into that good night

_ _ _

The resonant pounding upon the front door sounds at 1:43am. Harry stumbles into the foyer, sleep-laden, fist curled around his drawn wand.

The wards remain resolutely down, the Floo refusing to do anything but sputter.

It’s been a back-and-forth game of telephone (the Muggle sort) with Hermione & Ron for the better part of 72 hours. It’s the first night he hasn’t slept at his office in five days.

At the sight of Draco on his stoop, he exhales, tucking him inside with a hand wrapped around his elbow.

“Malfoy,” he sighs, settling.

Draco shoves his wand forward, into Harry’s hand. “Cast something,” he says soft into the quiet hour.

Harry takes it in his fingers, absent, only still the half-bit-wakeful, and glances to Draco’s side. “Where’s your broom?”

Draco responds with a gesture as dismissive as it is brief. “Never mind that. A spell, any spell. Lumos. Leviosa. A bloody Tempus, if you please.”

Harry’s brow crinkles. “I told you to fly if you needed—”

Draco’s composure cracks, splitting from seam to seam. “Potter, I can’t. Now, cast something.”

“Lumos,” Harry calls, and the dark stays dark, night still steadily night.

A sound strangles in Draco’s throat. “Again,” he says, forcing the word forward.

Harry breathes, blinks himself into focus, consciousness crystallizing. “Lumos,” he says.

The dark dares him to defy it. Does not gloat when he fails.

He falters a mere moment, then fetches his mobile from its shelf.

“Who are you calling?” Draco inquires, and Harry’s glad for the question to break the quiet.

“Hermione,” he says.

“And then?”

Draco’s voice isn’t a calm that comforts— it’s a calm that carries the weight of omens, of acrimoniously-accepted uncertainty.

Harry’s eyes lock on his in the dim. The small lamp in the entryway, the streetlights, cast shadows that make the moment soften then shutter.

“And then the Minister.”

The line rings.

Mission Report

“Malfoy. Malfoy. Oh, come on, you big, stupid—”

One grey eye cracked open. “Poke me again and you will regret it.”

Harry swallowed the growl. “We have to move, you gigantic twat. The sun’s about to rise in five minutes, and if we’re still here by that time we’ll be toast.”

Malfoy made a miserable face and rolled on his back. “Why’d you have to bring up toast? I’m so bloody hungry.”

His eyes were puffy, and there was a thin red mark from whatever he rested his cheek on. Harry, not snickering, “C’mon. There should be food in this safe-house. I think.” Gulping, and not because of the little stretch that made Malfoy’s tight shirt ride a fair bit up and expose, erm, a lot of his hips, his belly. No, mostly because he was hungry too, and the chances of finding two safe-houses completely empty weren’t so high. Something was up. Something that wasn’t Harry’s—

“All right,” with a sigh like he was doing Harry a favour. “Do you have the map, or are you about to embark on another insane, show-off-y fit of wild magic to get us there?”

“I had to do that or we would’ve been—”

“Crushed by that boulder, yes, I recall.” Rolling his eyes, then rolling to his feet. Harry always liked to watch him do that, go into ‘Mission Mode’ as Ron called it or ‘Dreamy Mode’ as Nev once said. “All right. Concealment charms?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” with only a little bit of a grumble, and up to his feet too (so he wasn’t staring directly at Malfoy’s rather-nice thighs). “On my count? One, two,” they both went a little too fast at the exact same time.

This was the reason they’d partnered them up: Malfoy’s magic wrapped around Harry’s and melted into it, forming something crackly and bright and quite a lot stronger that once blew the roof off the trainee’s locker room.

And Malfoy was beautiful when he cast. All lean figure and exact, clean lines, big shoulders and the perfect tension in every gorgeous muscle, and the look of utter concentration on his face that felt unbreakable. It made Harry grin a little stupidly, then swallow the grin, then shiver a bit: cold air of dawn and Malfoy’s tingling magic, all citrusy and brilliant and far too pretty.

When they were done, with a triumphant smile: “Well, Potter? How are we to proceed? Might I remind you our bags were all crushed by that unfortunate boulder that separated us from the rest of the group.”

