Dive Deep into Creativity: Discover, Share, Inspire
This is part of a continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean
Another three for three!
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Drip.
A drop, a twitch of his eye.
Drip.
Another, the rustle of fabric.
Drip.
Draco’s eyes snapped open.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The percussion of water hitting the floor reverberated across his skull. With every droplet on the floor, cold and dull, the snap of wood, a fitting couplet.
A whine broke through the tune and a warm body covered his, heavy and real. He let the slow breathing hymn lull him to sleep.
Draco had shown tremendous amounts of growth since the past year.
“Does this outfit say, ‘I’m a well-adjusted member of society?’” However, some things never changed.
“The blue looks good on you,” was Harry’s cute but unhelpful reply.
“God, you’re useless.”
The courtroom was bleak and grey, exactly as it was last time.
Now there were verdant eyes that looked at Draco as he spoke. And so he knew this time it would end differently, no matter if the verdict were to be the same.
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This is part of a continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean
I'll catch up soon, but in the mean time:
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The pictures flashed on the screen, a unique sort of magic. Yet Draco’s disdain was transparent on his face.
“I thought you didn’t hate muggles anymore,” Harry said bemusedly.
“I don’t,” Draco spoke, sneer stuck on his face, “It doesn’t really go with the decor.”
It didn’t. The olde black house was not meant to hold anything so modern. So simple. So muggle.
“We should make it the statement piece.”
Draco got home to find a piece of paper on the kitchen counter:
Busy with work I left food in the ice-box xo, HP
He took the left-over lasagna from lunch and placed it in the newest muggle addition to their home: the microwave.
He sat at the table alone with his reheated food still cold in the middle and tasting like an attenuated version of what it would taste like with Harry.
He braved the streets of Diagon Alley on a foggy morning, when he could blend in with the crowd.
He walked the cobbled streets, with the expectation of his most grim experiences coming to life, but the people simply walked by without a second glance.
Among the brume on the roads, he spotted him immediately. Horrible hair an immediate give away. Green eyes that could shine through the cloudiest skies, already trained on him—a picked up face in the crowd.
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This is part of a continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean
I missed yesterday so you get a two for one, yay!
<- previous
Draco sat by the fireplace reading a book. The lights would flicker across the pages and he didn’t pay it much mind, assuming it was the work of the flames in the fireplace. It only became a matter of concern once all the lights completely turned off. The low golden light of the fire served as the only source of illumination.
Draco froze on the couch, his book completely forgotten. The house was massive, he knew this deeply, intimately. Yet, with all the lights completely off, the room seemed too small. The darkness shrinking around him until only his small corner could abate it off. Until the fire burned out.
The wood burning was the only sure sign time had passed.
“Why are you in the dark?” Harry asked.
“The magic gave out.”
“Lumos.” The lights came back on before Harry even finished speaking.
It would take a full day for the muggle light repairmen to install the Elect Tree City. Harry had the brilliant idea to stay out at London for the day to “have a proper date.”
For breakfast they decided to eat at a pâtisserie. They browsed different shops, bought many clothes (Draco), and carried many bags (Harry). It was a very simplistic day and they hadn’t done much at all. Somehow, Draco still had fun.
The change was immediately noticeable as soon as they opened the door. Overwhelming brightness hit them and it was much harsher than lumos.
When confronted with this, Harry replied, “It’ll do for now.”
next ->
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This is part of a continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean
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Walking among muggles stopped feeling alien around Draco’s third visit to muggle London. It became outright dull by his tenth, and was only ever interesting when Harry came along. Not because the crowds shifted toward Harry Potter like in the wizarding world, but because spending time with Harry had simply turned enjoyable.
They started to make grocery runs with each other, brainstorming what they (Harry) would make for mealtimes.
Draco felt himself decay with the candied reveries of mundane domestic life turned into reality.
Harry side-eyed him as he added another bag of bonbons to their cart. So what if he had a sweet tooth?
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This is part of a continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean
<- previous
After dinner, they moved to the living room as per their ritual. However when Harry had collapsed on the couch, he sank onto the cushions with a veritable weight.
Recently, it was clear he had become more exhausted. There were deep circles under his eyes and his hair was just that bit messier than usual. The way his shoulders slumped with unseen pressure carried him down inch by inch, day by day.
