The Liars Department -1-

tags: drarry, auror Harry, ministry employee Draco, oblivious Harry, dillusionment there so much disillisionment

sugessted rating: T+

- || Part 2 –>

-

Harry watched the bloke fumble through the stack of trays on his desk. Eventually, he found the right form and set it in front of himself. Overhead a faulty lumos spell occasionally flickered, shifting the shadows on the stone walls that, unlike the rest of the Ministry had no windows, false or otherwise.

The desk auror patted around his desk for a quill, flipping up the mess of parchment in search of an elusive pen.

“I swear if Brewster stole my quill again,” The desk auror muttered, “You do a nice thing, lend ‘em out for the signing, and they just walk away with ‘em. Do I look like I’m made of quills?”

Harry fought down a yawn. Next to him, the two new junior aurors holding onto either side of the suspect, both standing impossible straight, trying very hard to look like they’d done this before. Harry had done it about a hundred times before and it was always entirely boring.

The desk auror opened drawer after drawer until finally pulling out a bedraggeled looking quill, “Got ya!”

He slid the form in front of Harry.

Harry didn’t ask for the quill, he had concerns about what it had been through, instead pulling out the fancy fountain pen Hermione had given him when he graduated from Junior Auror to regular Auror.

“I, Auror Harry Potter, do transfer this suspect to the custody of Auror…” Harry glanced at the name plaque sitting on the desk, “Smith.” He signed his name and pushed the parchment back to Smithson.

“Right you are, and I Auror Henry Smith, accept the suspect into the custody of the Ministry cells until such time as his trial or bail,” Smith said, signing the form with an wellpractised extravagant flourish. He grabbed a heavy wooden stamper, the rubber greying and faintly cracked with age, smacked it into a very sad looking ink pad and then thumped it onto the form. All formality seen to, the form folded itself up into a paper aeroplane and sailed off to the filing department.

Harry turned to his charges, the juniors straightening up even further so they were in real danger of italicising themselves. The suspect was wobbling slightly, still off-kilter from the effects of a stunning spell administered when he wouldn’t stop trying to bite the arresting auror, that being Harry, who rather wished he wasn’t at the time.

“Alright, you two help Auror Smith take the suspect to his new home for the time being,” Harry said.

“Sir! Uh, should we re-join you after we’ve- we’ve delivered him?” The brown-haired Junior asked. Harry thought her name might have started with K… but he wasn’t willing to risk a guess. He had no idea about the other one. Harry would just keep avoiding calling them anything until he heard someone use their names. It had worked so far with most of his other fellow aurors, in that he found he hadn’t really ever needed to use their names enough to learn them.

“No. Return to the office, and make sure you drop off your reports to Auror Shunter before the end of the day, or you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Yes, sir, Mr Potter sir!” The junior said, looking about ready to salute him. Sometimes the muggleborns got it into their heads they ought to. This junior, thankfully, managed to hold back.

Harry gave him a polite, tight-lipped smile and a nod, leaving them to the waiting Smith and headed back to the apparition point.

-

-

Harry tapping the auror badge affixed to his robes with his wand as he walked, turning the maroon half-robe into a London bobby uniform including the cap. He loathed the cap with every fibre of his being.

He apparated back to the scene of the incident, sheathing his wand and stepping out of the temporarily warded alleyway. Senior Auror Shunter was waiting in front of the shop where the incident occurred. It was a small narrow shop on a narrow street filled with other small business. The window of the place declared it Dickson’s Gold and Jewellery Exchange. The road itself was eerily quiet, the quick placements of muggle repelling charms and what looked like a swarm of police had convinced most of the other people working on the street to take the rest of the day off.

Two other junior aurors left as Harry approached, giving him a nod in acknowledgement as they passed, leaving only him and Auror Shunter.

“Auror Shunter, sir, suspect delivered to the holding cells for further questioning,” Harry said, stopping next to her on the pavement.

Senior Auror Shunter was one of the most senior of the senior aurors. Her hair, always pulled back into a simple, no-nonsense bun, was streaked with grey and her face was starting to wrinkle, but she radiated the same kind of youthful vitality that a fifteen-year-old bloke does right before he puts his fist through a wall. Harry had never actually seen Shunter lose her temper. He didn’t want to. He had a feeling it was the sort of thing you’d regret, a great deal.

Junior aurors were often passed around to whichever auror needed the most assistance, and Harry had ended up working under her quite a bit. He had been impatient with her at first, but he had come to admire her work. Shunter wasn’t flashy or impulsive. She always went into a situation with a cool head, and because of that, she resolved things with less destruction and less death and injury on both sides. Rumour was she never fudged evidence or lied either unlike one or two other senior aurors.

Harry was sure she would make an amazing Head Auror when Robards retired. He couldn’t think of anyone better suited for it.

Shunter sighed at him, “Took you long enough.”

“Desk Auror couldn’t find his quill,” Harry said.

“All aurors should carry a pen or ever-inking quill on their person at all times for taking statements and notes,” Shunter said more like a reflex than with any actual thinking involved.

“Yes, sir, I have my pen,” Harry said, patting his pocket.

Shunter raised an eyebrow, “Then why didn’t you lend it and get back here sooner?”

“Sorry, sir, I still wanted to have my pen afterwards,” Harry said, “The man accounts for half the department’s quill allowances.”

Shunter nodded, “Point made, unofficially.”

“Right,” Harry said.

“I’d wonder how Smith keeps his job, but he does a stellar job holding that desk down,” Shunter said.

Harry frowned in confusion.

“It’s hard to find a good desk jockey in the auror’s, we typically don’t join up for the paperwork,” Shunter said, “Course it’s easier now with that new interdepartmental transfer program.”

Harry nodded, “Orders, sir?”

“Got most of it wrapped up,” Shunter said looking over her shoulder at the shop, “Damage repaired, statements taken, suspect secured, all that’s left is waiting for the memory boys.”

Harry grimaced, “That’s where I come in.”

Shunter nodded with a tired grin, “I like a quick auror, Potter. It’s no wonder they ranked you so fast.”

Harry blinked, “Ranked me so-?”

