden line marked on the platform.  There was a matching line about a meter away.  Harry glanced up at the man, who was now pointing at the line expectantly.

Harry walked up to it.  “What is--”

“No,” the sharp British voice said.  “Prêts?” he asked again.  “Are you ready?” he bit out when Harry didn’t move.

“Ready for what?” Harry asked, looking down at the line in confusion.  

“En garde,” the man said, pointing his wand at Harry.  He raised a hand to mirror him, not bothering to draw his wand.  His heart was beginning to thud against his chest, and the sound was only amplified by the claustrophobia of the mask.

“Prêts. Allez.” The man bowed at Harry, then turned.  This was to be a duel, then.  Harry hurried to copy him, glancing over his shoulder to watch as the man walked five paces then turned.  Harry whipped around, nearly falling over his own feet.