“Unfortunate,” Harry agreed, then, “I mean. I still have the coordinates. I can Apparate us there without any, er, show-off-y magic or anything.”

Malfoy’s face was strangely flushed. “Oh? Fine by me. Let’s go and hope—”

“We can crack this case in time? That the others find their way to the next safe-house?”

“That there’s food,” he sighed, a little mischievous glint to his eyes. “Goodness, Potter, it’s like I have to spell everything out for you.”

“Git,” Harry breathed, and offered his arm to the giant git still smirking at him. The coordinates Harry retained were for the Silverburn safe-house, and he was rather certain Malfoy’s not going to like it. Food, yes, plenty of it in the pantry, and there’s only one bed.

Sun Shower | Drarry | 5.9k | Rated T | Unleashed!Fest Fic Claim

Tags: EWE, Outsider POV, fluff, minor panic and nightmares, Harry reckoning with his childhood, Draco in the muggle world, Harry cooking playfully, Draco’s heeled slippers, questionable sandwich choices, does this cat want to eat Draco? maybe, does Draco want to eat Harry? certainly.

here you’ll find a skeptical protective cat, sweet messy Harry, confident capable Draco, a silly French dog, food as a love language and as healing, many fabulous coats and bags, gentle rituals, jam, chutney, mustard, various legumes, and mud.

this is for @getawayfox, whose encouragement and inspiration got me to actually write something I wanted to share. El and @stavromulabetaaa, you’ve been the best mods for @unleashed-fest, thank you for all your support. this fest is full of so many wonderful things!

a big big thank you to my beta, @citrusses, and to @sweet-s0rr0w for the britpick!!

Draco’s shoes are inspired by this gorgeous shoe concept from @lilbeanz

Read on AO3!

[for easier reading:

The guard is twirling his wand between his fingers, sitting on the low step of the chapel.

Regulus doesn’t bother being quiet. There’s no point, not with him.

“I thought thieves worked nights,” the guard says.

Regulus disables the security charms with a single spell, and sits next to him.

“I was a bit busy last night, as I’m sure you’ll remember.”

The guard grins and they sit in silence, watching the sun rise.

“Are you going to let me take the locket?”

“Not today,” the guard says.

“I’ll keep trying, Harry.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’ll see you at home.”]

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Hello!  I had the pleasure to do more art for @softlystarstruck lovely, sweet, beautiful fic “Luminous”  for  @harrydracobang

I’m so happy I could work with Bee and create some drarry art with nonbinary Draco wearing beautiful dresses and trans Harry with fancy cool clothes 🥺🥺🥺 😭✨❤️ . I wanted to draw them in every single outfit Bee described. 

You can see the art on AO3 as well 

WIP snip tagged by @getawayfox​! Thanks for the tag El! I cannot wait to see your Christmas project!! See El’s wip here!

So I currently don’t have a drarry wip atm but here’s a Laurent wip that has been languishing in my folders for a few weeks now. I haven’t really had time to  properly draw as I’ve been adjusting to a new work place, but hopefully someday I can get this one finished :D

I’m not sure who’s been tagged, but I would be excited to see other people’s wips so feel free to tag me! 😄

HP DRIZZLE ART CLAIM

AO3 link to still HQ images here:

out of the blue clear sky

And here is a little rec by @romaine2424 that made me go 🥺🥺🥺

This is a thing of beauty. The relaxed feeling you get when watching this makes you appreciate the love the creator has for these two characters. Harry has gorgeous hair, and the way he's concentrating on the breakfast b/c he's making it for him and his partner is just so perfect. And then, the look Draco has -- he's so in love, hiding his face behind his MUGGLE MUG - a sense of humour and a sense of pining all so deeply created on two simple panels. I love the cat next to them, who is just relaxing, ready to jump off into the oblivion when the proposal happens and the screaming and the crying begins and it's not going to have any of it (cats are future predictors like that - they know when the shit's about to hit the fan.) This is just such a gorgeous scene and I love it to pieces.

Experiment! Draco with longer hair. How we feeling about this my lil beans?

