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8 months ago // 0 notes
A Rainy Day

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter etc. (if I did I’d be on holiday in Hawaii atm) or Shrek. I do however own Sophie.

AN: My first fanfic!!! *Nervous*
I used prompts #110 and #252 together to write this so thank you for them! It’s really fluffy and cute and perfect for Christmas. I hope you enjoy! :)

“Daddy?” Sophie pulled on her father’s trouser leg with a desperate look on her face. “It’s raining outside.”
Harry smiled at his daughter and pointed at the window in front of him with a soapy hand.
“I can see that, sweetie.”
“But when it rains I can’t go outside and I’m b o r e d.”
The little blonde girl stamped her small foot. For a five year old she was pretty stubborn. ‘Probably after Draco.’ Harry thought smiling to himself.
“Well, if you let me finish washing the dishes maybe we can find something to do?” Harry suggested.
Sophies frown changed into a beaming grin and her green eyes lit up. She climbed up onto the blue dining chair Draco usually sat on and fumbled with a piece of string on the table untill Harry was done. He wiped his hands on a matching blue teatowel and smiled at Sophie.
“Right, darling, do you have any ideas on what we could do?” he asked Sophie who was now zoning the little attention she had on her dad. After a while of what Harry interpreted as his daughter’s deep thought she shrugged her shoulders.
“Right…” Harry started, and then a thought popped into his head. “Where’s Father?” he asked.
“Upstairs, he was reading a book I think.”
Harry smiled and ruffled Sophie’s hair. He planted a kiss on her forehead.
“Give me one second, I’ll go get Father, I have an idea I’m sure you’ll love.”
Sophie nodded happily and Harry left the kitchen humming an overly joyful tune.
Upstairs Draco was indeed reading. He had found that Harry’s boring muggle books weren’t actually that boring. Right now he was on his third book, ‘Dracula’, and he couldn’t deny the fact that he was enjoying himself. Harry smiled when he walked in upon seeing his love sprawled out on the bed with one of Harry’s books in hand. He leaned on the doorframe and cleared his throat. From shock Draco dropped the book onto his face and moaned.
“Really, Harry? I thought we were over the ‘Scare Draco While He’s Reading’ phase?”
Harry grinned and walked up to the blonde. He sat on the egde of the bed and picked up the book Draco had been reading.
“‘Dracula’, eh?”
Draco nodded. “Yeah, it’s not that bad to be honest.”
“Well, since you like muggle books, I have a proposition.”
Draco raised his eyebrow.
“It’s raining and Sophie has nothing to do. I was wondering… maybe we could watch a muggle movie? It’s one of my favorites.”
Draco groaned. First muggle books, now films? Was Harry trying to turn Draco into a muggle himself?
“But Harry isn’t that bad for Sophie? We’re supposed to be encourging magic and not muggle…ism?”
Harry frowned.
“For once can we stop talking about Muggles and Magic and whatever? I’d like to remind you that Sophie has muggle blood in her and besides I’m sure one film won’t hurt her.”
Draco groaned in resignation.
“Fine, fine, but I’m only doing this because I love you and I love Sophie.” He leaned over and kissed Harry softly. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe that he was able to do that whenever he wanted to.
Harry smiled and helped Draco get up. The blonde groaned a bit having to leave the comfy bed warmed up by his own body.
The two walked downstairs together talking about irrelevant things like what was for dinner and the crappy English weather. As soon as Draco walked into the kitchen Sophie launched herself at him hugging one of his legs. Harry smiled. Even though he knew that Sophie loved him a lot too there was a stronger bond between her and Draco. The two always agreed on everything and Draco was the one that knew how to discipline their daughter. Harry found he was always too soft and so Draco was in charge most of the time .
“What’re we doing Papa?” Sophie asked Draco, still clinging tightly onto his leg.
Draco pried the smaller blonde of his leg and lifted her up onto his hip where she began fiddling with a lock of the bigger blonde’s hair. Harry smiled at the sweet little scene playing out on front of him.
“We’re going to watch a film!” said Draco squeezing Sophie tightly to him.
“Charlieee!!!” Sophie sqealed happily writhing with joy in Draco’s arms.
“Actually,” Harry poked the little girl in her side. “We’re going to watch a film that’s not about magic, well, not real magic… You’ll see.”
Sophie frowned slightly but she loved movies so she didn’t mind it being a new one.

