@drarrymicrofic for the prompt Silver.
Word count: 786
Warnings for brief explicit content, MCD, and unhappy ending 🫣
———————————————————————
Harry had been hunting a werewolf. After the war, and after the devastation he’d seen Fenrir wrought, he’d decided some were simply too rabid to live. That was how he became the Ministry’s top Werewolf Removal Expert. Unfortunately for him, this current one proved to be cunning.
It was the third consecutive month in a row someone had been torn apart and Harry was no closer to catching it.
This latest kill had been personal. The sight was too grisly and Harry had vomited on the spot when he’d seen Ginny’s body. Ron had been prevented from entering the bedroom Harry and Ginny shared, and where she now lay with her ribs exposed and heart missing.
Something happened then. Some piece of Harry’s mind, the one which looked out at the world and decided if it was still worth it, had fractured. Now, everything looked skewed. His mind had shattered in two and the pieces hadn’t joined together correctly.
Crushing his fag in the filthy bar’s ashtray, Harry stumbled towards the door. He couldn’t stay with these thoughts.
———————————————————————
Shame was like a bitter paste on his tongue. Even as he swallowed, it burned and coated the inside of his mouth. But he couldn’t resist this—the one thing that made Ginny’s pale corpse and Ron’s animalistic wails melt away.
Draco held Harry’s head still, even as he tried to pull away.
There were tears and saliva streaming down his face. Harry couldn’t breathe. That was how he wanted it. Draco caressed his hair gently and nudged his cock in further.
Harry almost let out a muffled sob of gratitude.
Later, as he floated in that space where he wasn’t suffocated by shame, regret, and sorrow, he turned to look at Draco who was getting dressed.
“Thank you,” he said, a tear slipping down his face to wet his hair.
Draco looked at him intensely. “We could be together. Not just in hidden hotels and with false names.”
Harry shook his head. “I can’t. Ginny’s death is too fresh. The Weasleys will never accept it.”
“When, then?” Draco demanded coldly. His voice sent shivers of shame down Harry’s back.
“One day.” For some reason Harry almost couldn’t say the words—they rang hollow.
Draco opened the door to their room and Harry briefly panicked that someone would see him in this hole in the wall Muggle establishment. “Right,” Draco spat.
There was a pause, and he was gone.
The next murder was Astoria. Draco took losing his wife hard. But Harry was there to comfort him. He promised he’d catch the beast responsible. Draco merely nodded as he held Harry close in his marital bed.
It smelled of lilies.
Then one night, Harry was at home, drinking, when he received an urgent call from Ron.
“Harry! The werewolf is here at the Burrow! It cornered us in the shed. Mum cast a Barrier Spell but you have to bring the Aurors!”
Not wasting any time, Harry warned his team and Apparated to the Weasley’s land. A great white werewolf was there, gnashing its teeth and throwing itself against the rickety shed door.
Harry’s heart fell.
“Hey!” he shouted.
The werewolf immediately turned around and came for him.
Harry knew what he had to do. Shakily, he drew his gun and cocked it. Pulling the trigger, the silver bullet hit the werewolf right in its chest.
It crumpled, and Harry, no fear whatsoever, ran to it.
Its breathing was laboured and a trickle of blood dripped out its mouth, staining its beautifully white fur. Like a mirage, the werewolf shimmered and transformed back into a human.
Draco.
Harry cradled his head in his lap and stroked his soft hair.
“Where am I?” Draco croaked.
Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. “The Burrow.”
Draco frowned in confusion. Casting his eyes towards the shed, he asked, “Did I do that?”
Harry nodded.
Tears brimmed Draco’s eyes. “Am I the werewolf?”
The sob from months earlier tore out of Harry unimpeded this time. “Yes.”
Draco’s head fell back “How long have you known?” he asked, voice wet.
Wiping his face, Harry sniffed. “I’ve suspected since Ginny.”
Draco groaned in pain. His hand lifted and brushed a fresh tear from Harry’s face. “I loved you,” he murmured, breathless.
“I know.”
“Thank you for giving me longer than I deserved.” Draco’s voice was growing fainter.
Harry shrugged. “It was my own weakness.” He bent down, their foreheads almost touching. “I love you too,” he whispered.
Draco smiled. “I know.”
They kissed until Draco’s breathing stopped. An owl hooted overhead.
Harry was now fractured beyond repair. All that was left of his mind was the twisted and chipped silver filigree of his memories.
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Draco calls Harry drunk from a club years after Hogwarts, leading to hot and heavy car sex on the side of the motorway. Thank god for broken streetlights.
2. Like Sunlight on Waves by im_hereforthe_brownies [G, 1k]
“There’s another. It’s not happy, exactly. Well it is. It’s the happiest I’ve ever felt. But it’s complicated.”
3. Of Potters and Ferrets by ashhnole [T, 2k]
Draco in his animagus form is rescued by none other than the Saviour, Harry Potter. Always Harry Potter.
4. Of Wolves and Wankers by @virtuallola [E, 1k]
Harry knows there’s something going on with his fiancé. He also knows how to kill a werewolf. What he doesn’t know is what to do when said werewolf sniffs his crotch and looks at him with grey eyes.
Bingo squares: “Action”, “Mystery”, “Creature Fic”, and “Fighting to Fucking”
Yay! My first BINGO 💚
Of Werewolves and Wankers by BlueBeards_Wife
Of Werewolves and Wankers
Harry tried to kiss his fiancé goodbye, but Draco leaned away.
That was it; Harry was going to throttle him until his muleheadedness popped out of his ears.
“See you tonight,” he said gruffly instead.
Draco grunted in response.
Harry slammed the door and stomped out into the sun.
As he arrived at the Auror Headquarters, he was rapidly ushered into the conference room to wait for Robards.
Ron nodded once in greeting. “Late night?”
“You could say that.”
The truth was Harry spent the night staring at the ceiling wondering where Draco was. His fiancé was disappearing more and more—coming back with odd bruises on his body and always in an irritable mood.
