harry with somebody

Your secret is safe with me

“Blaise,” Draco fumed, storming into the living room, “what happened to the chest of drawers in my room?”

Blaise looked up from the paper he was reading and grinned at Draco.

“Do you like the new one? You’ve been whining about it so much, I thought I’d just replace that awful old-timer.”

“What did you do with that old-timer?”

“I sold it,” Blaise shrugged.

“You sold it,” Draco repeated flatly.

“Yes.”

“Who did you sell it to?” Draco asked frantically.

“No idea,” Blaise said. “I didn’t get a name. Two people came by to pick it up. I think they were Muggles.”

Draco felt like he was about to faint.

“Did you take everything out beforehand?”

Blaise snorted.

“Of course! What do you take me for?”

“Everything?” Draco insisted.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at Draco’s tone and studied him.

“Yes, everything.”

Draco took a step closer and narrowed his eyes.

“Even what was under the secret false bottom in the second drawer, nobody but me knows about?”

Blaise paled and his mouth opened.

“Oh,” he simply said.

“Yes, oh,” Draco growled. “Great, now I have to hunt it down. You’re a lousy flatmate.”

“Hey, I just wanted to do you a favour,” Blaise said defensively.

“You better hope they haven’t found what’s inside it, or I’m going to kill you.”

Doing the locator spell was easy enough. Draco had feared it wouldn’t work, but it seemed there were no wards guarding the flat the chest of drawers had ended up in. Draco apparated to the flat, his heart hammering as he knocked.

When the door opened, Draco was sure he had to be dreaming. Of all the people in the world. Of course. Of course.

“Malfoy?” Potter seemed stunned. He was holding a toothbrush and was only dressed in a green t-shirt and pants. “How did you find me?”

Draco shook his head, willing his mind to work properly again.

“You have something of mine,” he said curtly.

“And what might that be?” Potter responded, a grin beginning to form on his lips. It took Draco off guard for a moment.

“Can I just come in and check something?”

Potter stepped aside and gestured for Draco to come in. Draco wasted no time and quickly found the chest of drawers in the corner of Potter’s bedroom. He opened the second drawer and took out the little book he had been so desperate to get back.

“What’s that?” Potter asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Nothing of your concern. It shouldn’t have been in there,” Draco huffed.

“Hmmm,” Potter hummed. “You know, I never would have thought you kept a diary.”

Draco blushed, quickly hiding his hands behind his back.

“It’s not a diary,” he said lamely.

Potter nodded, but he had a mischievous smile on his face.

“You want a drink?” he asked, turning around and heading back into the living room. Draco blinked and tried to find his voice again.

“Um, no thank you. You were obviously getting ready for bed. I won’t disturb you any longer,” he said hastily.

“You sure? It might be a great opportunity,” Potter grinned. Draco gave him a quizzical look.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Potter shrugged, “after two Firewhiskeys you might get the chance to run your hands through my incredibly infuriating, magnificent head of hair.” Potter tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t suppress a snicker. “I might even let you touch my strong and marvellous jawline.”

Never had Draco wished more the ground would open and swallow him up.

“You read it,” he said through gritted teeth. “You had no right.”

“True,” Potter replied, nonchalant. “I’d let you read mine in return, but I don’t keep a diary.” He stepped closer to Draco, studying his face intently.

“You look rather cute when you’re flushed.”

Draco made a sound that was something between a weird gurgle and a high-pitched squeak. Whatever it was, it was highly embarrassing.

Potter chuckled, coming to a halt right in front of Draco.

“I mean, I could just show you what kind of fantasies I’d be writing in that diary,” he said in a low whisper.

Draco gulped, not quite grasping what Potter was saying.

“Like what?” he breathed.

“Hmmm.” Potter’s eyes flickered down to Draco’s lips. “Like how I want to grab you right now and kiss you until you can’t breathe.”

Draco’s mouth opened involuntarily. Breathing was already hard with Potter standing so close to him.

“And then,” Potter continued, deliberately breathing on Draco’s lips, “I’d want your hands on the most delicious and perfect arse you have ever seen in your life.”

Draco groaned loudly. This was just too much. But then again, Potter really seemed to be teasing him in a rather flirtatious way. Trying to conceal his nervousness, he raised his chin and fixed Potter with a glare.

“These better not just be empty promises,” Draco said haughtily.

