Hey, if you happen to know a trans person’s deadname, for any reason? Whether it’s because you knew them before they came out or you accidentally found out or they trusted you enough to tell you? Don’t tell anyone else. It’s not your information to give out and literally nobody needs to know a trans person’s deadname. If you tell somebody that without explicit permission from the trans person, then you’re an asshole.
I am new to the Drarry Squad and to Tumblr and I can’t even express how much fun I have had interacting with you all and being embraced as part of this spectacular fandom! To celebrate this first milestone, here is an excerpt of a longer fic that I am working on…well, working on when I can drag myself away from Tumblr…
Draco settled into his desk and started prepping the files
he would need to complete the paperwork from his last mission. Thankfully the
Weasel was out of the office today training and Draco reveled in the quiet
Just as he pulled out the appropriate form and set to
writing, the office door loudly swung open and Potter entered. Of course he
hadn’t bothered to knock, and of course he didn’t say anything as he trudged to
the couch in the office and heavily sat down.
Draco had yet to get used to the brutish “manners” Potter
exhibited. Potter and the Weasel both had no sense of propriety and it
irritated Draco to no end.
Potter grunted and pointed toward Ron’s desk with a
“Honestly Potter, are words too much to ask for? Weasley is
doing his training today.” At Harry’s confused look, Draco pointedly rolled his
eyes “He won’t be in the office…” Harry’s blank look didn’t clear “I was
planning to quietly work on paperwork” the dismissal was heavy in the air, but
of course Potter didn’t pick up on it. Instead, he sighed and laid his head
back on the couch, closing his eyes.
Draco was perturbed that Potter hadn’t made a move to leave,
but yet found himself staring at his exposed throat, slightly lighter than the
surrounding skin, he noticed. He traced Potter’s strong jaw with his eyes and
tried very hard to pretend he didn’t want to trace it with his tongue. Merlin,
Potter was good looking. Internally shaking himself Draco bitingly said “Don’t
you ever go home, Potter?”
Harry opened his eyes and trained a weary glance at Draco.
They had been in the habit of verbally sparing with each other and though he
wanted to say something smart back, he was simply too exhausted – so instead,
the truth came out “Not if I can help it, no” he said in a weak puff of air.
Draco startled a little at the truthful admission. Quickly,
he covered it with another quip “Oh, no one to pester at home, then?” Harry
continued to look at him with weary eyes and he became uncomfortably aware that
he was likely closer to the truth than he intended.
Harry’s eyes closed once more and very much against his
will, Draco softened. Quietly, he said “You look tired, was it a rough night at
Harry swallowed and once again trained his eyes on Draco
“Yes. A torture case. He didn’t make it.”
Draco didn’t have to ask to know how hard this was on Harry.
It was written in the painful crease of his eyes, the bone-weary set of his
shoulders, and the fact that he still hadn’t moved, despite knowing that Ron
wouldn’t be coming. Draco stood up and swept out of the office. When he
returned moments later, Harry hadn’t moved an inch.
Draco gently settled on the opposite end of the sofa and
quietly cleared his throat. Harry slid his eyes open a crack to glance at
Draco, and then startled, he opened them wide. Draco pushed a mug of tea toward
Harry and he gratefully accepted it. His eyes quickly shot to Draco once more
as he realized his tea was prepared exactly as he liked it – strong, with a
splash of milk. Harry opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Draco
drawled “You’re here nearly every day, I am capable of picking up on some
things” and walked quickly back to his desk.
Draco, in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice asked “Are
you planning on staying here a bit then?”
Harry looked over at Draco and was struck at how clear and
bright his grey eyes were, even as a slight frown lit his face. “I suppose I
could head home, Merlin knows I need sleep, but…”
The unspoken words hung in the air. Draco had once heard the
Weasel and the Weaslette talking quietly in the office, when they thought he
wasn’t paying attention, about Harry’s nightmares that never went away after
the war and were always made worse by cases he couldn’t help, even though he
was the best healer at St. Mungo’s. Draco knew about nightmares. He had them
more often than was decent. The only times he didn’t reliably have nightmares
were when he couldn’t take it anymore and took a Dreamless Sleep potion.
Draco cleared his thoughts with an imperceptible shake of
his head “Like I said, I was planning on a quiet day of paperwork…you’re
welcome to rest on the couch until you feel well enough to go home, if you
Harry’s brows knit together as he finished the last of the
tea and levitated the cup to Ron’s desk. He looked back at Draco, his eyes
searching for Merlin-knows-what. Draco had to work harder than he would admit
to keep his face impassive as he fought down an annoying spike of caring for
the handsome brute in his office. Harry sighed and murmured a thanks as he
shifted further down into the couch and promptly fell asleep.
Okay so yeah, of course I love the idea of Draco changing his last name to Potter once he and Harry get married. Of course I love the idea of them hyphenating, and all the drama that ensues when they argue about which name should go first. But you know what I really like? What doesn’t get nearly enough thought IMHO?
The mere concept of Harry Malfoy.
Harry Malfoy, nauseated by the fame that came in a package deal with the name “Potter,” fame he never asked for, changing his to that of the person he cares about most.
Harry Malfoy, searching his husband’s eyes for approval before signing the legal documents to have his last name changed and finding just that and so much more. Finding hope and adoration and love. Real love. The warding-off-killing-curses kind of love. Harry holding onto that moment as tightly as possible.
Harry Malfoy, practicing his new signature for hours on end with every spare piece of parchment he can find, and finding an innocent sort of joy in the way his “M” melted perfectly into his “a.”
Harry Malfoy, a reinvented version of himself, finding the strength to move on from his past and sleep through the night without being afraid something might come for him.
Harry Malfoy, being able to breathe in his own skin again because he’s finally been granted the fresh start he’s always wanted.
Harry Malfoy, a name that has never plastered newspapers, has never been on the wanted list, has never been hunted by Voldemort, has never been spat out of the mouth of his aunt and uncle, has never been.
Harry Malfoy, the first page of a journal that is yet to be filled with love poems and stories and happy memories.