Harry knew what he wanted to believe—that his fiancé was out doing something unsavoury and not someone unsavoury. But it’d also been four months of Draco pulling away. Four months where he stopped confiding in Harry, where he wasn’t in bed when Harry turned in for the night. And worst of all, to Harry’s great dismay and frustration, he’d begun declining sex.
Ron paused and looked at him closely. “The ferret alright?”
“I guess.”
“What? No—” Ron put on a mocking voice, “—don’t call him ferret, he’s paid his dues?”
Robards stormed into the room.
“We’ve reached the breaking point.” He frowned. “I received twenty complaints last night alone. Store fronts destroyed, couples chased, howling at all hours of the night! Mrs Floritine’s crup was eaten, for Merlin’s sake!” Robards whipped out his wand and a calendar appeared on the wall. “The attacks are concentrated around the full moon. I believe we have a rogue werewolf on our hands.”
There was a loud murmur.
“Given their extremely dangerous nature, our weapons division has something new.” Robards shot a glance to two junior Aurors who began distributing black cases. “Naturally, we’d prefer you use your wands to apprehend the suspect. But for defense, this’ll do.”
Harry opened the case and his eyes shot out of his head at the sight of the handgun and bullets.
“Muggle guns, yes. However, the bullets are pure silver and will kill a werewolf if need be,” Robards explained. Then, he turned to Harry and Ron. “Potter, Weasley. You two are heading this investigation.”
”Thank you, sir,” they responded in unison.
That evening, Harry waited for Draco to return home. The Unspeakable division obviously knew about the werewolf, but he still wanted to warn Draco about it.
Instead, he spent the night feeling like a ditchable date and nursing a bottle of firewhisky. When he stumbled his way upstairs and fell on their bed, his drool wetting the covers they’d chosen together, he was utterly alone.
One month later, Harry was just about to call it quits on everything.
“You’ve had an entire month before the next series of attacks and you two are no closer to catching this feral beast!” Robards reprimanded.
“Sir,” Ron started, “we asked around but no one—”
“A stakeout—that’s what’s needed. I want you both out there every night in Diagon Alley, ready to catch this monster.” Robards cast them a hard glance. “Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” they replied.
When Robards left, Ron turned to Harry. “Hermione’s not going to like this.”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t think Draco will even notice.”
———————————————————————————————————
It was the fifth night Ron and Harry had sat in the abandoned butcher shop behind a Disillusionment Charm. Ron had finished his sandwich; balling up his napkin, he threw it and missed the bin.
Ron drummed his fingers on the stained countertop. “So,” he began.
“So,” Harry imitated.
“How is everything with you and the man who asked for your skinny arse in marriage?”
Harry scoffed. “Draco, you mean.”
“Yeah, that one.”
Harry turned to look out the rain splattered window. The street was quiet and dark. It was just past 1 a.m. on a Tuesday night and everyone was mostly at home, asleep.
“It’s fine,” Harry finally supplied.
“Are you sure ‘bout that? Lately you seem off and it’s clearly—”
“I’m off for a smoke.”
“What? You don’t smoke.”
Harry shrugged. “Yeah well, pretend I do.”
The bell above the door clanged as Harry left. The streets were silent and dark, as Harry prowled aimlessly down them.
Slowly, he became aware of a presence following him. Getting closer—breathing down his neck.
Discreetly, he pulled out his wand, ready to cast an Incarcerous. Keeping up his pace, he counted to ten in his head.
Eight.
Nine.
Harry gripped his wand tight and held it up to his chest.
TEN.
Whipping his head from left to right, he couldn’t believe it.
Nothing.
Then a rubbish bin fell over, making a ruckus. Harry was on the werewolf’s trail—he knew it. However, just as he began to smile, he was suddenly flying through the air and hitting a wall with a thump and a groan.
Stars danced across Harry’s vision as he fumbled for his glasses. A dark, humongous figure was approaching. It was crouched and blurry, but Harry knew exactly what it was.
And if this creature was going to kill him, Harry was damn well going to see it in 20/20.
Glasses back on, Harry’s lips parted. The beast was covered in thick, black fur and saliva dripped from its bared teeth. Harry’s blood ran cold as the werewolf approached him, its heavy paws echoing in the silent alleyway.
Harry patted himself for his wand but came up empty. In dismay, he saw it lying in a puddle further back. There was a warm huff on his cheek and Harry froze at once. The creature had leaned in, planting its sharp claws on either side of Harry’s head, and sniffed him.
He was going to die like this. He was going to end up as puppy chow without ever having confronted his wanker fiancé about the philandering.
It was bollocks.
But then, their gazes met and there was something in the creature’s grey eyes. It stuck its snout into Harry's mouth and sniffed hard. Could it smell his fear? Or the firewhisky? Did werewolves judge drinking? The beast forced Harry’s maw wide open and crammed its tongue inside. It licked all inside his mouth as if claiming him.
Harry gagged and pushed the monster away.
It let out a vicious snarl and Harry’s hands reached for the gun. Carefully, he cocked it, then pulled the trigger. Letting out an ear-piercing cry of anguish, the werewolf fell back and clutched its side.
Harry ran until he arrived at the little cemetery tucked away behind the shops. He glanced back; he had to return and tell Ron. But without his wand it would be impossible. He would have to venture back into the heart of Diagon Alley.
There was a long, sad howl. Harry watched the werewolf sniff the air then gallop in his direction.
“Fuck. Shite.” Harry tripped on a broken headstone. “Arse. This is so arse.”
When the hard and ferocious body barreled down on him, Harry hit the ground with an oomph. Face down and dirt in his mouth, he was certain death was near. Waiting for the bite to come, he instead jumped when there was a small whimper and lick behind his ear.
The werewolf turned him around. Fear coursed through Harry’s veins until it stopped short.
He knew those grey eyes. He could never forget them.
Harry glanced down at the patch of missing fur on the wolf’s arm. It was exactly where the Dark Mark had once been. Draco had returned from work one day with a smile on his face and a scar on his arm. “Took care of that,” he’d said with a cheeky grin.
