Hermione and Ron weren’t in the library like they said they’d be. It wasn’t surprising, really. They were always sneaking off or running late these days. Harry stopped asking where they’d been after the fifth bout of giggles he’d received in response. He was happy for them of course, but it did leave him feeling a little bit lonely at times. Like now. He’d actually have to study (rather than play noughts and crosses in the margins of his Potions textbook with Ron).
Harry plonked his books down (ignoring Madam Pince’s ominous Shhh from across the library) on an empty table squeezed between two shelves of books, happy for the privacy. The Hogwarts library was similar to the rest of the castle in the way that it had a mind of its own. The tables and bookshelves were constantly rearranging themselves and each day there would be a new configuration. This was Harry’s favourite so far. No one would even know his table was there unless they were specifically looking for it, or for a book on the spiritual properties of Flobberworm, which sat nestled on the shelves behind Harry’s head.
He opened up his Potions textbook and considered playing noughts and crosses with himself before sighing and flicking over to chapter seventeen to read up on the brewing process of Veritaserum. Apparently, it wasn’t enough to make the potion, they had also been assigned to write an entire essay on the method before even attempting it in class. To make the whole thing even more unappealing, they weren’t even allowed to keep the potions once they were completed. Harry could do with some Veritaserum, he thought. He’d chug a whole flask, take a walk around Hogwarts and finally tell everyone what he really thought. “If only,” he whispered to himself.
“If only what?”
Startled, Harry looked up quickly and found Draco Malfoy peering around a bookshelf at him. He frowned. This was the first time he had heard Malfoy talk all year. They’d been avoiding each other mostly, looking away when they caught the other staring (which, admittedly, was often) and keeping a wide distance as they passed in the corridors.
Harry Potter AU where Draco joins the order in 5th year and Harry teaches him how to cast a patronus. Obviously, no one else trusts him because “maybe he’s a spy for the death eaters” and” he’s hated us forever he just wants to get us in trouble with Umbridge” but eventually Draco proves himself. This leads to Draco telling the golden trio that his father has some secret plan that involve the Department of Mysteries and convinces Harry not to go to the Ministry after Harry’s ‘vision’ (Sirius lives!!!!!) and it’s not Cho that Harry kisses in the Room of Requirement.
Summary: Draco finds a tube of Pansy’s lipstick. He puts it on in a fit of curiosity and finds that he really, really likes how he looks. He’s not the only one.
Summary: Draco has grown bored of the aristocratic fetish clubs, and decides to try something new. But he never would have expected to find Harry Potter, disguised and on his knees, waiting for him.
Summary: Harry clenches his jaw, sets the files down on the desk between them. “Remind me what you were picked up for again?” he asks pointedly, hands resting over the smooth paper…
Feauturing: rentboy! Draco, Auror!Harry, role playing, delicious dirty talk, scar kink, off the charts hotness
Summary: Draco’s become a bit obsessed with Harry’s sizable package. It’s a little distracting. Even more so when it’s up your arse. (Or “Harry’s Big Dick is messing with Draco’s life.” ~Capitu)
Summary: “If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know?” Of course, Harry had to miss the moment his clock ran out.
Featuring: 8th year, smut-free, slight flangst, soulmate AU
Summary: Harry hates small space. Really hates them. So when he gets trapped in one with Draco Malfoy there’s really only one thing that’s going to happen…
Featuring: auror partners caught in a tight situation, claustrophobic Harry, hot hot smut
WHAT IF Lucius put some sort of “permanent” glamour over Draco as a child to make him look more like him and Narcissa because he actually has dark hair like his aunts. And Harry hadn’t seen him since the end of the Trials, at which point the glamour hadn’t been dissolved:
The crowd thins as Harry nears the dead end of Diagon Alley, tripping over the uneven cobblestone in the fading light as he searches for the store scribbled on the parchment.
The road ends in a rundown roundabout, the facades of the shops faded and mostly vacant. There’s one storefront less weather worn than the rest, colored a lively blue, with the words, “The Dragon’s Den,” painted on the window in curling strokes of gold. Cracked spines of old books line shelves set under the wide windows, trailing green leaves peaking in from the sides and hanging along the tops. Glancing once more at Luna’s scribbled handwriting, Harry pushes open the door.
He ducks out of the way of fern frods, eyes jumping to the miniature snitch wizzing away to the back of the store. A small bar with what looked vaguely like muggle coffee machine sits in the middle of the room, boxes of teas hovering within reach of the barstools tucked up against the dark wood. There’s plants and crystals on every surface not covered by books and miss matched tea cups while coffee mugs hide endless water rings on the countertop. Bookshelves line the walls, the novels weighing them down to the point of warping. A light pitter patter of paws along with the jangling of a tiny bell fill the cozy room as a fluffy tabby runs in, sniffing around Harry’s shoes and rubbing against his legs. After picking up the impatiently meowing cat, Harry wanders around the small space, footfalls damped by plush carpets and ornate rugs.