Draco stood behind him and sunk slender fingers vigorously on his shoulders.
“Is there a problem, dear?” he asked, worry hidden within mockery.
Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. A weary sigh left his lips before he spoke, “Auror training.” A repeated sentiment Draco had been subjected to ever since he moved into Grimmauld Place. Ever since they graduated, really.
“Did real life prove to be too hard for you, my dear?” His fingers dug deeper, more meanly, as he found tense muscles.
Harry hadn’t bothered to reply. He sighed, a little more contently, as he laid his head on the back of the sofa. Little by little, as the night ebbed deeper and deeper into the lazy hours near slumber, a small portion of his heaviness seemed to leave with the time.
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This is part of a continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean
<- previous
“Glasses?” Harry asked from beside him.
With his eyes closed Draco reached for the floor, searching until his hands touched an oval shaped object. Then he silently handed it to Harry and went back to dreams of golden light and green eyes.
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This is part of a continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean
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Since the beginning of the year, Draco had been waiting for his appeal to go through.
It had been fine having limited access to his wand during his eighth year. It was horrible, but he could live with it. He still had a bit of magic.
Once his sentence was abruptly changed to a strict no magic regulation once he graduated, had it become unbearable.
He had managed it though. Found simple solutions to his magical needs and learned to live like a muggle, but live he did. Still, he was going to get his magic back.
As soon as he got a reply.
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This is part of continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean
<- previous
“I have something to show you,” Harry said, then pulled something out of his pocket.
He held a jigsaw piece up to eye sight.
It had no color to it, a blank puzzle piece.
“Where did you get this?” Draco asked.
“I told you I’d find it,” was all he said as he placed the final piece on their first garden puzzle.
A perfect match.
It was also obviously not the original lost one.
“Did you make this?”
“Does it matter? The puzzle’s complete now.”
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This is part of continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean
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The ambiguity of their relationship hung in the air. A limbo of the past and future.
Mornings they still had breakfast.
Now there was a gentle caress of hands as Harry made the food and Draco brewed the tea and coffee.
Nights they still had dinner.
Yet there were heated glances shared across the table, every look a promise.
Afterwards they still built their puzzles.
With the addition of kissing. Lots of kissing. Draco no longer felt worried Harry would catch him staring since the other would do the same and then they would kiss again.
The lines blurred and Draco didn’t know which ones he was crossing. Hunted with the mistakes of his past and the fear of the future, he chose to enjoy the limbo. To live within their gap and be happy with the present.
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The firewhisky swished in the crystal tumblers yet again.
They must’ve been his family’s old relics since they didn’t seem to be Potter’s style. The blow of glass was too intricate; details Potter wouldn’t bother to take note of, the weight of it on their hand.
Potter’s attention likely laid on the liquid inside, hot and ready, burning from inside out.
Much like Draco’s attention laid on Potter as he raised the tumbler to his lips, soft and red, gulping down fire. Like the fire licking Draco’s insides, burning him inside and out.
Much like Potter’s hands by Draco’s side, golden and steady, fumbling from his thighs to his hip. Everywhere Harry touched, through the fabric and his skin, down to the marrow of his bones and his soul, was burning.
Potter’s lips on Draco’s, red and ready, engulfing them in fire. Harry was swallowing every tangled detail of Draco’s, imprinting them on his tongue. The taste of him was all consuming like Fiendfyre in secret rooms. Like firewhisky in living rooms. Like the heat burning inside Draco.
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Draco missed the writing in small script:
Beware to only add .05mml of bauldee extract at a time.
“Fuck,” is barely out of his mouth before the cauldron in front of him blew up.
“Draco?” Potter yelped as the crashing sounds of feet on wood descended towards the temporary lab. He stepped through the door, hair a mess, glasses nearly falling off, and chest heaving with each breath. “Are you okay?”
“I almost died again but it should be fine,” he replied nonchalantly.
“Draco!” Potter yelled once again and started moving forward.
“Stop!” Draco immediately shouted and Potter at once obeyed. “Vanish the potion vestiges, they’re lethal.”
“What the fuck,” he whispered but still complied all the same. “Everything’s good now?”