“Draco?” Harry asked.
The wolf bent its large head forwards and licked Harry’s cheek.
“Godric, you bellend! This is your big secret!” he yelled.
Narrowing its great big eyes, the wolf snapped once at Harry.
Harry swatted its face. “Ah, shut it. This is your fault; I thought you were cheating on me.”
Draco growled and used his great paw to keep Harry down. Backing up a bit, he sniffed and nuzzled around Harry’s crotch. Suddenly, his ears pricked up and he nosed Harry’s groin even harder.
Their gazes met, and Harry saw his own desire reflected back.
Harry kicked him in the face and Draco snarled. Shoving Harry to the ground, he clawed off his robes and began licking his body.
“Draco! What the hell do—”
Harry tried to kick and punch him again but he was flipped onto his front. A pause. Then, Draco’s hungry snout pushed its way between his arsecheeks.
This could not be happening.
Draco’s tongue found Harry’s rim and began licking it as if it was some sort of treat. And Godric, as much as Harry wanted to push him away and pretend to be disgusted, it’d been too long and he was so bloody randy.
He fully intended to get up and leave. But the oddest thing happened—he lifted his arse and arched his back instead.
Draco’s tongue was soft and supple. By the time he’d cleaned Harry of any scent that wasn’t his own, Harry’s hole was practically gaping and begging for more.
“Draco.” Harry’s cock was hard and heavy. It swung beneath him and painted the grass with precome. “Fuck me, please,” he whined.
The wolf understood that.
With a playful nip on Harry’s arsecheek, Draco pulled away then mounted him. It took several thrusts, until finally his red cock caught on Harry’s rim. He sank in with one deep thrust and Harry dug his face into the ground moaning.
He’d almost gotten accustomed to the size when suddenly, his rim was being pulled taut on each thrust in and out. Harry remembered Ripper and when he’d bred the neighbour’s bitch.
Harry would now be that bitch.
Maybe he’d always been that bitch? A werewolf was going to knot him and he wasn’t even fighting it.
On the next push in, Harry let out a hiss which turned into a groan. Draco had finally popped in for good and his cock had found Harry’s prostate.
Merlin, it shouldn’t have, but it felt good. Vision whiting, Harry orgasmed so hard he was dizzy.
Nuzzling Harry’s neck, Draco brought them to lie on their sides. His huge body covered Harry’s and his thick fur protected him against the chill of the coming morning.
The knot pulled on his rim; Harry squinted and looked at the sunrise. There was a sudden shout accompanied by the cracking of bones.
The werewolf writhed and twisted, then slowly transformed into Draco.
His gaze was hard and lingered on Harry. “You shot me,” he accused.
“And you failed to mention you were a werewolf now.”
Draco looked scared all of a sudden.
“Which is good.” Harry sat up and winced at the come leaking out of him. “Because I cannot wait for the next full moon.”
Written for the @draco-tops-harry-discord-server word game!
The prompt was Yellow. WC: 381
YELLOW
Draco was exhausted. He’d just spent the better part of the day arguing with his investors—the ones with the permanently pinched looks on their faces. They were cretins and morons, and he knew better than them that a cube which dispensed games onto a telly was destined to fail.
It was a hideous thing too. All square and grey. It reminded him of the puzzle box from that horror film Harry had insisted they watch. The one with the appealing BDSM outfits, and which had pushed Draco into acquiring a ball gag for Harry.
But, regardless of how tired Draco felt, as soon as his husband had greeted him at the door with a cheeky grin, he was a goner.
Harry grasped his hand and tugged him up the stairs. “Come on, I have something I want to show you.”
Between Harry’s round arse and his endearing waddles, Draco had practically salivated as he followed behind. All he wanted was to support that heavy belly from behind, and kiss Harry’s neck as he followed along.
When Harry had agreed to marry him, Draco had thought he couldn’t love the man more than he already did. But when Harry’s belly had grown with new life and blood, Draco felt his soul break into three parts. One for Harry. One for the baby. And the small chipped piece left for himself.
However, Harry was now eight months pregnant. Draco’s hands shot out behind Harry as he climbed the stairs. As much as he glowered when Draco brought it up—he was terribly unbalanced.
Draco took hold of his arm, and helped him the final steps. Arriving on the landing, Draco turned to his husband. “Where to now?”
Harry grinned. “This way.”
He brought Draco to the nursery door and bit his lip as it swung open.
Yellow.
Draco loathed the colour yellow.
Everything was yellow. The walls, the rug, the cradle. Even the little picture frame of a lemon hanging on the wall beside the changing station was yellow.
There was So. Much. Yellow.
Draco was in despair.
“Well, what do you think?” Harry asked excitedly.
Draco’s eye twitched. “I love it,” he croaked out
And he would. He’d love it for Harry and for the baby.
Hey, look, another @hd-wireless fic claim!
I'm happy to finally be able to say that I wrote Dracoula.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/85098251
Dracula by Tame Impala had already moved into my head and refused to pay rent when I saw this Wireless prompt. I am eternally grateful to @virtuallola for jumping in and being an absolutely amazing beta reader and to @cherriontop for cheering me on and keeping me going.
You might like this fic if you enjoy vampires, an overly dramatic Draco, a besotted Harry, a bit of a crack-style approach, and a dash of soul mate.
You might not like this fic if you are squicked out by blood.
And finally, a great big thank you to the mods who ran this! You are awesome!
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Draco is driven to distraction every time Harry is near. The jokes and flirting are too much for him to bear--particularly when he has to watch every witch in town throw themselves at Harry. When they end up on a stakeout together, the truth about how Draco feels is bound to come out one way or another, possibly to explosive results.
2. What I Can Take by wazl [E, 2k]
After a brief, heated altercation with Draco Malfoy, Harry lets off some steam. It doesn’t mean anything.
3. What is Love by @virtuallola [M, 1k]
Draco has always been jealous, but he has a handle on it. However, when he watches Harry, in heat, dancing with another man, he loses all reason. That’s all it takes. [...]