“Oh, That’s right,” Shunter said distractedly, “They’re going to be sending the new department. From now on Obliviators are only to be sent for in cases of large scale magical misuse when there’s a large exposure.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

Shunter shrugged, “New policy, just got the memo. I’ll read up on all the changes when I’m off.”

“You read up on the new laws and policies during your time off?” Harry asked.

“Right before bed, nothing better for falling sleep than dull ministry stuff. I sleep like a baby,” Shunter said with a wry grin. She looked at her watch with a frown, “Bugger. Alright, Potter, you’re in charge of the scene. Our shopkeep is taking a nap behind the counter. Once the new department shows, you can get their paperwork, add it to ours and take down the wards. Got all that?” Shunter said, rolling her shoulders with new energy now that she was no longer the one who’d be babysitting an empty street.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said.

“Send for backup if there are any issues, though I can’t imagine it, and get your paperwork in by the end of the day,” Shunter said and turned on her heel, hurrying to the alley.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said.

It occurred to Harry far too late that he probably should have asked what the new department was called or who was in it, or even, perhaps, what they did.

-

-

Once Shunter had apparated back to the ministry, Harry checked the wards along the perimeter before pulling a wad of blank mission report forms out of his pocket. He found the right one and shoved the rest back, holding the paper up against the window as he pulled the lid off his fountain pen with his teeth and quickly began filling it out.

Harry heard the car long before he realised it was coming up the street. It came up far too fast, and the tires squealed against the pavement as it slammed to a stop. He didn’t know much about cars, but he could tell this one reeked of money. It was a white two-seat convertible and looked like the sort of car you saw in magazines, not on the road.

The door swung open, and a man in a white suit stepped out, straightening his jacket and impeccable tie. He was tall and lean and had a dark blue shirt and black tie under the pure white of the suit jacket. He pulled off a pair of sunglasses, slipping them into his pocket, as the sun glinted off his white-blond head and he gave Harry a perfectly calculated smirk.

The pen cap went loose in Harry’s mouth, almost falling to the ground before he managed to clumsily catch it out of the air.

“Auror Potter. Of course,” Draco Malfoy said with a sigh of exasperation, “I should have expected you. I have that sort of luck after all.”

“Malfoy…?” Harry said.

“As opposed to?” Malfoy said, closing the door to his car and leaning his hip against it.

“Anyone else?” Harry said dumbfounded, “You’re the- the new department?”

“I am,” Malfoy said. He pulled a small notebook out of his breast pocket, “I might as well enjoy this while I can, I suppose.”

“Enjoy-? Have you- Do you know what you’re doing?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“No,” Malfoy said flatly. He flipped open the notebook, “According to the briefing I received this was a single muggle exposure, correct?”

“I-yeah,” Harry said.

“What happened?” Malfoy said

“I thought your wand was destroyed,” Harry said.

Malfoy blinked. “Not quite,” he said blandly, “I am not allowed to use magic or remove my wand from my place of residence.”

“Which isn’t here,” Harry said.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, almost looking amused with him, “No. I do not, in fact, live in the middle of the street, Potter.”

“Which means you can’t use magic,” Harry said.

“Yes? Is there a point to this? I am here to work you know,” Malfoy said, sounding faintly amused.

Harry gestured back to the shop, “You can’t obliviate someone without a wand.”

“I’m not here to obliviate anyone,” Malfoy said with the same sort of tone someone would say obviously.

“Then why are you here?” Harry said, suspicion mixing with impatience.

“If you’ll assist me rather than interrogate me, I can show you,” Malfoy said. He pushed himself away from the car with an unfair amount of grace.

“I don’t see how you can do anything useful right now,” Harry said.

Malfoy’s smile grew, “Ah, you sound like father. Delightful.”

Harry stared, taken aback.

Malfoy just chuckled and headed into the shop.

-

♥ Next update will be friday 7-8 am ♥ I’ve been craving writing something light and funny for a while, I hope you like it ♥

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Bitter Transmutation : Cruel Transformation -79-

tags: eighth year, drarry, angst, assault, bullying, violence, illness, discussion of illness’, discussion of gov response to illness, sickfic, enemies to lovers, harry with long hair, magic theory, veela history/world building, veela draco, book veelas, fairy tale inspirations, -no feathers-, -no mates/bonding-, Fenrir Greyback, werewolves, hurt/comfort, romantic tension, emotional and romantic intimacy, slow burn, pining, longing, happy ending, animal injury, reference to animal death, ptsd, transformation, possible body horror, parents having the best intentions whilst still being flawed human beings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

suggested rating: 18+, for heavy themes and violence

<– Part 1 (contains links to all parts) <– Part 78 ||

-

When McGonagall arrived, everything that was still sprung back into motion, with Pomfrey and Granger at her side, and Weasley sitting out of the way, seemly happy enough not to be studying. Draco stayed with Potter on the bed they had commandeered as their own, a couple beds away. They sat side by side, leaning against one another and finding comfort in each other’s closeness.

“The parents must have sent permission,” Draco said.

Potter nodded, “I hope it works.”

Draco was quiet.

Potter looked over curiously, “What is it?”

Draco frowned, “I don’t- I feel conflicted. I know being a werewolf is difficult and dangerous.”

“But?”

“I feel like… I’m losing someone, someone who would understand,” Draco said carefully, “And I realise that our experiences would be vastly different and… because of my past, I doubt any half- any mixed magic folk would want anything to do with me… It’s just, other than Hagrid I can’t think of any others like me, like us.”

“Maybe they just hide it,” Potter said.

Draco sighed.

“…What about Fleur, she’s a veela like you,” Potter suggested.

“Last time we met she wanted to murder me,” Draco said.

“Yeah but like, she had Victoire with her, and you were just starting to changing, right? Maybe it would be different this time,” Potter said, ever the optimist.

Draco frowned.

“You should try owling her, you never know. I’ll put in a good word for you,” Potter said.

Draco snorted, doubting it would lead anywhere, “I suppose.”

They both went quiet as McGonagall lifted her wand, her eyes closed in concentration for a moment. The whole room held their breath as she opened her eyes, her wand moving in sharp, short movements accompanied by a string of unfamiliar latin.  They breathed out as the spell cast, a silvery shimmer seemed to settle over Thomas, and he wavered for a second like a mirage.