“It should be.” Draco brought a hand to his forehead—he hadn’t even noticed how sweaty he’d gotten—and continued moving it toward his hair, brushing it softly. When he pulled his hand back, locks of hair came with it.
“Shit.”
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Potter stood in the living room, keenly staring at their first jigsaw hung on the wall.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news but that puzzle piece is never going to be found,” Draco said from the couch.
“Why are you so sure?” He asked turning around to face him.
“It’s a tiny piece lost in a big world,” Draco replied without looking away from his book.
There was a pregnant pause before Potter declared, “I’m going to find it.” Draco scoffed but looked up at Potter; who had been staring at him intently. “You’ll see.”
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The end of the war wasn’t long ago yet it still felt like decades had gone by. Even further in the past were his early years at Hogwarts. Every once in a while, Draco would think back to the boy he used to be. There’s lots he felt regret for.
But deep inside, he still sometimes missed him. The way he used to not have to worry. The future, something in the distance he needn’t bother with. Back then he felt on top of the world, untouchable.
Above all he felt jealous. The way his younger self could so easily feel joy in a way he would stop being able to. Angered at how it became like letting himself stop to bask in glee would sever his presence in the present. So those jubilant moments had to be hidden away.
Later to be forgotten.
Or were they stolen from him?
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The living room walls began to form a mosaic of jigsaws. Each of them depicted different scenes: landscapes, more gardens, some of architecture, and a memorable one of a kneazle. Yet with all these idyllic images on the wall Draco’s eyes were always drawn to the picture in front of him: Potter on his knees as his eyes rapidly searched the table for the right pieces.
Through all their differences they somehow managed to work together. The images started appearing faster, the piece count started to go up, and they continued to build in harmony. Draco’s attention went back to the puzzle as Potter placed the last piece.He added it to their museum as Draco thought, What an odd scenery we must make.
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“I found this today,” Potter said over dinner.
From the other end of the table he grabbed a box and shook it. The rattling noise caught Draco’s attention and he raised an eyebrow at Potter.
They ended up sitting on the floor of the living room, about a thousand jigsaw pieces scattered across the coffee table. Draco began by sorting each different piece and Potter began by building the border. There was no picture on the box, there wasn’t anything on the box. It was a regular wooden box, who knew where Potter had even found it.
Each week, every Friday after dinner, they rendezvous by the coffee table and had a go at the puzzle. Little by little, an unfamiliar picture began to form. At first there were only bursts of color on a dark background: a bit of periwinkle on the bottom right, hints of lavender sprouted near the center, and sunflower yellow peeked near the top border.
As sections came together the picture became obvious: a simple manor garden.
But there was a hollow spot near the top left.
“Of course you would find a puzzle box with a missing piece.”
“This is going to hunt me for the rest of my life,” was all he bothered to say.
Even so, Potter placed a sticking charm on the unfinished puzzle and hung it on the mantle of the fireplace.
The next day he brought a new puzzle.
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Turned out having breakfast with Harry Potter also meant having dinner with him.
The bastard eased Draco into it. “I’m making curry tonight, you want some?”
Spiraling out of his control, Draco went from rarely seeing Potter to twice a day. Potter’s cooking being just as good at night as it was in the morning was the only upside.
The rising daylight was accompanied by, what Draco regrets to acknowledge, was amiable silence as they prepared for the arduous days ahead of them. The nighttime was accompanied by actual conversations. It start menially: a bunch of “how was your day?”s and “who do you think will win Quidditch?”. Then Potter would bring up a memory from their eight year and Draco would start gossiping about their old classmates.
On it went, from polite chatter to affable talk then friendly banter—or from an outside perspective: verbal war.
“You almost murdered me once,” followed by: “Like you wouldn’t’ve.”
“You were a prick in school,” proceeded by: “You weren’t?”
One night they finished eating and Potter asked, “You want a drink?”
Draco, exhausted and always susceptible to alcoholic bribes, said yes.
Potter took out firewhisky from the liquor cabinet and poured it into two matching crystal cups.
Their conversations reached their inevitable climax: quasi-flirtation. Perhaps it was the heat from the liquor—the heat radiating off of Potter—but the air felt tight-knit with tension. It might have been Draco’s imagination warping the way Potter smirked around his glass. The light from the room refracted off the crystal somehow made his green eyes shine even brighter.