4. The You I've Never Met by @seventhfracture [T, 10k]
Draco discovers Harry Potter is his soulmate at possibly the worst time imaginable. Harry rebukes him and Draco supposes there's nothing that can be done but when, after the war, Draco tries to contact Harry and is rebuked again the reality that he has become the kind of man whose soulmate's idea of 'happily ever after' is never having to see him again sends Draco crashing to rock bottom. There Draco decides all he can do is pick up the pieces and try to become someone he, and maybe Harry, can respect.
---
Fest/Exchange
1. Habituation by Anonymous [E, 1k]
[...] Draco takes to soothing his smarting ego by reminding himself that Harry keeps bouncing back to him, as well. He just needs to make it stick.
★ Room of Wrecks - HP Kinkmeme | @hpkinkmeme
For the @draco-tops-harry-discord-server acrostic word game. The word was LEAN.
Word count: 125
L - Looking down at Harry, Draco ran his hand through his dark tresses.
E - Even now—like this—he was beautiful. Tears wet his cheeks and left clean streaks down his filthy face.
A - “Absolutely beautiful,” Draco murmured. Green eyes looked so hopeful—so pleading. But Draco couldn’t change Potter’s fate. He’d been caught in the forest of Dean. The Weasel and Mudblood had been Avada Kedavraed by Bellatrix herself. Harry was all that was left.
N - Never one to miss an opportunity, Draco crouched down and cradled Harry’s face. “Don’t worry; I think I can convince the Dark Lord to hand your punishment over to me.” Harry sobbed behind the gag in his mouth. Draco stood up straight and held his head high. It was his lucky day.
Harry's head was still spinning, and his lungs strained to get enough oxygen into his blood.
His mouth was dry, his lips a bit chapped from breathing through them for the past—he looked at the clock on the wall, squinted at it, trying to guess without his glasses—an hour? Two? He barely had enough strength to turn his head back and keep staring at the ceiling.
"You're dehydrated. Come on, drink."
Fingers slipped into his matted black hair and lifted his head just enough so Harry could down a full glass of water. He gasped for more air afterwards, let his eyes fall shut, and his head fall back onto the mattress.
The mattress was wet. The sheets, too, were wet. Harry moved his arm sluggishly and felt for the fabric. Sodden, everywhere, rumpled, and one corner had come undone. Merlin, Harry had come undone. A single little giggle escaped his roughened throat. It made the muscles in his abdomen tighten, which led to—oh, fuck, he was leaking come, adding more to the mess. It shouldn't feel so hot. How could it feel so hot? It had been nothing like this with Ginny. Never.
Harry moaned, clenched his hole to keep it inside, then huffed another breathless, blissed-out laugh.
The bed beside him dipped. A warm washcloth touched his come-stained middle. Twice. He had come all over himself twice. After coming down Draco's demanding throat.
"You're not losing your mind, are you?" Draco asked, cleaning him without magic, taking his time. "Not that anyone would be able to tell the difference if that head of yours had finally emptied itself entirely."
"You could," Harry said, then swallowed. Draco's words were mean, as always, but his touches with the warm, soft washcloth were so tender. It smelled like lavender. Soothing.
"Ah, that would be because I'm the only one paying actual attention to you." Draco lifted one of Harry's limp legs off the bed and wiped him down from taint to rim, humming with pleasure when he saw Harry's puffed, used entrance twitch from it.
"Is that why it felt like this?"
"Elaborate," Draco prompted, repeating his gentle ministrations on the other side.
Harry sighed, blinked his eyes back open, and watched the patches of light scattered through the tree in front of the bedroom window dance. "I don't know how to describe it."
"Vain prat," Harry laughed, because he felt high from what had happened and couldn't even begin to get mad.
"Try again," Draco instructed him, rinsed the cloth, then bent over Harry to wipe his sweaty face.
Harry locked eyes with him and lost himself for a moment in the silver, the tiny creases proving Draco was smiling earnestly. At Harry. Cleaning him. After he had kissed Harry until his knees had given out, his mind reeling, his hands clinging. Draco had got them upstairs, into bed, naked. He had talked Harry through it, step by step, explaining what he was about to do to him, knowing Harry had no experience with men, only wet dreams.
"I—" Harry started, then stopped, unsure how to put into words what was a tangled heap of confusing feelings sticking to an epiphany or two, wrapped in regret for taking so long. The timing was all wrong. "I think," he started again.
"Can you?" Draco grinned at him, set the cloth aside, and lay down next to Harry, head propped on one hand, starkers and beautiful, and Harry lost his train of thought again.
"No." Harry looked away from him, then tried a third time. "It was so good."
"I know."
"Shut up." Harry attempted to smack him, but his arms were still all gooey. "You were probably showing off anyway."
"Quite the contrary. I was holding back," Draco told him, one hand stroking up Harry's stomach, up through his chest hair, caressing him.
"You were?" Harry whimpered.
"You already seemed quite overwhelmed," Draco said, low and smug, but also fond. "I have to admit, I like the look on you."
Harry took a deep breath—Merlin, even all the muscles around his ribs ached—then grabbed for words swimming in his head and exhaled. Maybe he had the right ones now. "I didn't think it could feel this way."
"You really ought to elaborate," Draco replied.
"Fine. Er." Harry twitched when Draco traced a nipple with one finger. "Stop that. It's distracting."
"To the weak of mind."
"You made me weak, you git." Harry lazily slapped at Draco's hand and let his tired forearm rest on his chest after missing him.
"Hm, yes." Draco smiled at him. Harry couldn't breathe again.
"I didn't know," Harry scrambled to gain linguistic ground, "that this was real?" He sounded unsure, and Draco's frown told him to elaborate. "I thought this, this, I dunno. This feeling like melting inside, forgetting your own name, the whole thing about seeing stars and your mind going blank was all bodice ripper rubbish."
"You finally learnt to read, and that's what you chose?"
"Draco," Harry groaned. "What does sex feel like to you?"
Draco raised his brows and blinked several times.
"Do you always enjoy it?"
