why am i not surprised though that liam mentioned both sophia and cheryl? like its so funny that liam was supposedly heartbroken and in such a bad place when him and sophia broke up that he turns around and knocks up cheryl soon after like im glad liam is kinda speaking up about his mental health even though we aren’t getting the full truth but the way his team is going about it is nasty as hell
voltron writers: lance sometimes says things like ‘ten thousand is one thousand plus ten’ because he’s the airhead comic relief character :)
me, an intellectual: english isn’t lance’s first language. and although he’s now fluent (presumably due to his enrollment at the garrison), the occasional mistranslation can still occur. however, these slip-ups are in no way a measure of his intelligence.
Even tho I still can’t manage holding my tablet’s pen, my mechanical pencil is slim and light enough to let me draw! Which is why I spent the last few days sketching traditionally - maybe this blog has been inactive long enough to allow me to post shitty pics of shitty pencil doodles too haha
Malfoy looked up from his desk, quill poised over the parchment as his son hovered by the study door. Aware that he was frowning, Draco lifted his expression into something more neutral. He was vaguely aware of his own father always frowning whenever he’d tried to talk to him as a boy, and he didn’t want Scorpius to one day think the same about him.
“Come in, come in. Shut the door, you’ll let the heat out.”
The Greengrass estate was a crumbling ruin compared to Malfoy Manner, with only half the library and none of the artifacts Draco had spent the last few years archiving and putting safely away behind spelled glass. But for now it was home, chilly stone walls and all.
“Did you want something?”
“Yes.” Scorpius replied, pausing to tug at the hem of his dark shirt. There’s still a bruise under his eye, faded to be sure, but the mere presence of it made Draco’s heart skip a beat. When he’d seen Severus Potter crawling out of the rubble, face covered in blood and no sign of his own son, he’d known terror like no other.
And Draco Malfoy was intimately familiar with the machinations of terror. He’d been hugged by it once.
“Well,” he prompted, setting aside his work entirely and giving his full attention to his son. “What is it?”
“I want my friends to come visit.”
Draco blinked. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Your…friends?”
“Albus Potter and Rosie Granger-Weasley. I would like them to come stay.”
Draco blinked again. Later he’d laugh—somewhat despairingly into a decanter of fire brandy—at the absurdity of the notion that his boy, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, was best friends with a Potter and the hybrid off-spring of a Granger Weasley, but the threat of impeding hysterics was quelled under the defiant gaze of his son, narrow chin lifting at some unspoken challenge.
“I see. For how long?”
“A…a week…maybe two…They’re going to France for the Quiditch Cup Primaries…” he glanced down and Draco spied the curled up parchment hidden up his sleeve. “So it wouldn’t be for long.”
Draco glanced at his desk, to the fireplace, then back to his son. “I don’t…”
I want my friends…friends…how often had Astoria lamented his lack of playmates as a child, how often had she fretted that Scorpius’ only interaction had been with adults—or books, or enchanting his own toys for someone to play with. And how quickly had Scorpius’ face crumpled at the utterance of two simple syllables.
“…know if two weeks would be wise, given your mother’s health. She’s still recovering from the move. But I shall discuss it with her, and see what can be done.”
Scorpius stilled, the beaming smile on his face reigned in to something calmer, even now, not wanting to get his hopes up too much. “Thank you. For what it’s worth, we will be good.”
Draco snorted at that, remembering the last time a Malfoy, a Potter and a Granger and a Weasley had been together at their age. “Somehow I doubt it. Go on off you go, go see what your mother is up to. She’s enjoying having you home.”
“And I am enjoying being here,” Scorpius replied, in that curiously courteous and stiff way of speaking he’d always had, even as an infant learning his words. “I am happy to be here, with you, and mother.”
“I’m…very glad to hear it.” Draco replied, unsure what else he was supposed to say to such an open admission said so politely like one was discussing the weather. “Now go on, off you go, I need to finish this manuscript before I lose the thought.”
“You’ll talk to mother though, wont you?” Scorpius pressed from his space by the door. “You’ll ask…”
“Yes, yes.” Draco waved a hand, “I’ll ask if the Potter spawn can come stay with us. Just for a little bit. To say thank you for…everything.”
Reassured, Scorpius left, closing the door behind himself with a firm click.
Draco waited several more moments, counting to a hundred before opening up the top desk of his drawer and pulling out his correspondence folder, flipping through them until he found the appropriate manila envelope, writing the address of the Ministry Neatly to the front.
Clearing his throat politely, he composed himself, then tapped it to life with his wand.
“Hello Potter,” he spat with a vicious familiar glee, unable to keep from laughing, “I’m not sure which one of us is going to be more surprised by this turn of events, but I swear to gods if you break my son’s heart by saying no, I will personally send you a red Howler on the hour every hour till the day one of us dies. Now, about dates, the last week in June works well for us…”
Every Friday at exactly 3:50 pm Draco makes sure to kiss Harry.
He hasn’t been late once either. Because Draco always drops everything
he’s doing, no matter what he’s doing, to go and look for Harry. It’s
not that easy sometimes. Harry has a job that, unlike Draco’s, requires
him to actually leave the house. Whenever Draco shows up at his
workplace, Harry’s face lightens up. He has never complained about Draco
interrupting his work. Not once.
Even when they’re fighting and they’re both in a bad mood, they briefly forget about it when it’s 3:50 on a Friday. Like right now.
They had an argument last night about Harry getting a motorcycle. Draco
just doesn’t get why Harry would want to spend that much money on
something that will probably kill him. They both fell asleep with a
scowl on their face and they didn’t talk while eating breakfast. Harry
left the house while Draco was reading the paper.
But now, as
Draco stands in front of him, Harry is smiling at him fondly. Merlin,
Draco just never tires of that smile. Even after all these years.
glances at the clock and sees it’s 3:49. His eyes find Harry’s and they
hold so much love, it makes Draco shudder. He takes Harry’s hands in
his and pulls him closer. When his lips brush Harry’s, a familiar
feeling washes over him. It’s warm and invigorating, reassuring and
exhilarating. Kissing Harry will never fail to consume and mesmerize
Harry leans away again and brushes his thumb over Draco’s cheek.
“I still have a bit of work to do, but I’ll try to be home early, okay?”
“Okay,” Draco whispers, his eyes still closed.
feels Harry kiss the tip of his nose and can’t help but grin. He pulls
Harry back into a tight embrace and relishes the feeling of Harry’s body
shaking against his, as Harry laughs out loud.
“I love our Friday afternoon kisses,” Harry murmurs.
“I love them, too.”
Draco really does. Because it was 3:50 pm on a Friday afternoon when
Harry Potter said “I do” and kissed Draco for the first time as his