“It cast,” Granger said with palpable relief.

“You said he hadn’t shown signs of lycanthropy yet?” McGonagall said.

“It usually doesn’t show on the diagnostic spell until their first full moon,” Pomfrey said.

McGonagall nodded, slipped her wand back into her robes, “We shall have to wait and see then, and hope it worked.”

The three of them started talking about technical medical things and about writing a report on the experiment.

“Ask me another question,” Draco said.

“Another one?” Potter grimaced just a bit though he tried his best to hide it, “Um… what are you going to do after we graduate?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said honestly. “I knew what I was going to do before, but now, everything is different.”

“What were you going to do before then?” Potter asked.

“If you think that holds some sort of secret clue, you’re very wrong,” Draco said.

Potter leaned a little more weight against him, the bedsprings creaking faintly beneath them, “Just tell me.”

“Fine, but you’re going to be disappointed,” Draco said. “After I graduated and my parole was officially finished in July, I had planned to take a portkey to my parent’s villa in France. Then I would have done nothing, but after a few weeks my mother would start dragging me along to lunch and garden parties. And those parties would gradually begin to have more and more eligible scions of whatever families have the most power or money or whatever.” He grimaced, imagining it happening all too clearly, “At some point my father would start pushing that I should get a job in government, and my mother would set up a few meetings and then I would end up a clerk or maybe someone’s assistant.”

Potter frowned.

“Then, after a few years, I would be pressured to marry, find a young woman willing to have a mostly platonic marriage and produce an heir. And in my job, I might eventually be promoted to have my own desk working in some dept no one gives two figs about until I eventually die of despair or boredom, whichever comes first.” Draco kicked his feet against the bottom of the bed, “I told you it was boring.”

“I mean, none of that was something you wanted, though. It was all things your parents wanted,” Potter said, “What do you want?”

“I already told you, I don’t know,” Draco said quietly. “I was never really raised with the expectation that I would have any choice in the matter. My life was decided when I was born with the last name Malfoy.”

“You have one now,” Potter said.

It still didn’t feel like it. When Draco imagined his future, he had no idea where it might go, only that he wanted to stay by Potter’s side for as long as he would have him.

Thomas’ friends had arrived just as Pomfrey removed the sleeping spell. Thomas slept on, but a hug from one friend and a kiss on the cheek from the other was enough love to break the fragile enchantment, and they all hugged each other happily, shouting over one another in their excitement. Draco found himself smiling faintly.

“Calm down. No more shouting or you’ll have to leave,” Pomfrey said sternly, “This is a place of healing, not a quidditch match.”

“Sorry, Madam Pomfrey,” Thomas said.

Yasmin murmured a quiet, “Sorry.” but Imogen just pressed her hands over her mouth so she wouldn’t laugh.

“What happened? Did you get it, that terrible wolf or is it still- still out there?” Thomas asked with wide eyes.

“Harry Potter saved you,” Yasmin said.

“I helped,” Imogen said proudly.

“I wish you hadn’t, I nearly had a heart attack when you showed up,” Potter said.

All three jumped, looking at Potter in a mixture of horror and awe that made Draco want to laugh.

“Sorry!” Imogen squeaked, all of her bravado gone.

“Thank you for saving me,” Tomas said.

Potter nodded awkwardly. Draco had to roll his eyes.

“I don’t remember much of it, but it was… scary,” Thomas said, “Is it- Did you get it?”

“Of course, he did! He’s a hero!” Imogen said.

“I think Miss Granger and Mr Weasley helped,” Yasmin said.

Weasley nearly choked at the ‘Mr Weasley’ and quickly shook his head, “Nah, not us. I mean I’d say we helped, but Malfoy,” he jerked a thumb in Draco’s direction, “Malfoy was the one who ki- uh, stopped it.”

“He saved my life too,” Potter said, entirly and utterly earnest.

Granger laughed, “I’m afraid Draco Malfoy’s the hero this time.”

The three students stared at him with disbelief that was only matched by Draco’s own.

“Oh… thank you, um Mr Malfoy,” Thomas said.

“You killed a whole werewolf? By yourself?!” Imogen blurted.

“Imogen!” Yasmin hissed.

“What?! It’s amazing!” Imogen said just as loudly.

Draco felt his cheeks start to flush and ducked his head, rubbing the heel of his hand over a warm cheek.

Pomfrey cleared her throat and shot Imogen a warning look.

Imogen clapped her hand over her mouth but kept looking at Draco with bright eyes.

Potter elbowed Draco in the side with a grin.

Pomfrey brought over a tray with a large metal mug no doubt carrying the same horrible potion he and Potter had had to take. The students were soon distracted by the horror of it with a chorus of ‘ewwws’ and teasing back and forth as Thomas looked faintly ill at the prospect of drinking it all.

“…Do you think he meant it when he said I’d be welcome in the aurors?” Draco asked.

“What? You- You want to be an auror?” Potter said, staring at Draco with wide eyes.

“Maybe? It might be nice to help people,” Draco said, “And… the training takes three years, doesn’t it?”

Potter nodded, “But-”

“Then I have three years to see if it’s something I’d like to do,” Draco said, “Besides, I’ve spent the last two months only studying your NEWT’s, I probably won’t even get E’s in the others at this rate.”

“I doubt that,” Potter said.

Draco shook his head, “You’ve never fallen behind in ancient runes before.”

“Hermione will help you catch up,” Potter said.

“It’s not a bad plan,” Draco said.

Potter hesitated, “I just- I don’t want you to do it just because I am, chickadee.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself, starling,” Draco said and was pleased to see Potter looking embarrassed.

“…as long as you know you can always change your mind,” Potter said.

“Because I have a choice now, yes I remember,” Draco said, “I was there five minutes ago when we talked about it.”

“Oh, shut up,” Potter muttered.

Thomas was holding the potion in both hands staring down at it and looking a bit ill. Yasmin appeared to be encouraging Thomas while Imogen was shouted chug! chug! chug! and then fell into a fit of giggles.