“Oh, they’re not,” Potter smirked, his eyes gleaming as he started pouring their drinks.

ok concept:

  • Draco being very openly and shamelessly gay at Hogwarts. Radiating invincibility and confidence and being unabashedly flamboyant, and Harry’s attention torn to pieces every time he sees him, because Draco is just so comfortable within his own skin.
  • ‘He looks free’, Harry thinks. 
  • Harry observing everyone else’s indifference towards Draco’s sexuality and allowing it to help him come to terms with his own bisexuality
  • ‘if Malfoy can be happy, why can’t I?’
  • Harry momentarily forgetting to be Draco’s enemy, and instead asking him questions like “when did you know?”
  • Draco forgetting to taunt Harry for asking that question because he knows how hard it is to struggle with your sexuality- and even though it’s Potter, it’s still a battle fought hard when you’re alone.
  • “I knew when the only personality I fit into fully was the one I thought I’d have to hide away forever.”
  • Harry’s heart crawling up his throat at this
  • Ravenclaw: *running* Oh no, I'm late!
  • Gryffindor: The class has already ended.
  • Ravenclaw: So... am I really late for this class, or really early for the next one?
  • Gryffindor: What?
3:50 pm

Every Friday at exactly 3:50 pm Draco makes sure to kiss Harry.

Every Friday. 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.

He 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 Draco.

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.

He 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 husband.

Don't be ridiculous
  • Harry: We'll never find a partner for the Yule Ball.
  • Ron: What about Lavender?
  • Harry: Sprained her ankle. Apparently she tripped over something.
  • Ron: Oh. What about Parvati?
  • Harry: She hasn't come out of the girls' dormitory since the Potions accident yesterday. Hermione said the blemishes will fade though.
  • Ron: Huh. Okay, what about her sister Padma?
  • Harry: Nope. Somebody hexed her hair short. She's been crying for days.
  • Ron: What is going on? It's like somebody's trying to prevent us from getting a date to this thing!
  • Draco: Don't be ridiculous, Weasley!
  • Ron: Oh?
  • Draco: I couldn't care less about YOUR date!
Never give up, guys.
  • <p> <b>Red Queen Fandom:</b> Betrayed but our fire won't burn out.<p/><b>PJO/HOO/TOA Fandom:</b> Been through a lot but still fighting and living.<p/><b>Harry Potter Fandom:</b> Always in mourning but never giving into the darkness.<p/><b>ASOIAF/GoT Fandom:</b> Knocked down again and again but always getting up again.<p/><b>Supernatural Fandom:</b> Damaged but never broken, we will carry on.<p/><b>Sherlock Fandom:</b> Lonely but always striving to survive.<p/><b>Doctor Who Fandom:</b> Faced many obstacles but will go on.<p/><b>Hunger Games:</b> We may be defeated now but our spark doesn't go out so easily.<p/><b>Shadowhunter Fandom:</b> Darkness touches down but never wins. Not against us.<p/><b></b> Never give up the fight guys, take a lesson from those who we read about. Always keep up the fight no matter what.<p/></p>

somebody once told me the dark lord’s gonna pwn me
and i am just eleven years old
but his plans will all go wrong thanks to the son of prongs
if i’ll step up and start being bold

well the years start coming and they don’t stop coming
voldy’s coming soon, so i hit the ground running
grabbing my mates, hermione and ron
three of us, we can’t go wrong
so much to do, so much to see
so we’ll be all that we can be
we’ll never know if we don’t try
so let’s get on our brooms, go fly

hey now, we’re the trio
we’re gonna save the world
hey now, we’re the trio
if harry says the word
our strength, it is flaggin’
just so long as we don’t fight one more dragon…

Eight Months.

Even eight months after the break up, Harry still felt the overwhelming urge to check up on you and your life. He would check your social media accounts a few times a week, more so before going to bed when thoughts of you plagued his mind. It felt naughty, wrong in a way; after all, it was him who ended your two year relationship.

*

“It’s never going to change, Harry! Things will always be the same! You ‘forgot’ my birthday and you spent the day with Kendall. You ‘forgot’ our date night and you spent the evening with Cara. I know it’s what the media want and expect from you, and I know management want you to do this, but I think you want to as well” you sigh, the words you had held for so long in your mouth now finally spilling out.

“You’re joking, right? That was a joke? You seriously think I want to spend any spare time I have with Kendall or Cara over you? Management need me to do this, if I don’t, I can kiss goodbye to my pay cheque! Half the things I do in this job is for you! How the fuck else would you get the latest handbags and purses and shoes?! Who else is going to pay for your education? Because I don’t see you or your family offering to cough up!” he spits almost bitterly.

You gasp in shock at his words. He knew your financial situation at home and that your parent’s worked so bloody hard to provide for you, but it just wasn’t enough. Your future career depended on your qualifications, and those qualifications could only be acquired in higher education in which Harry had offered to pay for, before he knew anything about the money side of things.

“Really, Harry? That’s how you feel? You think I’m with you for the money? I don’t give a damn about the shoes or bags and purses or latest fashion trends. I love you because you’re my boyfriend and I see myself living the rest of my life with you. I don’t love you because you’re Harry Styles from One Direction!” you spit back, your words truthful.