"That's the whole point of carnal pleasures, isn't it?"
"Is it?"
"Harry," he said, using his given name for the first time that day. He used it sparingly, to get Harry's full attention. It worked, always, like a charm. "What is sex like for you?"
"Er." Now it was Harry's turn to blink. Thinking was still hard. "A more intimate way to take the edge off than wanking?"
"The edge off?" Draco repeated slowly.
"Yeah." Harry nodded sheepishly. "You can't pretend you don't feel that too. Bit like pressure, and then you need to get it out or you start biting at the furniture."
"You animal." Draco snorted and pinched him.
"My edge is now so far off I can't even tell where it is. Over the horizon, maybe, or in a different dimension. I feel all floaty and buzzing, and—" His words dissolved when Draco began to shake his head with a broad smile. "Er, I... Like this. Chest all full, and like I can't move and I don't want to move, and I feel, I feel—how do I feel?"
Harry was getting emotional, and it got worse the longer he looked into Draco's eyes. Or it got better. He couldn't tell. He needed someone to tell him.
Draco didn't say anything, only held his gaze, his hand wandering over Harry's body without cease, his fingertips causing goosebumps with their tenderness.
"How do I feel?" Harry asked, and suddenly his eyes were stinging, welling up with tears. "I've never felt—this—all of this," he admitted, still unable to label what this was, feeling embarrassed for crying.
"Harry," Draco said again, his hand sliding up the column of Harry's throat as he swallowed a growing knot in it, then further up, cupping his cheek. "Have you never had sex with someone you were in love with before?"
Something in Harry shattered, fell entirely apart, and he couldn't even see Draco's pretty face anymore. He was crying too hard. Merlin, fuck, he was such a mess. He was ruining it. Draco would wrinkle his nose and push him away and be done with this and leave and—
"Shh, darling," Harry heard him say, and a thumb stroked his cheekbone. "How can you not know what love feels like?"
Harry only shook his head and turned onto his side, pulling his legs up. Draco kissed his forehead, his wet cheeks, his trembling shoulders, stroked his back.
"You have to admit, it is a little silly, considering the way you've always looked at me," Draco told him quietly, pulling him closer. "I rather thought you knew you were in love with me."
"I'm an idiot," Harry wept.
"You are, yes, but it seems you only needed a little educational experience."
Nothing about this was little. His entire world had shifted a step to the left, and Harry was stumbling to keep up.
"You can be mine, if you want," Draco whispered. "Do you want that?"
Harry nodded, never having been more sure of anything, even if he couldn't put it into words himself. He wanted Draco. Always.
He had spent years pretending the little jump in his stomach whenever Draco entered his office was irritation. Then came the chats in the Ministry cafeteria. The glances in the lift that made him blush. He learnt which days Draco worked late because those were the evenings Harry somehow found reasons to linger.
Then there were the stolen kisses in dark pub corridors when Harry got separated from his pack of Gryffindor friends on the way to the loo—kisses Harry never drew away from, blaming the beer each time and never once his heart.
Draco had always been there too.
"Do you want to feel this again? Letting go of all your worries, giving in to pleasure? Knowing you'll be properly cared for?" Draco continued, pulling Harry flush against him, his hand halting its wandering so he could hold him tightly around the waist.
Harry nodded again, wheezed a yes between sobs.
"I can love you the way you deserve," Draco said, nuzzling into Harry's hair. "You deserve so much better. I'll be that. I can do it." He inhaled deeply. "I love you more than anyone else."
Harry believed it, saw it now. It had been in every touch, in the way Draco had reverently kissed every inch of his body. In his unguarded face. In every breathless word murmured against Harry's skin as he pushed inside: so good, so perfect for me, made for me.
"Be mine," Draco said. "Let me take you to restaurants worth dressing for, show you off, holding my hand, only mine, you gorgeous, sweet man." His voice was growing more possessive, and, inexplicably, it was what Harry needed for the tears to ebb.
Harry could see it: them, side by side, walking tall, all eyes on them, bearing the scandal of it with their heads held high. "I'm not a trophy," Harry said with a sniff.
Draco pulled back so he could look Harry in the eyes. "Say the word and you never have to come home wishing you were somewhere else. I'll make sure you never mistake being wanted for being loved again."
Harry looked at him and nervously bit his lip as his heart jumped into his throat, since his chest lacked the space to keep it. He thought about how Draco had been brave enough to hold his gaze like this for years.
And Harry had been blind, so unfathomably blind.
"Yours," Harry replied.
With a deafening crack, Draco Apparated them out of the bedroom, leaving the ring he had pulled from Harry's finger while cleaning him behind, wrapped in the wet cloth on Ginny's nightstand.
Draco was six the first time he got a glimpse. His family was on holiday in their Villa in Nice. It was just a flash, a glimmer of emerald scales and then still water.
Draco was eight the second time. They hadn’t been in France the previous summer and he was anxious to catch another glimpse. And there it was, water glistening on wet scales; that beautiful deep green, the flicker of a tail and it was gone.
Draco was ten the first time they spoke. Well, speaking might be an overstatement. Draco said “Hi” and the creature just blinked deep emerald eyes at him, face still wet from the ocean water and let out a soft thrill before he left again.
When Draco was eleven things were different. The creature was waiting for him, lounging on a rock, emerald tail flopping playfully.
“Hello,” said Draco, approaching the rock carefully.
The creature turned his head and smiled at Draco with sharp teeth. “Hello,” it echoed. He waved Draco closer.
Draco felt a spark of excitement. “You can understand me?” he asked. “Do you have a name? Where do you live?”
The creature seemed amused at the barrage of questions. “I can understand… little,” he replied. His voice sounded like the whisper of the wind over the water and the sound of the waves crashing on the surf all at once. “Live in water,” he pointed at the ocean. “Name?” He cocked his head.
Draco smiled. “My name is Draco,” he pressed his hand to his chest to emphasize what he meant. “What’s your name?” He pointed at the creature.