“Draco,” his name coming out of Potter’s lips sounded indecent, like intruding on a tender moment. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Draco pretended he said it with sober fondness and not drunken impulse. He allowed himself this one thing.
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prompt list previous days
<- previous day
After the first accidental encounter with Potter in the kitchen, they kept running into each other. At first Draco thought nothing of it. He got in, made his tea while Potter’s loud machine worked, got his breakfast, and got out.
One day, Potter said, “I made extra, want some?” And Draco stayed around while they ate in silence.
The next day it repeated and before he knew it, they started eating breakfast together.
Draco would go in while the growling machine spat out coffee and the frying pants sizzled. He made tea while Potter loaded their plates. They atd together almost like in school but now at the same table. Across from him, Potter’s hair was still a mess but he wore his sleeping clothes; still bare feet and eyes red from sleep.
Throughout the meal he’d yawn and zone out. But everyday he was in the kitchen and everyday Draco showed up.
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<- previous day
Draco was not distracted, and certainly not whilst brewing his potions. Draco wasn’t many things but if there was one, it would be his dedication. But that day his mind was lingering. On a soaked shirt sleeve and lips on a ceramic mug. On green eyes swirling inside verdant liquid.
So instead of adding a teaspoon of bog moss, he ended up using a tablespoon. He had to scrap the whole thing but the potion was easy enough to make if one was paying attention. It was a simple error to fix without much trouble. Except for the smell.
Draco, in the immediate range of the cauldron, was hit with a facefull of green fog. Eyes watering as he coughed deliriously, he didn’t notice Potter had walked into his temporary potion’s lab.
There was a strained inhale of air before he spoke a bit muffled, “What happened?”
Draco looked up from where he was dying on the floor.
“Nothing to worry, just a little mistake.”
Potter raised an eyebrow but, smartly, chose not to comment. Then he waved his wand and the thick fog vanished from the enclosed space. However, the stink still lingered. As if it had absorbed onto every surface, Draco could feel it seeped into his skin. He urgently wanted to go upstairs and shower, to scrub at his skin until it peeled off and took the horrible stench with it. Then Potter waved his wand again and the air in the room shifted.
The atrocious smell was gone. In its place was now a curiously floral tone. It took a moment for Draco to place the smell: honey and citrus. Potter’s refreshening spell smelled like honeysuckle.
next day ->
prompt list previous days
<- previous day
He’d used the floo at the Leaky to get to Diagon Alley. Only to find out the ingredient he needed was out of stock. Deciding it was a nice day out, he stupidly chose to walk around muggle London.
It wasn’t a completely terrible idea at first. After many exploration trips, the loud car noises had stopped alarming him and muggle pedestrians weren’t very unlike the wizard ones. At least the muggles didn’t cast hexes and jinxes at him while he passed.
It was one drop and then water was pelting from the sky. The few muggles that were still in the streets fled indoors or pulled out their umbrellas and with no better choice, Draco hurriedly hid under the overhang of a random building.
It was there that Potter found him, some unknown time later. He had an umbrella in one hand and a stupid grin on his face.
“Got caught in the rain?”
“How did you even find me?” Draco asked.
“Do you want to go home or not?” Draco had already become impatient with the storm and Potter’s attitude. Saying nothing, he walked away towards the nearest secluded area.
Potter hurried behind him and Draco’s hair only had a brief moment to soak before Potter stepped up next to him and blocked the rain.
They walked side by side, Potter having to hold the umbrella at a weird angle to cover both of them. Draco as the taller one did nothing to help as Potter’s sleeve, out of reach from the umbrella’s protection, got drenched. Once they reached a deserted alleyway, Potter reached with the same arm that had been exposed to the water.
The next moment, he apparated them back to Grimmauld Place.
next day ->
prompt list previous days
<- previous day
Draco laid in bed. He stared meaninglessly towards the ceiling, brooding the whole pathetic situation he’d found himself in. If he let himself think too hard, all his life would start to look it too. So he didn’t.