Potter leaned close, “Will you say it again?”

“What?” Draco said blankly.

“Starling,” Potter murmured.

“If I say it too often it will lose its appeal,” Draco said.

“No, it won’t. I’m absolutely certain it won’t,” Potter said.

“Do you know much about starlings?”

Potter frowned at him, “Draco.”

“They look just like any sort of bird from first glance, kind of brownish-black with white spots,” Draco went on heedless.

“Draco.”

“But the thing is-”

“Chickadee.”

Draco smiled, “The thing is, that their feathers are actually iridescent and make the most beautiful rainbow of colours when they catch the light.”

Potter blinked and might have even looked a bit flushed.

“So even though a starling might look ordinary at first, I’ve found that they’re actually quite extraordinary if you take a closer look,” Draco said.

“You’re not talking about birds, are you?” Potter said.

“I’m fairly certain I am, starling,” Draco said, though that wasn’t entirely true.

“You’re not,” Potter said, picking up a pillow and holding it in front of them so no one could see them kiss.

-

the end

-

♥ thank you all for reading and sticking with me and for being so kind ♥ ♥ ♥ I will be starting another story soon but I’m probably gonna take a week off ♥ see you soon ♥ Thank You!!

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Sunsets and Cigarettes

Hello my loves! 😊 I hope everyone is doing ok today. Here is a little something I wrote for my darling friend @dewitty1 as a thank you for being a fabulous friend 💕 I hope you’re all doing as much of what makes you happy as you can, whether it be writing or reading or watching or drawing or whatever else it is you enjoy. Anyway, I’ll shut up now. Have a lovely day/afternoon/evening wherever you are in the world 🌈

—

Draco leans over the balcony of the top floor flat. It’s a muggy night in the height of summer, not a hint of a breeze anywhere. The sun is still clinging to the sky, unwilling to be dragged below the horizon even though it’s already gone ten. The birdsong is dying off for the day, but some of the stragglers are desperately chirping away until they can’t anymore. He looks out over the peaceful canal; it’s sparkling against the smoky orange and dusky pink-streaked sky. There’s a party raging in the flat behind him, but he has stepped outside for some space to breathe.

He thinks maybe he shouldn’t have come here. It’s a typical halls party – freshers are going hell for leather with the drink before their first lectures start, although he knows many of them won’t stop partying even when they do. He doesn’t know anyone here except the guy who invited him; he deferred his university entry a year because he didn’t feel ready yet. It’s too packed in there. The problem with halls is that the walls are so paper thin it’s impossible to throw a party without the other flats in the block joining in. Then those students invite their friends in other blocks, and they bring their flatmates and so on and so forth. The six-bed flat is now packed with at least fifty people, the air so dense it’s hard to breathe. Or at least, it is for Draco.

The balcony door opens behind him, but he doesn’t turn around. People come and go every few minutes, coming out to have an important conversation that can’t be heard over the thump of the music or to have a quick cigarette. Most of them don’t bother him, they just act as if he’s not there.

“You shouldn’t do that you know. Terrible habit.” This time his companion walks to the edge of the balcony where Draco stands and leans over the edge. He knows the voice, but part of him is too scared to look. It’s been so long. Instead he glances down at the cigarette slowly burning down in his left hand. He’s not a regular smoker by any means, but alcohol generally makes him do stupid things.

He watches the ash drop from the end for a moment before turning towards Potter. He looks directly into his bright green eye; eyes that he hasn’t seen for nearly four years. They haven’t changed at all. He keeps eye contact as he brings the straight to his lips, takes a long drag, and blows the smoke out slowly, as if challenging Potter to stop him. Potter doesn’t move.

“You never did do anything I told you to,” he says with a lopsided sort of smile. His skin glows a warm shade of brown against the glow of the orange sky. It looks as if he’s been kissed by good fortune. In Draco’s more generous moments he thinks Potter probably deserves it, but he would never admit it aloud.

“What are you doing here Potter?” Draco forces himself to turn away, looking back out across the canal. Potter was always beautiful, that much hasn’t changed. He doesn’t want to stare too long because it will only make it harder to let him go again, and Potter always goes. Possibly he should find it surprising that they’ve found each other here, at a flat party in freshers’ week at a university in the Midlands. Draco presumed coming here would mean surrounding himself with strangers, but apparently no force on earth can keep the two of them apart. This is probably what they mean when they talk about soulmates, although Draco doesn’t really believe they exist.

“I came to say hi,” Potter tells him. Draco doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. It’s so muggy that his shirt is sticking to his back and making him uncomfortable. He’s spent most of his life trying to act like he doesn’t care what Potter thinks but he finds himself hoping he can’t see how disgusting Draco is right now. He’s had too much wine already and it’s still early by university standards.

“Well, hi. You can go now,” he says dismissively. He prays to hear Potter’s footsteps retreating back to the party but there’s no thump of his heathen footsteps and Draco can still sense him there. Far enough away that he can’t actually feel him but close enough that he knows he’s there.

“Don’t be like that Draco.” There’s a weariness in Potter’s voice and Draco thinks perhaps he’s as tired of this game as Draco is. He’s done chasing Potter; he would rather he make a choice and stick with it. Preferably, he’d leave Draco well alone. Hearing his name from Potter’s lips again sends a shiver down his spine and this time he can’t pretend it’s the wind.

He lifts his cigarette to his mouth and takes another drag. Potter has distracted him enough that it’s almost burnt down to the filter, but he knows that’s probably for the best anyway.

“Don’t be like what?” He snaps. His body tenses when Potter steps closer. One minute there’s a faint brush of their arms and the next Potter’s hand is under Draco’s chin, gently turning his head so he’s forced to look at him. Up close Potter’s eyes are even more breathtaking and it almost breaks him. The cigarette falls from his hand which still rests over the railing. He imagines it floating to the ground with a spray of orange sparks just so he doesn’t have to think about how close their bodies are.

