My brain keeps returning to this idea – what if, in POA (movie universe), Harry never realizes that the crane Malfoy sent him was a note (because I mean, who would)? Like he just stares at it, confused, then goes “okay” sets it down on his desk and goes back to ignoring Snape
I mean, Draco would be furious because how dare you not appreciate my bullying Potter and the next class they have together, he grabs another piece of paper, writes something along the lines of “You suck Potter”, folds another crane and blows it over – only for it to be left sitting on Harry’s desk again after the lesson, and Harry didn’t even look inside, he didn’t do anything with this damn crane, and Draco is absolutely seething from this lack of attention
So he does it again. And again. And again.
First it’s insults (because of course he hates Potter, they’re archenemies, never mind the actual murderer stalking Harry at this very moment) – “I hope you die Potter” “I wish I met Sirius Black I’d help him” “Your glasses are appalling why do you still have the same ones from first year your prescription can’t possibly be the same you moron” “Eat a bag of dicks Potter” – but a month goes by and he’s running out of things to say and Potter never reads the notes anyway so Draco just starts ranting about everything else he finds annoying
Soon the cranes are just a way of venting – talk about your day, fold a beautiful crane, send it to the person you definitely hate the most. He still tries to snark and generally antagonize every time he sees Potter, because it’s practically my duty to take the Golden Boy down a peg, Goyle – but he can’t do it the same way anymore, so he takes a step back – in everything except the cranes.
Every day, every class, and sometimes at breakfast, a crane will land next to Harry Potter’s elbow. Without fail. Harry will pick it up, stare at it, and set it back down. Or maybe slip it into his bag, and Draco’s stomach flips the first time he does that.
It’s almost like they’re friends. By now, Draco’s told him things he never even voiced to his friends – that he’s actually terrified of the Dementors, that he keeps feeling like he’s not good enough, because no matter what he tries, there’s always somebody better than him at it – that he still can’t understand why Harry didn’t want to be his friend that time on the train, seriously Potter what did I do? you didn’t even know me! – and Potter didn’t crumple any of the cranes, so maybe he doesn’t hate him so much anymore?.. Draco knows Potter never reads these notes, but he likes to pretend that Harry knows all these things about him. And maybe even cares a little.
It’s stupid, and he really shouldn’t be putting any of such personal details in writing (honestly Lucius would be so disappointed, these cranes are perfect blackmail material and what the hell are you thinking Draco yells Draco’s inner voice) – but he can’t stop. It’s become a habit, and Potter stared at him for fifteen minutes at lunch today, so he can’t stop. Draco keeps talking, and making Harry little doodles, and trying not to smile too obviously when another crane ends up in Harry’s pocket.
And meanwhile, Harry’s going nuts. He just doesn’t understand what Malfoy wants from him, or why he doesn’t run into him so often anymore – and the cranes really seem to be just paper (Ron why does Malfoy know origami is this a general wizard thing or is it just him), and they’re delicate and elegant, and he feels bad about destroying them – so he just leaves them.
Until, of course, he absentmindedly shoves one in his bag one day – and finds it that evening. Sighs and sets it on his bedside table, because what else can he do?.. Even if he throws it out, he’ll just get a new one tomorrow. Or three.
He’s confused, because Malfoy isn’t even so loud or dramatic anymore, it’s almost as if he’s trying not to attract attention – beyond the cranes – but Harry’s eyes are glued to him anyway. He knows that Malfoy has to be up to something, because of course he is – but he just can’t tell what, there’s no way to know, and holy shit Ron he just smiled at me what the hell is he planning – and all this time, the pile of cranes on his bedside table keeps growing
He doesn’t lie awake at night, thinking of Malfoy’s smile. He doesn’t. Really.
The next day, when he gets his morning crane, he flashes Malfoy a brilliant smile, and laughs at his stunned expression like ha, two can play at this game! Gotcha now! and he’s still thinking that Malfoy’s messing with his mind – except he can’t help but think that it would be nice if Draco was really like that. If he really just sent the cranes over to brighten Harry’s day. If there wasn’t something else behind this, because he’s starting to like it.
All this goes on until Hermione barges into their dormitory again, in the ungodly hours of the morning, like she usually does – and stops dead, staring at the pile of cranes, Ron may have been complaining but she never imagined the true extent of this new, yet age-old obsession. And of course, Harry tries to protest, that it’s all for science, Hermione, I have to find out what he’s up to and this is the only source of information – but the excuses run dry when she quizzes him a bit and finds out that none of the cranes are cursed, or charmed to yell insults, or anything, really
So she’s like “well have you tried to unfold one” and no he didn’t, who the heck writes notes inside a crane anyway, isn’t it an artwork?? But hey, that’s an idea, and that night the trio gets together, sitting on Harry’s bed with the crane he just got in Charms, bated breath and all, waiting for it to unleash something nasty (Harry finds himself really really hoping it won’t)
All kinds of security measures done, and they unfold it
Hermione’s like “oh. Oohh,” and Ron’s eyebrows fly away to roam the world
there’s a shitty little drawing of Harry and Draco holding hands, with little hearts all around
Y’know there’s no singular reason to hate him he does a lot of little awful things that accumulate to the rotten potato person he is he’s just a small, conniving, starchy shell digging his roots into anything beautiful until eventually, inevitably that beautiful thing is infected by his rottenness
How about pegging dominant harry? You're fucking him senseless but he's still telling you what to do, how he wants to be fucked, how good you're being for him.
I like this concept a lot I can’t believe I’m sweating gallons
Okay so just imagine Harry coming back from the New York premiere, feeling all high and mighty because for the last couple of days he’s been surrounded by people praising him for his talents and kissing the ground he walks on so he’s feeling cocky.
He gets to the hotel, walking into the room with his shoulders back, buttons on his expensive shirt already half undone and he’s working the knot in his tie loose, toeing off his leather shoes carefully and walking around the side of the bed. You’re watching a rerun of Scooby Doo, smelling him before you even see him. He’s wearing his favorite Tom Ford cologne, smelling all musky and manly with notes of citrus, cedarwood and ocean salts and he’s just so damn tempting.
Harry kneels onto the bed, mattress dipping under his weight as he crawls towards you, one arm stretching onto the opposite side of your torso, caging you under him as he hovers over you’re body, tie hanging from around his neck and shirt wide open to expose all of the tats on his tanned chest.
“Yeah,” you answer softly, arms reaching up to drape over his shoulders and wrap around his neck, pulling him down to your lips.
The kiss is slow and tender at first, with gentle sucking and a little bit of tongue. His body gives and melts on top of yours, one knee propped against the bed in between your legs as the other straddles your thigh. One hand is cupping your jaw as the other grips the back of the opposite thigh roughly, all of his chunky rings biting at your skin over the material of your bunny pajama pants.
Harry is the one who takes the first step in making it a heated night. He bites at your bottom lip all of the sudden, causing you to yelp into his mouth, pulling back in surprise. But he refuses to let you, suckling at your now swollen lip and hissing into your mouth.
“Fuck me.” His voice is deep and raspy, yet smooth like velvet and thick like molasses. The hand groping your thigh begins to rock your leg back and forth, resulting in your center rubbing against the knee he has placed between your own.
His eyes bore into you, a dark mossy green with bronze specks littered throughout its depth. They show nothing but utter lust and a twinge of haughtiness.
“Yeah?” You tug at the collar of his dress shirt, pushing it back until it starts to roll down his shoulders. “Want me to ride you?”
But Harry shakes his head, thumb caressing your chin as an ominous smirk pinches his dimples into place. “I don’t mean it as in, ‘fuck me.’ I mean it as in fuck me.”