Green eyes seemed to light up in understanding. “Name is…” he let out a thrill and looked at Draco expectantly.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand your language.” He frowned a little and looked at the creature. He watched his emerald eyes sparkle and his impressively unruly mop of hair dance in the ocean breeze. “What if I call you… Harry?”
The creature—Harry?—beamed and nodded. “Harry,” he repeated. “Like.” He flopped his tail happily. “Play?” He pointed at the water.
Draco hesitated and looked down at his clothes. His parents would get angry if he got them wet, but his parents weren’t here… He smiled and jumped into the water, Harry’s happy thrills following him.
They played for hours and when Draco went back home, his mother fussed over him and dried his clothes with a wave of her wand. She warned him not to go into the water again, for there were dangerous, unworthy and impure creatures there. Draco barely heard her. He was already planning on seeing Harry again the next day.
They played together almost every day that summer. Sometimes Harry brought Draco treasures he found at the bottom of the sea, sometimes they spent hours talking sitting on their rock.
Harry was getting better and better at English. He could now understand Draco perfectly, although he still struggled a little with speaking. In any case, he was incredible.
He was also as magical as Draco himself was. When he told Harry about Hogwarts, how he’d be going in September to learn magic Harry had thrilled excitedly and conjured little balls of light that floated around them. Draco watched in awe. And he wished… but it was impossible.
Harry seemed sad when summer was over and Draco had to leave. He gave Draco a gorgeous bracelet made of some sort of silvery green stone and pearls weaved together. “Will remember, yes?” he said, unsure.
“Of course, Harry, I will think of you every day,” promised Draco, fingers brushing the bracelet carefully clasped around his wrist.
Harry smiled and touched Draco’s face with webbed fingers. “Will remember, too.”
They parted ways and Draco felt a heavy weight in his heart. He would miss Harry during the year. He’d come to cherish the presence of the Ocean Drake—Harry’s species, as he had explained—after spending countless hours together that summer.
•~•~•
When September 1st came, Draco was excited. He had a wand now, safely stashed inside his robes, and he was surrounded by other children like him. He missed Harry, but he was still excited.
He got off the train and then they crossed the Black Lake on little boats. He thought he saw a glimmer of bright scales under the surface, but it was probably his mind playing tricks on him.
Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when they reached the base of the castle’s steps.
He gasped. “Harry?” he whispered, pushing people aside and approaching the figure waiting there.
“Draco!” Harry thrilled excitedly, standing on what looked like very real legs, hair still damp and as unruly as ever.
“How? What?”
“Wanted to learn magic with Draco,” said Harry simply. “Headmaster helped. Ocean Drakes special, can have legs if want.”
Draco’s smile could have powered a lighthouse for a year as he threw his arms around Harry.
There was laughter in his ears when Harry returned the hug. “Missed Draco,” he whispered.
“I missed you, too, but now nothing will separate us again,” he promised.
Harry smiled, delighted, and they entered the castle together, hands clasped tight.
But Harry asked for it and who was he to refuse? Even if it drove him mad, he’d do it for Harry.
Draco had no doubts it was a coping mechanism, but ever since the war, Harry had been going through a phase with his merry band of Gryffindors. At first it was drinking, then it was hash. After that came the most jaw-dropping development of all—Harry made his move on Draco. Technically, it was less of a move, and more of a stumble; but he’d cornered Draco one night out in Diagon Alley and had all but seduced him.
Smiling tightly, Draco raised his glass of firewhisky when Harry, shimmying his nearly exposed arse on the dance floor, glanced over and waved to him.
After all, who was Draco to refuse?
One shag turned into two, then Harry’s heat came on. He’d been so needy. But not in an irritating fashion like Theo. In a way that showed he’d never once been cared for properly in his life. He was needy but stubborn, and Draco had understood. He’d been attentive and answered Harry’s instincts before they drowned him.
After that, they couldn’t deny it anymore. This thing between them was more than just physical. There was genuine care. Which is how Draco found himself renovating Grimmauld Place to be suitable for his presence, and clubbing every weekend with Ron, Hermione, Neville, Padma, Cho, and even, on occasion, Pansy and Blaise.
Draco smirked at how Pansy had flustered Neville the previous Saturday night. It was truly a sight, she’d—
A crack joined the overbearing thumping of the Eurodance.
Draco’s lap was wet.
Looking down, he saw the remnants of his firewhisky spilling from the cracked mirror table and staining his fine silk suit—it was ruined.
Draco looked back up.
Harry was dancing with some faceless stranger. A tall one. Taller than Draco.
The flashing red and blue lights danced over Harry and the man as the beat brought them closer. Harry pushed back incrementally and the stranger noticed. His hands slid forwards and brought Harry’s hips flush to his pelvis.
Draco’s hand was wet. Blood. A shard had found its home in his palm.
The stranger whispered something in Harry’s ear and Harry in turn shushed him with a playful swat. Half his arse was hanging out the bottom of his shorts and Draco’s eyes were trained on the stranger's meaty hands.
Then, somehow it got worse. Draco’s nostrils flared and he smelled it.
Harry’s heat.
Without taking his eyes off Harry, Draco rose and cut through the crowd.
Blinking his eyes open, Harry smiled uncertainly at Draco.
“Who do you think you are?” Draco shouted as menacingly as he could. It was difficult to sound imposing when the words to “Be My Lover” were blaring over top.
The man tipped an imaginary cowboy hat. “I’m this bloke’s partner for the evening. And you?”
Partner?
Draco's hand dove into his pocket, fingers closing around his wand. Harry was faster. He caught Draco's wrist before he could draw it. Harry shook his head, disappointment plain in his green eyes, as he pulled Draco away.
They exited the club and stood, silent, in the alleyway behind it. The occasional raindrop fell, splattering on the wet asphalt, and still Draco could not look at Harry.
“What is—”
“I’m going home. Now,” Draco spat.
Back at Grimmauld Place, Draco paced. Then, when he realised Harry wasn’t following immediately behind, he fumed. Eventually, he was so irate, he stripped off his ruined suit and jumped into the shower. His rut was coming on. It was natural—an Alpha’s rut would always come on in reaction to his Omega’s heat. If they were in love, that was.