“I’ve heard that one before” he tells you, his eyes averting to the floor.

“So now you’ve got trust issues with me? Other girls may have treated you like that in the past, but I’m not like other girls, Harry. Two years we’ve been together and you really think that of me? When you guys broke up as a band, and you didn’t know what was going to happen to your music career, who was the one sitting up with you every night holding you whilst you cried? Other girls would have run a mile because of the uncertainty of your future. I love you even if you have nothing!” you shout at him.

Harry shrugs his shoulders and bites his lip. “Look, it’s not even just this causing arguments. They’ve been going on for a while and maybe having Kendall and Cara as friends is something you can’t handle. But I can’t live my life like this anymore. I’m done arguing with you all the time” he tells you softly.

“You’re making it sound like I don’t want you having friends, which isn’t true. I want you to put me first, like you did at the start of our relationship. You would have done anything back then for me, Harry. I hate arguing with you too. Maybe if we arrange some sort of schedule and arrange dates in advance to see each other?” you suggest.

Harry shakes his head. “I think it’s too little too late, (Y/N).”

You frown, your bottom lip beginning to quiver as you ask the dreaded question. “Are you breaking up with me.”

Harry’s eyes avert to the floor once more and the silence between you both speaks more volumes than words ever could.

*

Your Instagram account had been almost inactive for the first month after the break up, with only the occasional bog-standard photos of new make-up purchases and Starbucks coffee. But no selfies and nothing that indicated any happiness in your life. After three months, your social media accounts portrayed some happiness returning to your life as you took selfies with friends on regular nights out, but Harry knew as well as anyone that social media is one massive cover up for reality. Were you really actually happy? Were you living or were you just alive?

It seemed to him that your life continued to appear happy, but after four months of opening the app, he noticed someone by your side. Photograph after photograph, upload after upload, this person would be stood next to you. You had a side when taking photos with Harry, but now somebody else was standing on Harry’s side, taking his place, standing where he should be standing. Then tagging each other on Twitter began taking place. Simple things such as “coffee dates” and memes.

Five months after the messy break up, Harry sighted a picture of the two of you kissing; you and your new beau, as it was publicised. Your lips on his, no doubt his tongue down your throat and he wanted to vomit. It didn’t make social media, but it made the headlines in the news. The media had left you alone a little while after the break up, but of course, a new relationship for you meant gossip amongst the public, especially One Direction fans and Harry girls, and the tabloids couldn’t resist the opportunity.

Upon reaching seven months, Harry noticed another change in you on social media. You were becoming more and more inactive by the day, rarely replying to tweets and the amount of photographs posted reduced. Anybody else would put it down to business in studying and spending time with loved ones, but Harry knew how much you had loved your interactions on social media, and something didn’t sit quite right with him. But then he remembered that he’s not yours and you’re not his, and you have someone else taking care of you now.

*

Eight months later, and Harry still had you on his mind almost every minute of the day. He would awake in the morning with the help of his alarm but your hair wasn’t sprawled across the pillows as he would expect; he no longer bothered eating breakfast in the mornings; gone are the days when he used keep something warm on the stove for you, for when you awoke, ensuring you had something warm for your hungry tummy in the mornings; he had nobody to send a morning text to. His routine was completely out of sync and nothing over the last few months made it any better.

He would come home every evening to an empty apartment. He had nobody to cook dinner for. He had nobody to talk to about his day. He had nobody to snuggle up to at night. He had nobody to kiss. He had nobody to love and he had nobody to love him.

Some nights would be simple; Harry would climb into bed and flick on the television, watching a favourite film in which he no longer got pleasure out of. He’d check his social media, and then check yours, before setting his alarm and falling asleep, his dreams of you haunting him throughout the night.

Other nights, he’d yearn for you. He loved you, still loves you, and wants nothing more than to hold you whilst you sleep and keep you safe in his embrace. But he would yearn for you in other ways too, awakening in the night from happy dreams of you, his cock hard for you. He would lay awake between the sheets, grinding his hips into them and rubbing himself vigorously as he imagined being inside of you. He would let himself go completely when he could imagine the moans that would leave your lips, the breathlessness you would encounter, and it was as though he could almost feel you come around him.

He hadn’t been in another relationship since the split, but there had been a couple of one night stands. In a way to get over you, ironically, he would fuck others that had similar traits to you. The same hair colour, the same laugh, the same smile. But neither of those girls were you. He didn’t really want them, they just happened along with the alcohol consumption of both parties involved. After two girls, he stopped. He wasn’t sure if it was the reality of the situation that made him stop, or if it was the slap he received one night.