It goes like this:

They go to the old cinema near Harry’s flat. The whole place is tiny and sticky, too tight. He compromises by sneaking an arm around the back of Draco’s seat. They’re alone, an entire theatre just for them; the film they chose is maybe fifty years old, black and white. Possibly not in English. Harry can’t tell. It’s so loud, bright colours blotchy around the edges, but all he can focus on is Draco’s face: he’d go every week just to see this, grey eyes open wide.

They go to the ice rink in the outdoor shopping centre. Harry’s never skated before, and he’s not so graceful on his feet, but Draco takes to the ice like he was meant for it, twirling all easy and gorgeous. Harry’s fingers tremble a bit, after, so Draco kneels before him to unlaces his skates, smile replaced by a careful look. Gentle hands. When he asks if it was okay, Harry’s too choked up for words. All he has is a groan. He makes Draco promise to take him again next week.

They go for dinner. Draco takes him to this veggie Pho place by his office, and Harry brings him to his favourite halal restaurant in town. They feed each other raspberries from the farmer’s market, sprawled on the stone steps, catching every ray of sun as the clouds swirl above. Draco suggests this fancy, two-star bistro for their next date, but they end up at the chippy next door. Harry nearly cries when Draco licks his fingers clean, bright-bright smile and devilish eyebrow arching upwards endlessly. He’s so perfectly him, and the contentment is almost too large to bear.

They go running. Draco glows so red, it’s a little scary; but then in the park he falls flat on the ground, laughing, and Harry falls next to him. They stay like this a little longer, bearing the midges’ attempt to eat them alive. Harry’s wrung out and filthy and Draco’s even worse for wear. Still he gets up, grass-stained bum and rosy cheeked. Still panting. Harry could outrun him all the way to next week, but he’d much rather run with him.

They go to the beach. It’s a half hour drive, and Draco sings along to every song on the radio as if he were born Muggle. It’s unfairly disarming when he yells: we built this city and dog days are over. The weather’s rotten when they get there, pissing rain and howling wind, but they try for a walk anyway. Draco’s wanted to see the sunset, and Harry sort of promised, although never out loud. To always give him what he wants. For as long as he can. So they take shelter behind the lobster hatchery, drenched and chuckling. The sky clears at some point, and the sun probably sets, but they stopped paying attention. When they get back to the car it’s dark, they’re cold, and hungry, and happy. 

They go. It doesn’t really matter where. They go.

The show must go on

“Here, for you.”

“We’re meant to be studying, Potter.”

“I know.”

“Your Potions grade literally couldn’t get any lower. Studying.”

“What are they going to do, kick me out?” A small snort; Harry grinned to himself, pleased. “Anyway, it’s not… come on, put the book down. Five minutes. Give me five minutes, and I’m sure I can change your mind.”

Draco’s hand came closer. “That confident?”

“More.” Harry’s palm covered his.

“Well…” Draco bit his lip, but Harry saw the smile he was trying to hide. “All right.”

Harry took a deep breath; flowers, grass, Draco. Like Amortentia, but better.

One Day

M | 246 words | cw: implied public sex

It starts with a look, because—of course, it does. When have you ever been able to keep your eyes off each other?

A heated look, a raised brow, a sly grin. All the things that make up a good story. And it will be a good story—someday.

Now it’s just a fantasy, a hope, a prayer to every god. The thundering of your pulse, the itch in your hands. Every wayward thought you’ve had about that wicked mouth.

So you follow him into the alley, and he’s waiting for you—as you knew he would be—an insouciant lean against the wall.

It’s a devastating embrace against sharp bricks. Lips, hands, cocks. You can feel the cutting lines of his body—topography you’ve had memorised for years.

It’s cruel, a blistering Stupefy hot in your chest.

You don’t know how to deflect his blows with gentle caresses. How to lay bare the truth of your heart while he lashes you with derision. How to hold him with devotion, arms heavy with reverence.

Yet.

If only you could question the fates, divine prophecies from the stars. If only.

One day you’ll feel safe if simply by his side. One day you’ll wonder how you believed you could live without him. One day the end of you will be the beginning of him.