Scrubbing the sweat from his skin, Draco hissed as soap found the cut in his palm. He turned into the tiled corner and slammed his fist against the wall. Blood spattered across the emerald tiles before the spray washed it away.
Suddenly, there was a hand on his back. Draco flinched.
Harry was there. Eyeliner running down his cheeks and his expression caught between shame and anger.
“What was that, Draco?” he asked softly.
Draco sneered. What a stupid question. “You tell me. I wasn’t the one shoving my arse against a stranger’s prick.”
Harry exhaled a measured breath, his face getting redder. “Neither was I.”
“I saw you. Dancing with him. Laughing. Smiling.” Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You’d have fucked him if I wasn’t there.”
The hand on Draco’s back left, leaving him cold.
“You’re a wanker,” Harry growled.
“Yeah, and you’re a slag.”
Harry slammed open the shower door, almost shattering it. He left their master bathroom, his feet pounding the floor and leaving wet footprints on the parquet. Draco followed close behind. Harry grabbed his wand and aimed it at their dresser.
“What now? Going to run to that Alpha and cry about how terrible I am?”
Harry said nothing but continued packing the clothes—shirts and trousers flying and haphazardly landing in the duffle bag.
“Merlin. Don’t tell me you’re going to the Weasley hovel?”
Harry glared at him.
Draco took a step back.
Zipping up the duffle, Harry held it out to Draco.
“Take it.”
”What?”
“These are your clothes. I want you gone,” Harry said coldly.
A stone sank in Draco’s stomach, but all he did was scoff and snatch the bag from Harry’s hands.
“My pleasure,” he spat.
By the time Draco reached Malfoy Manor, it was nearly four a.m. His clothes were soaked through, and blood trickled down his calf. Standing right inside the Manor’s gates, he grumbled as he limped his way to the grand entrance doors and watched as Angus, his father’s prized peacock, sauntered away, blood on its beak.
Before he’d even reached the doors, they opened up slowly, as if it was only a matter of time he returned, tail between his legs. Draco lowered his head and stepped through.
Unsurprisingly, his mother was waiting for him at the top of the staircase. Gliding down like a phantom, her face was amused and the question was already on her lips.
“We broke up,” Draco explained.
“Did you?” she asked, lightly. Her warm cheek touched his and Draco wanted to hide in her comfort. But when he looked at her, there was an amused smile on her face.
Draco bristled. “This time is different.” He shrugged her arm off. “He cheated on me.”
Narcissa’s expression morphed into one of genuine concern. “Oh, my sweet boy. That’s terrible. Did you catch him in bed with another man?”
“Not exactly.”
Her blue eyes narrowed. “How did he cheat on you?”
Draco looked away. “Well… His heat started and he was dancing with another man.”
Lips pursing, Narcissa crossed her arms.
“It was all very obscene!” Draco protested.
“Darling, I love you. But clearly, your rut and ever-present fear that Harry is going to leave got the better of you.”
Draco sulked and refused to answer.
His mother’s soft hand caressed his cheek. “Don’t be so dramatic. And if I may be frank, if you keep accusing Harry of cheating, he will eventually have enough of it.”
“He already has,” Draco said, vision blurring.
“I doubt that. You’re still both young enough that these fights are exciting.” She smiled when Draco glanced up at her. “But they won’t be forever.” Kissing his cheek, she pulled away and patted his chest. “Now go and beg for forgiveness. I don’t want to bother Mipsy with having to make up your room.”
Draco nodded and wiped his face.
When he arrived at Grimmauld Place, he was relieved to see that Harry hadn’t removed him from the wards—relieved but terrified. They’d had many rows. But none as bad as this latest one.
The downstairs was quiet and Draco made his way to their bedroom. The lights were on but their bed was empty. The sheets were rumpled and torn from where they’d been tucked in.
The flickering light from their bathroom filtered in and the bath was running.
Setting down his duffle, Draco made his way to his one hope of being happy.
Harry was lying in the bathtub as it filled up. He’d turned the water on to the max and the roar deafened Draco’s steps. From this small distance, Harry looked like an untouchable god. One Draco had been lucky enough to hold.
He almost left. But then he saw it.
Wet lashes.
Harry had been crying.
Something selfish and happy twisted in Draco’s gut. As he approached, he cast a shadow on Harry’s face and his eyes snapped open.
“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered, his voice impossibly small.
“You hurt me,” Harry accused.
Draco nodded. “I’ve hated myself since I walked out.”
“Good. This is your fault. The dancing meant nothing.”
“I think I know that—”
“Think?”
“You know me, I’m jealous, not stupid.” Draco paused. “However, when I smelled your heat… my rut came on and coloured everything.”
Harry’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t mean to dance so close to him. I hadn’t noticed my heat had started.”
Draco nodded and shifted his weight to the other foot.
The silence was oppressive and eventually Harry leaned forwards and shut off the faucet. Sitting up, he looked hard at Draco. “Don’t ever act like that or speak that way to me again.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“I believe you.” Harry scooted forwards in the bath. “Come on in, you bellend.”
Draco choked back a sob and did as he was told.
He was hard against Harry’s back and instinctively his hand floated towards the slickness between Harry’s arsecheeks. They needed each other. Grabbing the sides of the bathtub, Harry slightly lifted himself up. Draco’s hard length slipped easily into him and they sat like that, doing nothing and Harry leaning back. Draco breathed him in and panicked at the thought that he almost lost this.
Harry was keeping him warm and safe inside of him and Draco didn’t deserve it.
“I can’t believe I almost lost you because of your own idiocy,” Harry murmured, eyes closed.
Draco kissed his temple. “You won't,” Draco whispered. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”
Eyes opening, Harry smiled and they kissed for the first time that night.
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A little something dark written for the @draco-tops-harry-discord-server
The prompt was Postcard.
Harry’s finger rubbed the edge of the stiff cardstock.
The image was a vintage drawing of Westminster Abbey and the river Thames.