*

The music was pounding against the speaker, the DJ’s were screaming out and giving shoutouts, mostly for people’s birthday’s and other celebrations, bartenders were leaning over the bar in an attempt to actually hear what the customers were ordering in the club, and everyone was like sardines, squashed together, but everyone seemed to be enjoying it and having a good time. Everyone except Harry.

He occasionally moved around and shuffled his feet in an attempt to dance, but he felt so lost without you there. He kept an eye out to see if you were around, almost forgetting that you didn’t go there together. He always used to keep an eye on you, making sure you were safe on the dance floor and that no drunken men took advantage of you. He was your protector. 

“What’s your name?” a young blonde asked. That was the only thing that was same about the two of you. You’re blonde and so was she. But she wasn’t you. Harry wasn’t too sure if she was just acting oblivious to the fact that he was the most famous, most well-known person in the club, or whether she was just so drunk that she barely knew her own name, let alone his.

“Harry” he told her, placing his hand on the small of her back and pulling her closer so as they could hear each other’s spoken words over the thumping music.

The girl nods. “Louise” she tells him. “Fancy getting out of here?” she asks. 

Harry nods. He realises she’s not as drunk as he thought she was, but taking in her features, she looked a few years older than him. Maybe she really didn’t know who he was.

“Mine or yours?” she asks as they stumble out of the nightclub and onto the streets of London. Louise quickly hails a taxi as Harry replies, “yours.”

Whilst his own place seemed more appealing as he wouldn’t have the awkward ‘leaving after a shag’ stage, he didn’t want to take her, or anyone, to his bed. Only you got the privilege to be in his bed. He didn’t fuck anyone else in his bed, only you. He didn’t want anyone else to come in the sheets besides the two of you together and for each other.

The taxi ride back to hers was soon over and they stumbled through her apartment, his lips pressed to hers. Their eyes remained closed as he thought about you. Undressing you. Running his hands up and down your body and caressing your breasts as you laid all bare for him, for his eyes only.

Harry breathlessly pulls aways as he lifts up the miniskirt. They both quickly realise this is nothing more than sex up against the wall. She’s not taking him to bed either, and Harry wonders if Louise is also getting over someone. Within the next thought, he doesn’t care. He does’t love Louise. He loves (Y/N).

The blonde grabs at his belt, unbuckling it and unzipping his trousers, his length exposed to her. He quickly reaches into his back pocket before letting his trousers drop and rips open the packaging. Covering himself with the latex, he soon pushes himself into her. She gasps, taking him in, before moving quickly against him.

They’ve both been drinking and he knows his performance will be affected greatly, so he’s not surprised when he quickly comes inside of her, moaning her name. She gasps and he withdraws from her quickly. Before even getting the chance to dress himself, her hand collides with his cheek.

“Louise! I told you my name is Louise!” she yells at him angrily.

And in that moment, he realises that he moaned your name when he came.

*

He arrived home from the studio and continued his evening rituals. No work the following day meant he could have a later night and whilst he was glad to be able to sleep in later and not have the demands of an alarm clock, he knew from experience that on a day off where he lacked a busy schedule, you would be on his mind more than ever.

The night passed with Harry doing nothing more than eating his evening meal and lounging around in front of the television, flicking through channels to find something to entertain him for a few hours. He occasionally reached for the bottle of whiskey, pouring himself small measures each time. Whilst the drinking had become a regular habit a few months back, Harry had realised that drowning his problems with alcohol helped nobody, not even himself, and he kicked the habit almost as quickly as it had started. No amount of alcohol got you out of his head.

The comedy shows provided some entertainment, and whilst there were a few forced laughs, Harry did find some of the jokes genuinely funny. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed properly.

Tapping his watch with a yawn, he checked the time. Flicking off the television set, he threw the remotes back on the sofa and picked his body up from the position he had been in for hours. A loud, repeated knock on the door made him jump slightly. The banging got harder and more frantic and he could only wonder who would be calling in on him at this hour. “Alright, I’m coming!” he yelled in frustration. Couldn’t his unwanted and unwelcome guest wait two minutes?!

Heading into the hallway, he unlocked the door, pouting his lips to express his emotion, making sure the person on the other side of it knew he was angry at the disturbance and the complete lack of respect for him and his property. As far as they were aware, he may well have had work the next morning. Swinging the door open,  he gasps, taking in the demeanour of the person standing in front of him, the sight almost killing him as bile rose in his stomach and a nauseous feeling took control of his body.

HUFFLEPUFF:

“I work hard (he works hard) every day of my life.
I work till I ache in my bones.
At the end (at the end of the day)
I take home my hard earned pay all on my own.
I get down (down) on my knees (knees)
And I start to pray (praise the Lord)
Till the tears run down from my eyes.
Lord, somebody (somebody) somebody,
Can anybody find me somebody to love?

–Queen (Somebody To Love)