He thought of that morning and of Potter’s lips on the ceramic mug. Of last year and Potter’s lips around a spoonful of food in the Great Hall. Of Potter’s messy hair, from the early morning and the late nights at the Quidditch pitch. Of Potter’s bare feet on the kitchen floor and the showers of the eight years’ dorms. He thought of it all and bottled it up like his potions. He stored them on a dusty shelf in his heart, to be soon forgotten.
He closed his eyes, the last thing he saw was his green blanket. That night he dreamt of Potter’s green eyes and in the morning he’ll remember his pathetic besotted heart.
next day ->
prompt list previous days
<- previous day
One unlucky day, Draco overslept. He walked into the kitchen for a late breakfast but Potter’s already there, a loud muggle machine making aggravating noises. He stood against the counter with a faraway gaze, his hair ostensibly sleep tussled, an oversized shirt draped over his frame, and bare feet on the linoleum floor. Whether he’d just gotten out of bed or was trying out a new look was unclear. It’s always hard to tell with Potter.
As Draco entered the room, his sleep-addled mind couldn't help but blurt out, “What on Earth is that?”
Potter snapped his gaze towards Draco, coming back from wherever his mind had went. “The coffee machine?” he asked confusedly.
“I refuse to believe that thing brews coffee.”
Potter didn’t respond and proceeded to press a button, and coffee spilled from the machine’s mouth into Potter’s ugly sienna colored mug. He handed the mug to Draco, who hesitantly took a sip.
It tasted entirely mediocre and incredibly bland, perfect to Potter’s taste. “I’ve had better,” he spoke truthfully and handed back the mug. Potter shrugged and went on to add—certainly an unhealthy—high amount of sugar to it. Still with the same mug, he brought it to his lips, inches away from where Draco’s had been, and sipped the coffee.
Draco’s breath momentarily hitched so he turned around and asked Kreacher to bring breakfast to his room.
next day ->
prompt list previous days
<- previous day
The main issue was the house’s deceiving magnitude. Realistically, Potter would’ve never used half of the rooms in it. The ancient house-elf was only capable of making no more than a quarter of them inhabitable. Draco was left with no space to breathe. He rotated between his room and its attached bathroom, the kitchen, and his temporary potions lab. He refused to go into the living room unless he was coming through the floo, but even so he barely had reasons to leave the house for the time being.
Regardless, Draco was too busy to spend time exploring the rooms of this wretched place.
He walked into it by mistake. It was like the other rooms he’s accidentally gotten glimpses of. The only sign of life was the worn rug. Draco walked in and scanned the surrounding area.
Once upon a time the sitting room would’ve received many noble guests, the lumoses reflecting off their crystals as raucous laughter spilled from their mouths. Presently the room was veiled in darkness. Only the light from the hallway illuminated the skeletons of furniture, each covered in a thick layer of grey.
Draco recognized it as soon as he glanced it, the Black Family Tapestry. His eyes were drawn instantly to his mother’s name—whether by instinct or some forgotten old magic—and the golden embroidery, now in the dimness no more than an ecru line, connecting her to his father. Below them he knows is his name, but his eyes drift to the scorched mark next to his mother.
He’d seen it again at the bottom of the fireplace with a match at his hand. He’d thrown it in and watched the residue charcoal disappear under amber flames.
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It was tiny and cold in Draco’s hand. It was entirely muggle and completely stupid. It was the key to Draco’s new prison.
Potter had gotten him out of Azkaban and in turn sealed his fate to a different kind of punishment. His own sadistic way of forcing Draco into repentance.
“You don’t actually expect me to use this,” he told his tormentor.
“How else are you gonna get in?” There was an edge to Potter’s voice, a dam on the verge of breaking. Draco despised whatever was holding it back.
“It can’t possibly be safe,” he rebutted while inspecting the small object. It was a valid concern to have.
“The wards are safe enough, this is just a way for you to get in without apparating.” It was true enough but knowing it didn't make him feel any better.
“What if I lose it?”
“You’ll have to wait for me to let you in.” Draco made a face and Potter sighed. He leaned against the wall and his shoulders slumped. The dam had broken but behind it wasn’t the flood Draco was expecting. “Look for some place else if you don’t want it.”
“I’m just going through the logistics. No need to be so irritable.”
“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” he said, walking away and muttering under his breath. Draco could barely hear him saying, I’m gonna regret this.
He’ll use the floo for the foreseeable future.
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