There’s a clatter as a couple of girls stumble out onto the balcony. He can tell by their raucous giggling that they’re very drunk, but he doesn’t turn away from Potter to look. They see the two of them standing just inches apart and start blabbering apologies and giggling some more. It could have ruined the atmosphere, but Potter’s eyes are practically blazing green and Draco has never seen him look more determined.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me here. This has gone on long enough.” He says when the girls have retreated back inside. The this sends a sudden thrill through him.

“We were never even friends,” Draco says in a whisper. He doesn’t know why he says it – it’s not remotely relevant. Potter smirks at him, the right side of his mouth lifting just enough to flash a small amount of shiny white teeth. Draco’s knees go weak.

“I don’t want to be your friend Draco, I thought that much was clear.” And then they’re kissing. It’s slow and it’s sweet and Potter doesn’t seem to care that Draco must taste like an ashtray. There’s a hand in his hair and one snaking around his waist, pulling him flush against a warm body as their lips meet again and again. Draco’s hands are gripping the thin cotton of Potter’s shirt although he doesn’t remember moving them. They could have stood there for minutes, hours, days, and Draco would have been none the wiser, but eventually he pulls away. Instantly he mourns the intimacy.

“It’s about damn time, Harry.”

It doesn’t occur to Draco to ask Harry how he found him; he finds he doesn’t really care.

second commission piece for The Curse of the Sea (from chapter 4) by @samyistrying 

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Bitter Transmutation : Cruel Transformation -67-

tags: eighth year, drarry, angst, assault, bullying, violence, illness, sickfic, enemies to lovers, harry with long hair, magic theory, veela history/world building, veela draco, book veelas, fairy tale inspirations, -no feathers-, -no mates/bonding-, Fenrir Greyback, werewolves, hurt/comfort, romantic tension, emotional and romantic intimacy, slow burn, pining, longing, happy ending, animal injury, reference to animal death, ptsd, transformation, possible body horror, parents best intentions whilst still being flawed human beings

suggested rating: 18+, for heavy themes and violence

<– Part 1 (contains links to all parts) <– Part 66 ||

-

Draco could feel Potter carefully tracing over his hand, drawing down one finger into the valley between and up again. His touch was certain, his skin a little rough and he hadn’t said anything since he had bundled Draco into bed. Draco would have studied Potter’s expression, but he had pulled the comforter over his head. His hand was, in fact, the only part of himself outside his bundle of blankets.

His skin felt as sensitive as a baby’s. Draco’s eyes ached from crying, his cheeks unpleasantly dry from the track of tears upon his skin. When he had walked the short distance to bed, the floor had felt so rough that it hurt the soles of his feet. He had hoped the last fever would be the end of it. At least the bed was soft again, a place of respite once more.

“You better not like it,” Draco said softly.

Potter twitched in surprise, “Oh, you’re- I thought maybe you’d fallen asleep.”

Draco pulled the edge of the comforter down to his chin “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah. Like what?” Potter asked, as if he didn’t know.

“The changes. You’re not allowed to like them,” Draco said.

Potter’s face twisted in confusion, “…It’s not like that much changed.”

“UGH,” Draco groaned, sinking down into the blankets so only his eyes showed, “Everything changed.”

Potter raised his eyebrows, “Looks the same to me.”

Draco tugged on a messy lock of hair accusingly, “This is not the same.”

Potter’s expression remained nonplussed, “It’s still pale?”

“White. Like an old person. It used to be blond. Now I look like a weirdo. People are going to think I was cursed.” Draco said.

Potter’s mouth twitched with a smile, “It was kind of strange even before.”

“It wasn’t strange,” Draco said with a frown.

“I mean, if you look around the school, nobody’s nearly as pale and blond as you. You kind of always stood out,” Potter said.

“It’s not the same,” Draco said, “And I hate it.”

“Pretty much the same,” Potter reached over, brushing the hair off Draco’s forehead, “It’s still really fine, and I bet it still gleams in the sunlight the same way.”

Draco stared at him.

Potter pulled his hand back and looked away in embarrassment.

“You know…” Draco said slowly.

“Don’t-”

“I used to think you were the straightest boy I’d ever met-”

“Malfoy-”

Draco went on relentlessly, “You think my hair gleams in the sunlight?”

Potter grimaced, pushing his glasses up so he could cover his eyes with his hand.

“That’s extremely gay, extremely-”

“Can you not? I get it. I really do. So if we could-”

“Do you? Get it,” Draco asked, “Because I could go on.”

“I- No, I do,” Potter said, “Can we not talk about it. Ever?”

“Fat chance,” Draco said.

Potter sighed.

“You were the one who said you wanted to get to know me first,” Draco said.

“It’s been a delight,” Potter said.

Draco narrowed his eyes, “You say that word a lot, and I’m never entirely certain if you’re being sarcastic or joking.”

“Or mean it?” Potter said.

“I know what sincerity sounds like it and that’s not it,” Draco said.

Potter frowned, “That’s…. I do mean it… but I’m also joking, sort of.”

Draco sighed, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re- you’re frustrating but in a good way,” Potter held up a hand before Draco could do more than frown at him, struggling to find the right words, “I don’t want easy. I don’t- I mean, sometimes easy is good, but not in everything, in other ways I think-”

“You’re terrible at this,” Draco said.

Potter smiled hesitantly, “Yeah. But you keep making me do it.”

“I don’t make you do it,” Draco said.

“You said you didn’t know who to trust and I want you to trust me, so I have to.”

Draco felt his face get hot and pulled the blanket over his head again.

“Oh. I know what it is,” Potter said, “Talking to you feels like duelling, like I never know what to expect, and it’s hard sometimes but in a good way.”

Draco rather agreed, but he’d be damned if he was going to admit it, he was already too weak to Potter as it was.

-

♥   Next update will be tuesday noonish pst  ♥ I’ve beaten the cold but I spent s much time compiling that list of all my writing that this part ended up a bit short, sorry

♥  Tags below  ♥  (I don’t have a permanent tags list. All tags are of the wonderful people who left messages on the previous part.)

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the boy who shouldn't have survived

;-; I absolutely adore the headcanon that Harry struggles with the idea that he shouldn't have survived after the war, and I absolutely adore this drawing

Harry Potter

Fast sketch~

Drabble challenge

Prompt: “You came” in 317 words

Draco sat beneath the heavy arbour, street lamps spilling yellow light onto the grey tarmac beneath the night sky. His arms were crossed tightly, protecting himself from the chill of the descending winter.