“It seems Minnie has claimed another victim. Don’t feel obligated to hold her, she’s just an attention seeking snob.” A voice Harry hadn’t heard in years, not since the trials, drifts around the corner of a particularly full shelf. A warmth and ease mixes with the deep tone, filling out the sound more than it ever was when they hurled insults across the Great Hall to each other.
Minnie jumps from Harry’s arms to curl up on a stack of dusty novels as Harry slowly twists around in shock.
“Never thought I’d see The Boy Who Lived Twice at my shop. What brings you here?” A dark haired man leans against the bar, a towel thrown over his shoulder and a pair of reading glasses tucked into the neck of his oversized sweater.
“Luna,” Harry answers vaguely, dumbfounded by the man slowly raising an eyebrow. This man who’s cheekbones and jaw are as sharp as a knife, with eyes the color of storm clouds, and has hair to match the obsidian next to his elbow.
“Are you going to stand there and stare or are you going to tell me if Moony is okay?” Both eyebrows arch expectantly, fingers curling in a gesture to spit it out.
“Moony?” Harry chokes out, confusion coloring his face.
“Moony’s my nickname for Luna. Her name means moon. It’s much better than her nickname for me.” That damned eyebrow again, this time with a broad grin, “Now are you going to answer me or keep asking one word questions?”
“She, um, wrote down your shop name. It’s a thing we do. Every month we give each other a new shop that we like to visit that the other hasn’t been to before. I can see why Luna would like yours.” A blush rises high in Harry’s tanned face as cuts off his rambling.
“Well, while you’re here, do you take coffee or tea?” Malfoy questions, making his way around the counter.
“Coffee’s fine. Black,” Harry mumbles, still staring, “Since when were you this attractive?”
“Well I’d like to say I’ve always been this attractive, but apparently you have a different opinion.” A smirk settles over Malfoy’s lips as he answers the question Harry didn’t realize he asked out loud.
“No you’ve always— Er, well— the, your hair— um.” Malfoy laughs, making the blood rush even faster to Harry’s face.
“Twas a glamour my lovely father put on me. He didn’t want me to look like my aunts. Ones a wacko, the other a, ‘blood traitor.’” He lifts a hand in air quotes as he spits out the words, “When I took Black as my surname, the glamour fell. Good old Pops couldn’t see me as his kid anymore, so the spell lost its hold. Being gay didn’t help with that mess, I’d imagine.” He pours the freshly made coffee into two mugs, sliding one Harry’s way before dumping half the container of sugar into his.
“Ha, I know the feeling. My aunt and uncle were way less then thrilled about me being bi. Telling them was a whole shitshow,” Harry remarks, laughing into his coffee.
“Sounds like we both have amazing family,” Draco says before turning to the whizzing snitch. Another smile stretches across Draco’s lips as Harry turns his attention to the old books, and Harry knows he’ll be coming back to this store very soon.
((OOC: so I totally forgot I wrote this. Who knows how long this has been sitting in my drafts.))
My mother insists that I write you to formally thank you for speaking on behalf of us at the Wizengamot. Without your testimony, we most certainly would have faced time in Azkaban.
So: thank you.
If you were expecting any heartfelt words of gratitude, then you’ve mistaken me for those hero worshippers who submit their amateur poetry about you to The Daily Prophet. Even as a child, I could write better poetry than that.
Hoping to never speak to you again,
Draco Malfoy
Malfoy,
Please pass my appreciation on to your mother. I sincerely hope she is well.
As for you, I don’t need or expect your gratitude. That’s not why I helped you. You wouldn’t understand this of course, but those of us who have a heart, help others simply just to help others.
I also happen to enjoy and appreciate the notes people leave in The Daily Prophet for me. I’ve never heard any poetry from you, so I wouldn’t be so quick to throw stones.
Wishing you horrible misfortune,
Harry Potter
Don’t give me that load of crock, Potter. Even heroes have ulterior motives.
I also highly doubt you enjoyed last week’s poem: “I see Harry Potter’s emerald eyes, they sparkle and shine, all magic defies.” What does that even mean?
Seeing through your media-trained lies,
Draco Malfoy
Malfoy. You only think I’m lying because you can’t comprehend anyone’s perspective but your own.
That poem was heartfelt and thoughtful. I have a copy of it on my fridge – that’s a muggle appliance.
shealwaysreads 