My Life In Stolen Memes And HP

The Best of Food

Hey, Potter

Head Over Heels

The Softer Side of Draco Malfoy

Here's the Pencil, Make it Work

The Standard You Walk Past

and my all-time favorite:

touch starved harry and practiced casualness draco is nailed, taped, stapled, laminated, into my brain.

for @quail-in-red. this is just further proof that if anybody shows even the slightest interest in one of my dumb jokes, i crumble and perform like a silly jester at once. based on this post i made last year and rediscovered today about hp wizards playing DnD.

Dean didn’t give a lot of details when he invited Harry to his weekly dungeons and dragons game, but the last person Harry expected to see at the table was Draco Malfoy.

“We started a game together when we were, er,” Dean trailed off.

“When we were prisoners in Draco's house!” Luna finished for him brightly.

Malfoy didn’t say anything, just met Harry’s eyes stolidly and then went to fuss with the small pile of papers and cards in front of him.

Harry shared a look with Ron, who was already sitting between Dean and Hermione, and then sighed inwardly and took the last remaining seat between Seamus and Luna. He pulled out the premade character sheet Dean had owled him last week. It was wrinkled from having nearly been lost in a pile of post and then hastily shoved in Harry’s pocket before flooing to Dean’s flat. 

Harry looked around the table. Malfoy’s stack of papers was bigger than anyone else’s, even Hermione’s. And why did he have so many cards? There was a little wooden tray in front of him too. The dice in the tray looked iridescent, catching and reflecting the light. Trust Malfoy to have expensive poncy accessories. Why was he even here? Did he even like DnD? He’d grown up around magic his whole life; what did he need to pretend for?

“And so let’s go around and introduce our characters,” Dean finished. Harry had missed his whole introduction. “Since Draco and Luna have played before, we’ll start with them.”

Malfoy straightened up a little, carefully picking up his character sheet even though it seemed like he was so familiar with it, he didn’t need to reference it. “I’m Mike, a level three call center operator. I’m twenty-three years old, originally from Essex and just moved to London. I played football in uni, but am feeling less fit now that I have a job where I sit all day.”

Luna went next and spoke in a surprisingly deep voice. “My name is Archie, and I’m a level six IT consultant. I’m forty-six years old, originally from Norwich, but I moved to London for uni and never left. I’ve been married to my wife, Evelyn, for twenty years and we have two children and a cocker spaniel named Rosa.”

Harry stared down at the character sheet in front of him. He hadn’t looked at it before grabbing it in his rush to get here on time. It told him he was meant to be playing Grace, a 29 year old paramedic who’d grown up in London and recently broken up with her fiance after finding out he had cheated on her. She had a cat named Pomegranate. Harry didn’t know much about tabletop games, but there had been a group of kids that Dudley’s gang would sometimes target instead of Harry who had played. And what he’d overhead from their games didn’t sound anything like this.

“Hang on, these are just normal people; we’re all humans with muggle jobs. I thought we were playing dungeons and dragons, you know, with magic involved.”

Malfoy glared at him. “Weren’t you paying attention, Potter? Dean just explained the premise of our campaign.”

Harry didn’t want to admit to Malfoy he’d been too busy wondering what his dice were made of. He looked away from Malfoy to Dean. “Er, sorry. I was… distracted.”

Dean sighed but looked more resigned than irritated at having to explain again. “When I started the game with Draco and Luna, they got confused by the magic system because actual magic doesn’t work the way it does in DnD, so I made up a slightly different game we could play. We’re a group of Londoners in a recreational dodgeball league.”

“And honestly, Harry, it doesn’t feel right pretending to be of magical creature heritage for a game,” Hermione added. “Think of what kind of hurtful stereotypes we could fall into.”

“Okay…” Harry said slowly. It still felt strange, but now that he thought about it, he supposed he didn’t need to spend his Thursday evenings pretending to be part of a group camping out and hunting evil. Once per lifetime was enough without having to do it recreationally in the realm of imagination.

Harry smoothed out his character sheet again and introduced the group to Grace.

Inspired by @trashcanprince's 'Draco has moles' art, which completely rewired my brain. If I only write Draco with freckles and moles from now on, it's entirely that art's fault.

About 800 words of Harry kissing Draco's moles. That's it, that's the ficlet.

AO3 link

Harry blames it on the detention.

Potions was never his favourite class, but brewing potions in Snape’s dungeon as part of a two-hour detention has got to be a particularly cruel kind of torture.

Harry’s so bored his eyes keep wandering over to Malfoy, who’s sitting at the same desk as Harry, his long, pale neck outstretched to peer inside the bubbling cauldron in front of him. He waves his wand every so often above the gently simmering liquid, a muttered incantation on his lips.

The swotty bastard is so focused on his task, he’s not paying any attention to Harry. 

Harry swallows a twinge of annoyance. He’s raking his brain for something to needle Malfoy about—this indifferent, concentrated silence won’t do—when his gaze snags on a spot just above the top of Malfoy’s shirt collar.

There’s a mole there. 

Not even a mole. A freckle. 

A tiny, golden spot on Malfoy’s otherwise unblemished skin.

Harry holds his breath. Counts one, two… five such moles, dotting the back of Malfoy’s neck. There’s another one hiding behind Malfoy’s ear, half-concealed by the hair Malfoy tucks absentmindedly.

Harry holds his breath. He only notices he’s inched closer to Malfoy when he’s practically leaning over Malfoy’s back.

“Do you mind?” hisses Malfoy with a pointy elbow in Harry’s ribs. Harry sucks in a breath.

Holding his side, he meets Malfoy’s eyes over his shoulder. 

“I,” he starts. He places a hand on Malfoy’s arm—gentle, the touch light but firm enough to feel the warmth of Malfoy’s skin through his shirt, the hard muscle. 

Malfoy swallows.

“Can I—?” says Harry, leaning into him. 

“Potter…” Malfoy’s voice is thin and strangled.

“Let me,” says Harry. He nuzzles into Malfoy’s neck and mouths at the freckle.

Malfoy holds very still under Harry’s parted lips. He lets out the tiniest of whimpers as Harry’s tongue darts out to lick. Harry hears the sound through the mad thundering of his pulse in his ears.

Malfoy leans his head to the right, exposing the long column of his throat.

i realised that film draco has moles on his neck, so uh..

Harry: …

Hm? Ian Flynn, the writer that worked on Frontiers, will work on this remaster too, you say?

Flynn? From Frontiers? With those cutscenes between Sonic and Knuckles?