It had been one of those days. Where he was haunted— hunted by that sickly feeling— one that crawled up his legs and threaten to pull him into the earth. The storm clouds of days past loomed heavy in his mind and he wanted to flee—to go anywhere.

His new and tentative friendship with Potter had bloomed in the spring like hopeful bluebells. They had found themselves drawn to one another, their usual verbal sparring becoming something different, softer.

Later, when Draco learned he had a muggle car, one that could go long distances down dark and lonely country roads, they began taking aimless wandering drives together. Talking about everything and nothing.

Feeling the weight of all of his brokenness today, dragging him down, he had called Potter— hopeful, like the bluebells had been.

“You busy?” He had asked, smiling despite himself, after Harry had answered after only half a ring.

But Harry had been busy, and apologetic, and Draco couldn't worry him with all big feelings and crushing doubt, so he had wished him a good night and stumbled outside to stare bleakly into the void— trying hard to untangle his feelings and hold back the existential dread pushing in around him.

A guttural pop of a back firing engine sounded down the block and he turned his head to see the familiar gold golf trundling down his street, stopping in front of his door.

Potter rolled down the window with a shy smile.

“You came.” Draco said stupidly, unaccountably relieved and grateful.

“Thought we could go for a drive.” He smiled. Draco didn't need any convincing as he stood without another moments thought, climbing in and setting off into the night.

just a (mostly) stress-free doodle c: bringing back himbo harry who drags his bf to the gym to workout but all draco does is take selfies and thirst after watch harry

{please do not repost // reblogs are appreciated!} 「 INSTA & KO-FI:  aceveria 」

The sight of Draco crossed-legged on the bed, wearing sweatpants and an oversized Slytherin Quidditch Jersey was so unexpectedly domestic that Harry almost choked on air. He has to remind himself to breathe, rapidly tries to regain his lost dignity as he crosses the room, flings himself onto the bed with a sigh.

“Oh,” he groans, the bed like heaven on his sore body. “I am so, so gay.”

Draco peers down at him. He’s holding a series of letters in his hand, the edges slightly worn and faded from what looked like water damage. “What made you come to this sudden and stunning realization?”

You, Harry wants to say but that would be horribly and awfully cheesy. He settles for a muttered “Blaise” and burries his head amongst the piles of cushions propped up against the headboard.

Draco lets out a long laugh. “I mean. Blaise is everyone’s sexual awakening.”

Harry grumbles something in reply. He’s too sore from Quidditch practice to move and the bed is deliciously soft, the heat from Draco’s body making the sheets toasty and warm. “I’m not moving.”

Even though he can’t see it, Harry can almost feel the soft smile Draco gives him. He shivers slightly as Draco slowly runs his fingers down his back, tracing his shoulder blades, dipping down to his collarbone and back around to his spine. “Stop it,” he says sleepily. “‘M too tired to bang.”

“What a shame,” Draco says in mock horror. “I’ll have to find someone else then.”

“Go to Blaise.”

“Already have.”

Harry is far too tired to think of a proper comeback. He nestled deeper into the sheets, lets out a long sigh of contentment. The bed smells like them both - the soft detergent Harry always used and the shampoo from Draco’s hair. The flat was a beautiful mixture of them both - shades of emerald green and stunning gold, huge windows and soft rugs, sleek sofas and comfy armchairs.

The day Draco has bought the flat, they’d both cried. 2 boys fresh out of 8th year, living together in a desperate attempt to escape the nightmares and now 1 year later Harry knew it was the best choice he had ever made. It was theirs - their home, their life and no one, not even Voldemort could take that away from them.

Draco’s fingers are still in his hair, impossibly soft against his scalp. Harry closes his eyes.

“So. Who are those letters from?”

He feels Draco stiffen up beside him. The motion makes him frown; Harry pushes himself up onto his knees, so he could look Draco in the eye.

“Are you alright?”

Draco shurgs. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

Harry nods slowly. He can’t see much of the letter - just blank paper and a worn envelope. Draco has two of them in his hand, the writing different on both envelopes. “Who’s it from?”

Despite everything, Draco’s voice is still remarkably steady as he replies, “My parents.”

Harry swallows, hard. “Oh,” he says. “They sent you letters?”

“Both of them.”

“How - “

“I wish,” Draco says casually, “That I could do something for my mother. That I could get her out somehow, reduce her sentence.”

“And your father?”

Draco’s face darkens. “My father can rot for all I care.”

“He still sent you something.”

Draco doesn’t reply, just flings the letter at Harry. He takes it with shaking fingers, the printer paper a pale white compared to the darkness of the ink:

Draco,

I’m only writing this because there is nothing better for me to do in here. Don’t ever forget it. You’re the one who did this.

You’ve always been a fool. Rest assured, Draco. When I get out, everything - your money, your inheritance, your name - will no longer be yours to use.

Harry lets out a long breath. “Fuck,” he says. “What a bastard.”

Draco laughs, the sound hollow. “It’s fine. I’ve already withdrawn enough funds that we’ll be okay. My father is an asshole. I just wish...”

Harry laces his hand through Draco’s, traces his thumb over the knuckles. “Yeah?”

“I don’t know why I care so much. Why it hurts.”

He didn’t know what bothered him more - Lucius’ letter or the utter defeat in Draco’s voice. Harry swallows, hard, grips Draco’s hand so tightly that it stung.

Sometimes, Harry found himself taken aback by Draco’s beauty, the fragility and the strength, the masks that only cane crumbling down when they were alone. He was like a temple, one of those Ancient Greek ones, all marble and gold and sand, stretching out into the sky, falling apart but trying so hard not to.

“They’re your parents, Draco,” he whispers. “They raised you. You’re allowed to miss them.”

Draco shakes his head. “They don’t deserve it. My father doesn’t, at least. He doesn’t deserve my pity.”

Harry closes his eyes, tries to imagine hating his parents like that, with a burning intensity of a thousand flames. He can’t though, can’t conjure up anything besides screaming and pain and flashes of green. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what to say.”