Well, love. You asked for it, so here it is. A word from home—rainy London—to keep you cool in Varanasi.
Smiling, Harry reread the term of endearment over and over again.
It’s been only a week and I miss you already. I still don’t understand the point in sending our trainee Aurors halfway across the world to finish training, but I suppose if that’s what you desire.
I’m still shocked that you’ve decided to become an Auror.
Harry snorted. It certainly was an odd choice. But one he was incredibly happy with. Even if it meant being far from home.
Draco’s handwriting got smaller now—messier.
I miss running my fingers through your dark hair. The way you mewl when I tug. I get hard just thinking about it. Love, I miss the way you feel around me terribly.
A bright flush covered Harry’s cheeks and he bit his lip. God he wanted that.
I can’t wait for your return, but in the meantime—go be the best of them. Beat all their arses.
Your fiancé,
Draco Malfoy.
People were approaching. Quickly, Harry surreptitiously tucked the postcard back into Astoria’s locker.
When she arrived, she smiled sweetly at him.
Harry’s heart was broken and twisted. He smiled back, but there was nothing inside.
A little something I wrote for the @draco-tops-harry-discord-server acrostic word game! 💚
@incognitoburritto threw us a challenge with EXCEL. But I had fun incorporating Xenophilius Lovegood and his very convenient X!
E - Easing himself down to the fluttering grass, Harry skimmed the ticklish tips with the palms of his hands. The world was beautiful. The sun was beautiful. The dilapidated barn 50 meters away was beautiful. It was all so… beautiful. Harry wasn’t completely oblivious. He knew full well that he was using the word beautiful too much. But it was true. Although, he supposed the funky tea he’d drank might’ve been the true source of beauty.
X - Xenophilius Lovegood had convinced them all to come out to his childhood home after the war had been won. Harry hadn’t wanted to. Neither had Hermione. In fact, it was Ron who’d thought they should give a relaxing reset a try.
C - Casting his gaze to the left, Harry watched Ron make iridescent bubbles with his wand. He was beautiful. He seemed at peace, like a mended shirt that was now missing a sleeve. And Hermione, for all her grumbling, had a goofy smile plastered on her face as she helped Luna search for sprites in the spirit of scientific study.
E - Everything was magnificent and exactly how it was meant to be. Harry understood that now. Closing his eyes, he lay down in the grass and let the wind warm his skin. A small insect must’ve climbed up on him for his hand twitched at the soft feeling of the small animal trawling up his arm. As he lay there, movement to his right alerted him to another’s presence. At first he thought it was his mother. But the static in the air wasn’t hers. This was prickly. And sharp. But mostly fearful.
L - Looking at the person lying next to him, Harry smiled when he was met with a dazed and unsure grey gaze. Draco had needed this. This push. And Harry would meet him half way. He slipped his hand into Draco’s and leaned up to kiss him. There was a sharp intake of breath and a brief push of lips. When Harry leaned back, he realised that this was true beauty. This moment. This beginning.
Harry Tells The Kids The Story of Their First Date
@drarrymicrofic prompt: butt, WC: 50
“He used to make fun of me all the time,” Harry reminisced, “I was the butt of all his jokes. So much so that the first time he complimented me, I automatically responded, 'Fuck off, Malfoy'. Then I had to chase him down, apologise and ask him for a drink.”
The third and final drabble for the Draco Tops Harry Discord Server June Drabble Challenge!
Prompt: Slytherin
Word count: 438
Special rule: Draco must receive a gift of some sort.
Lily’s Gift—Green Eyes (438 words) by BlueBeards_Wife @virtuallola
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters: Draco Malfoy, MYSTERY WOMAN - Character
Additional Tags: Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Hogwarts First Year, Slytherin Harry Potter, Drabble, Cute Draco Malfoy, He’s only 11, Birthday Presents, Getting a chance, Draco Tops Harry Discord Drabble Challenge
Series: Part 9 of Drabbles
Summary:
On Draco’s eleventh birthday, he receives a visit from a mystery woman.
She claims to be a distant relative, but oddest of all is the gift she has for him.
It’s only later that Draco understands that the true gift was a chance.
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T, some suggestiveness, crossdressing ( which isn't inherently nsfw I might add)
The skirt stared Harry in the face. It was a golden honeysuckle color, layers of ruffles that reached his knees. Around the waist was a ribbon with a bow on the front.
Adorable. Harry grinned as he pulled it on. He was wearing stockings under the skirt, white lace-edged stockings that matched his ruffle-sleeved yellow blouse. Jewelry completed the outfit, golden hoop earrings and bracelets with pearls.
I look like a princess, Harry thought, staring in the mirror. He was still slender but rapidly gaining weight, and couldn't be happier for it.
Draco was minding his own business, chatting idly with his friends, when the door opened and who should enter but Potter.
Draco's mouth fell open, trailing off mid-sentence. Potter was wearing a skirt, and he looked beautiful. Lacy white stockings covered most of his legs, with a strip of bare skin at the top peeking tantalizingly out.
Draco felt a rushing inside of him. He needed to touch. He needed to feel the soft and tender flesh of Potter.
Potter was coming towards him. Potter was swishing his skirt around his legs. Potter was sitting on Draco's lap.
Harry grinned to himself, feeling Malfoy go still with a gasp. He hadn't tucked his skirt underneath himself, leading to Malfoy's fine gray trousers directly touching his bare thighs.
Draco couldn't believe what he was feeling. Potter was sitting on his lap, their thighs touching, and Draco could feel frills. His mind went overboard, picturing the bountiful cheeks on the magnificent posterior now placed on him.
Harry leaned back, resting himself against Malfoy with a sigh. He was surprisingly comfortable. He knew Malfoy liked chubby boys. And he did too; it was so much better than being skinny had been.
More than skinny, but he didn't like to think about that time in his life.
Malfoy was poking something in his face. Chocolates! Chocolate balls filled with sweet cream and caramel, oh so sweet and good...
And if Malfoy's hands got a little curious, well, Harry didn't mind.