But now—lips, hands, cocks—moving relentlessly, desire alighting your every nerve, and Malfoy falls off your tongue. A curse in place of supplication.

One day, you’ll call him darling.

Fluff off

“Erm,” said Remus, rubbing his chin.

“Huh.” Sirius didn’t look all that impressed either. Harry wanted to hit them both.

“Will you just fix it, before he’s here? Merlin’s pants!”

“I don’t think even Merlin’s pants are going to help this,” Sirius barked. His smirk made Harry groan, falling back on the bed.

“I’m doomed.”

“Please, it’s not that bad,” Remus tried, but he started laughing halfway through the sentence. “Okay, actually, it’s fairly terrible. Why on earth did you think to try Sirius’s special shampoo? And an hour before your first date?”

“With the boy you’ve been crushing on for years,” Sirius added. Harry groaned harder.

“I thought, with how it shines when he transforms, it’s… Not helping! Do something!”

Sirius grabbed him by the arm and pulled, lifting Harry to a stand. “All right, all right, don’t get your knickers in a twist. Remus, hand us the rapid growth potion. No, the other one. The good one. See, Harry? I really do love you.”

“Love me faster,” Harry grunted as Sirius measured a small quantity into a cup. “He’s going to be here in—shit, five minutes. Come on. Please. Move.” He gulped the thing down in one sip and prayed to all the gods it worked.

“Are you sure that’s going to—oh.” Harry didn’t like the abrupt pause one bit. He opened his eyes a crack to see Remus gaping at him, looking rather horrified. “That’s… wow. A rapid hair-growth potion, you said, Pads?”

“Yes, a… oh.” Sirius made some sort of involuntary sound. “Oh, hell. I knew your hair was special, I just didn’t—well. We can fix this. Right?”

“Show me,” Harry croaked, pushing Sirius out of the way for access to the mirror. “Show me what you’ve… oh, fluff off. Fantastic. Even worse than I’d imagined.”

Sirius ran a hand in Harry’s thick, bright green, shoulder-length hair. “I don’t know. I kind of like it. The spikes, I’d probably get rid of—and maybe make it a bit less mullet-y. But overall, I think you still look very handsome.”

“Not the time to be loyal, Pads! Fix! This!” Harry thrust his wand into Sirius’s hand, desperate and a little manic. “Just do something! You’re the one who always brags about having the best hair charms!”

“No, I have the best charms, and the best hair, the two are unrelated.”

Harry made a sound that was worryingly similar to a yelp. Remus seemed torn between scolding Sirius, comforting Harry, and laughing his arse off.

“Look, I really think you should just go with the first—”

But Harry wasn’t having this. “You said you were the experts! Always going on with the, ‘gay godfathers, what more could you ask for’, and I ask you now, what in the—” 

“Please, we gave you great advice! Who else would have told you to serenade Draco outside the Slytherin common room—”

“Where he doused me with cold tea and told me never to come back again?”

“Yes, but he did come out, didn’t he? And now you have a date with him? Never once did I hear, thank you, Pads, godfather of my dreams, I’m so lucky to have you—”

“Guys, I think we’re getting a little sidetracked—”

“You’re the two hairiest men I know! You’re fluffy, for heaven’s sake! You should know these things!”

“Always complaining about this and that, never a ‘Wow, Pads, your hair looks so good today’, or—”

“I tell you your hair looks good every day!”

“Not you, Moons, I’m talking to Harry, he’s the one who’s being a little—”

“I’m not—”

The doorbell rang, and Harry thought he might have died accidentally without noticing. He gave his godparents a look of utter and complete fright.

“Please do something. I beg you.”

Sirius bit his lower lip, nodding. “Moons, you go to the door, stall him. Ask him about his… DADA homework, I dunno. Harry, you and I are going to fix it. Worst case scenario, you—wear a hat, I suppose.”

The picture of Harry wearing that awful hat still hangs in the living room today, seven years later, next to the two wedding pictures. Harry’s learned a good amount of hair charms since then—and also never to use any of Sirius’s special hair products.

Things still ended up rather fluffy.