Something flashes in Draco’s eyes. He leans back, setting the letters aside on the table, eyes fixed on Harry’s. “Don’t apologize,” he whispers. “Fuck them. I don’t care about what they think anymore. I have a new family.”

Harry closes his eyes when he feels Draco’s lips on his.

Y’all don’t want that pretty girl to stomp on you, you want a long and drawn out sword fight with flirty banter. Quit saying you want her to hit you with a truck, you want her to do The Thing where she gently lifts your chin with her sword while your heart pounds out of your chest and at the end when she has you pinned against the wall with her blade to your throat, you want a heartrending confession with hissed declarations of your undying affection and for her to finally throw her weapon to the side and pull you into a passionate yet tender kiss. Stop lying.

I think Op might be projecting a bit

You shut your mouth right this minute

You’re not going to win this fight. You knew it since you drew your sword. You can already taste defeat on your tongue. It’s bitter, but nowhere as bitter as knowing this is the only way you can get her to see you, look at you, pay attention to you.

You stab with the broadsword (idiot) and see her press forward in slow motion. Your body won’t respond fast enough, as per usual. Her arm snakes around yours and then you’re flipping forward, world spinning and turning over itself as you slam into the ground.

You gasp for air, the sting of the impact coming a moment after the desperate ache for oxygen. Then your breath is chased out of your lungs again as she drops her weight on your stomach. Her sword is a cold kiss against your neck.

Kiss against your neck. You redden, looking up into her face as she grins.

“Do you yield?” she purrs.

Your heart skips a beat. “B-best–” you clear your throat “–best two out of three.” Your entire body screams in protest even as your stomach flips, full of butterflies.

She laughs low in her throat. “You want to go again?” She leans forward, lips a breath away from your cheek. “Are you sure?”

It would be so easy to turn your head and kiss her. You’ve thought about it enough. Her soft lips against yours, the heat of her body sinking into yours, her hands– Your breath stutters and you jerk away, forgetting the blade at your throat. “Ow!” You’ve nicked yourself on her sword. You bring up one hand to press against the wound, mortified. “Sorry, I didn’t–”

“I apologize,” she says, talking over you. She sits back on her knees and you watch the muscles in her arms flex and twist as she sheathes the blade. She does not climb off of you. “Let me see.”

Before you know it, she’s pushed your hand away from the wound, casually pinning your wrist to the ground. Her fingers are right over your pulse as she uses her other hand to ghost along the column of your throat.

“My lady,” you breathe. You twitch when her fingers prod at the sensitive skin of your neck. You nearly choke when that prod turns into a caress that travels from just under your jaw, all the way down to your collarbone. “That’s not where I’m hurt.”

“Isn’t it?” Her eyes pierce through you. Her palm cups the side of your neck and you can feel her thumb stroke just behind your ear. You shiver, eyes wide. Her lips twitch. “Are you sure?”

She leans over you, eyes never leaving yours, lips parted ever so slightly. You can scarcely breathe as her head drops, breath hot against the underside of your jaw. Her fingers slip into your hair.

Oh my god, you think about saying. Her lips press to the skin just above the scratch. They’re softer than you imagined. Without knowing how, the hand not in her grip finds its way to her hip. “M-my lady?”

“Looks like it might need a bandage,” she says. Her voice is rough. You feel the loss keenly when she pulls away, but can’t bring yourself to move under the heat of her stare. She licks her lips, eyes piercing through you. “Would you like me to help you?”

Your heart is a buzz in your chest. You have to swallow twice before you can respond. “Yes, please.”

Her smile tells you that you’ve given her the right answer.

Romeo and Juliet theory said one can fell in love with each other when they are in the war or hazard situation.

Based off of this tweet (X) about a witch who decides she’d make a better chosen one than the 15 year old kid who never asked for this.

————–

“I’ve gathered you here today,” the King says, “to give you an important mission. Perhaps the most important mission I will ever assign.”

Tris feels her lip curl at the grave set of his jaw. She can’t bring herself to kneel like the other witches are, can’t bring herself to bow her head, can’t bring herself to feel honored by her invitation to the castle. 

Her village is still burning, a day’s ride to the east. Dragon fire. Can’t be put out. The King’s condolences will warm the survivors as they search for a place to lay their dead.

“The Ancient Dragon shows no sign of going back to sleep,” the King says. He beckons the Court Magician forward. “Lord Monkswood has divined the answer.”

“There is a child,” Lord Monkswood says, chest swelling with importance. He’s not from a witch clan and yet he’s the one standing beside the king, above them all. He holds out a crystal ball. “A child of fifteen summers who has been blessed with divine power. He is the one who will save us. He is the one who can slay the Ancient Dragon for good.”

Divination is small magic, but the situation is dire. Nobody else has been able to divine anything about the Ancient Dragon’s weaknesses. The witches in front of Tris whisper to each other and there’s hope in the words. His words will go down as a Prophecy with how quickly they all are to believe him.

Tris’ nails dig into her cloak.

Keep reading

it’s even better when it’s like..

Oh.

Oh.

That’s the best shit and you can pry it out of my cold, dead hands

Bonus points if that’s followed by Oh no.

Cup of Coff-tea

“One Caramel Macchiato for Draco Malfoy!”

Draco walked up to the counter to get his coffee, as he did daily, with Pansy. He took a long sip to make a show of actually needing the vile drink before turning back to Pansy, who just smirked at him knowingly.

“Thank you, Potter,” he nodded towards the man behind the counter before making his way back to where he and Pansy were seated.

Potter gave him a bright smile before tending to the other customer’s drinks. 

“Merlin, you are so whipped,” Pansy scoffed, but she was still grinning at him. “You don’t even like coffee.”

“It’s the only way I can think to see him daily without being obvious, Pans,” Draco sighed, casting a quick glance towards the counter to make sure that Potter was facing the other way before vanishing the contents of his drink. “Besides, can you blame me? It’s disgusting.”

She simply raised her eyebrow at him for a few seconds before opening her mouth to reply, but was quickly cut off.

“Well, it seems you rather needed that cup of coffee today,” Potter’s low voice sounded from behind him, causing his head to snap in his direction. “Would you like another one?”

“Sure,” Draco found his mouth moving before he could even process what he just heard.

“You know, we do offer a variety of hot and cold teas as well, if you’d prefer one,” Potter’s bright grin was back, accompanied by an attractive head-tilt that got Draco’s stomach fluttering.

He could practically feel Pansy vibrating with mirth from behind him but chose to keep his eyes pinned on Potter, who dared to look so attractive in the brown apron he was sporting in compliance with the cafe’s uniform policy.

Potter only tilted his head further for a split second before shrugging and making his way back to the counter to make more coffee for Draco, which he’d probably end up vanishing again, if he were being quite honest with himself.

“He gave you an opening and you blew it!” Pansy cackled, falling back into her seat. “Seriously, Draco, you’re a mess.”

“Shut up,” Draco grumbled, glaring at the carpeting. “If I got tea, he’d probably realize I don’t really like coffee and I’ve been making an arse of myself by buying coffee everyday.”

“Well we wouldn’t be in this mess if you’d just ask him out,” she huffed, taking a sip of her own coffee, which she actually liked for reasons unfathomable to Draco.

“Here’s your drink,” Potter’s voice reappeared from behind him, and Draco instantly hoped he didn’t hear that last bit of their conversation. A hand came in front of him and placed down the steaming mug of…not coffee and a biscuit.

“This isn’t coffee,” he mumbled weakly, picking up the hot cup of tea that he was just given.

“Thought you could use some change,” Potter shrugged with a slight smirk, still standing awkwardly at the side of their table. Draco knew from the looks on his face, though, that he knew Draco hated his coffee.

“And speaking of change,” Potter added randomly before Draco had the chance to respond. “My shift has been moved, so I get off around the same time your break starts.”

“Is that so,” Pansy asked, and Draco could practically feel the smugness in her tone.

“Yep,” Potter replied, as if not sensing her shit-eating grin. “Starts tomorrow though, but I was thinking that I could take you somewhere to eat instead of, you know, vanishing coffee every lunch time.”

Draco sputtered, embarrassed. This was not helped by the fact that Pansy was outright cackling at his reaction while Potter smiled at him expectantly.

“I- er,”

“Oh hush, darling,” Pansy said, “I’ve been meaning to catch up with Theo, anyhow.”

“Great,” Potter chirped while his question remained unanswered.

“Yes, alright. I’d love to have lunch with you,” Draco finally managed to get out, but he could feel his entire face hot with embarrassment, which he was sure was very much evident on his pale features. 

“Oh you’d love to, would you?” Pansy asked, and Draco was beginning to wish that he could vanish her like he did with his coffee. 

“Brilliant,” Potter said, completely ignoring Pansy. “It’s a date. I’ll owl you the details.”

“A date?” Draco let out an embarrassing squeak.

“Figured I’d get you out of that mess Pansy was talking about,” Potter said in reference to his and Pansy’s conversation earlier while taking slow steps backwards towards the counter. “And Draco?”

“Hmm?” he let out a hum, trying to pretend he had no idea what he was talking about.

“I think you should start calling me Harry, yeah?”

Feeling another flush crawl its way up his neck and hearing Pansy’s blatant laughter, he gave the other man a weak nod.

“See you tomorrow, Harry.”

The first time that they kiss is over a hospital bed, and it doesn’t count, because Draco is on duty and potter is on painkillers, and honestly, potter, this is the third time you’re here this week, it’s only wednesday, but Potter laughs and says with that lopsided grin, it’s not my fault dark wizards don’t take vacations, and Draco says, but healers do! what did I ever do to deserve having you as my patient? and Potter laughs and drags draco forward to plant a clumsy kiss on the corner of his mouth and slumps on the bed again, and it’s fine, because Harry is high on meds and Draco could pretend this never happened if he tried hard enough, but Harry is letting Draco bandage him up and he’s still grinning and Draco has to force himself to take his eyes away from brilliant green.

The second time that they kiss, it’s Christmas, in Ginny’s homecoming party, after a wildly successful quidditch season. Draco knows it was a bad idea to be here when he steps through with Pasny and Blaise to see Potter laughing with Ronald, and more so because all people present are couples and it’s just Potter who’s left for Draco to spend the evening with and wouldn’t small talk just be lovely? but then Potter’s eyes light up when he sees Draco, and he says, Aha, good, you’re here. fancy a seeker’s game, one on one? and Draco should say no, but says yes and maybe when Harry catches the snitch Draco doesn’t feel beaten, he feels alive and it’s entirely Potter’s fault. so he swooshes his broom to Potter, and kisses him square on the lips, and Potter laughs and kisses him and laughs again as he says, maybe you should have kept that kiss until midnight, and Draco says, oh, I’m sorry, is the number of kisses between us finite? how many do we have left? and this time when Harry laughs, it’s bright and more heady than any number of times Draco’s caught the snitch.

The eighth time that they kiss, Draco’s lost a patient. he can’t take St. Mango’s white and bare walls, and even the thought of being alone in his flat nauseats him, so he closes his eyes and when he opens them he’s in front of Grimmauld Place, and when Harry opens the door, his small smile vanishes and Draco suddenly regrets coming here, but Harry asks what happened? and Draco says I lost someone, and understanding flashes dark in Harry’s eyes, and he drags Draco inside, let’s him sit on his sofa and gives him tea and kisses him between sips as if he needs Draco as much as Draco needs him, and that thought is absurd, but it’s nice and Draco lets comfort settle deep on his bones.

The fifteenth time they kiss, Harry is moving around in the Grimmauld Place kitchen, Kreacher is moaning about wrong cooking etiquette, and Draco is sat on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs and eating little trinkets idly. he yells comments at Harry to do random things - he doesn’t know what the random things would do, in the context of cooking, but it’s fun to watch Harry alternate between grinning and looking distraught. Harry gets tired of it, eventually, and decides to shut Draco up with his mouth, and he tastes like chocolate and cinnamon and I love you, Draco thinks, but all he says is you got flour in my hair and Harry laughs, snaking his hand in Draco’s hair more thoroughly.