The young family placed themselves in the living room. Draco gently dropped Sophie onto the pillow-covered sofa and himself sat down next to her pulling a white faux fur blanket over them. Harry pulled a DVD box from the rack beside the TV (something Draco still was getting used to) and placed the disk into the tray. He pushed the button and the screen lit up with colorful lights. Sophie clapped her hands in glee. Harry sat down on the sofa of the other side of Sophie and wrapped his arm around her so that he could also entertwine his fingers with Draco’s. The blonde turned his head and smiled at Harry appreciatively. The film started and Harry smiled. One of his favorite fairlytales.
“Shrek?” Draco exclaimed after the introduction. “What kind of a name is that?”
“It’s an ogre isn’t it?” Harry whispered back to Draco who was mightly cofused.
“I thought you said muggles had no magical creatures?”
“We don’t,” Harry explained. “It’s made up, not real. Now watch the film,” he said turning his head back to the screen.
The film finished in the blink of an eye and when Harry turned to Draco he swore he saw a tear struggling to not slip out. He squeezed Draco’s hand and the blonde turned to him, no trace of the tear apparent.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” said Draco puffing his chest out slighty. “I mean it’s only a soppy kid’s thing isn’t it?”
Harry chuckled. “I guess so.”
Out of nowhere Sophie stirred and looked up at the two. Harry and Draco were sure that she had fallen asleep a long, long, time ago.
“But Daddy, the film’s not silly!” she said excitedly. “It shows that people don’t have to be perfect to have a happy ending!”
Harry turned to Draco amazed and this time there was no denying the small tears slipping down Draco’s cheeks.

8 months ago // 25 notes
Prompt #128 (drarrypromptoftheday)



Prompt by drarrypromptoftheday

A night with lots of cuddling.

Warnings: There’s smut in there, so if you don’t like smut, shoo! If you don’t like gay sex, shoo! 

P.S. It’s my first time writing smut, so please tell me if it needs improvement. Enjoy!! :D

Read More


8 months ago // 9 notes

textualselection said: How about super fluffy with Draco all up at arms because Harry has made him a cup of tea and they both know how notoriously picky Draco is about his tea and why didn't Harry just let the house-elves make it as usual instead of setting himself up for a dramatic failure at tea perfection... The tea is perfect. Fluff ensues.


"Here. Drink up."

Draco rolled his eyes and straightened up on the couch. “S’bout time,” he muttered. “Winky normally finishes earlier—or was she drinking again? Bloody elf, should’ve left her at Hogwarts. I’ll have to send Father an owl. He shall hear about this.”

Harry snorted. “Just take it, you pretentious git.”

Draco sneered a little, but took the saucer and cup from his boyfriend’s hands. Every day, at exactly four in the afternoon, Draco had his tea brought to him in the parlour (Draco liked to call it a parlour, at least—it was actually just a large pantry near the kitchen. Their flat was atrociously tiny). Today was no exception. He held the cup in his hands, savouring the warmth for a moment by closing his eyes and breathing in the familiar scent. Except—wait. Something didn’t feel right.

"Excuse me," Draco announced, his eyes snapping open as he glared at Harry’s retreating back. "What is this?"

Harry turned around, confused. “Your tea?”

"You made sure Winky made it, right?" Draco pressed. "Not Plucky or Pocky or whatever the bloody hell the other one’s name is. Because you know that Winky always makes my tea.”  

Harry chuckled nervously. “Erm… no. I made it.”

"WHAT?" Draco exploded, almost throwing the teacup onto the table beside him. "No! That’s not acceptable! You absolute oaf!"

Harry pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest defensively. “Calm down, Draco, I can make tea just fine. Honestly, anybody can make tea.” 

"It’s not tea!" Draco announced with exasperation. "It’s an art.You couldn’t even possibly begin to comprehend—”

"It’s perfectly fine!" Harry argued. "Just taste it!"


"Taste it!"


Harry growled and lunged at Draco, who responded by pawing at the other man’s chest, to no avail. Harry had straddled Draco firmly, leaving little room for Draco to struggle. Then he picked up the cup and shoved it at Draco’s face.


"Make me, Potter! I’ll clamp my mouth shut!"

"Fine, I’ll just pour it on your face then, hm? Your luscious hair?"

"Oh, over your dead body!”

Harry took the opportunity to tip the cup, causing the hot liquid to stream into Draco’s open mouth. Draco coughed, spluttering.

"Oh god! It’s—It’s—"

Draco smacked his lips together and blinked. Well. It was… perfect.

Harry smirked, satisfied. “Good, eh?”

Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Earl Grey?”

"Wouldn’t dream of anything else."

"35 temp?"

"No more, no less."

"Spoon of cream? Cap of milk? It’s got to be half and half."

"It’s the only kind we’ve got in the fridge, Draco."

Draco studied Harry’s green eyes carefully. The final test. “Freshly strained leaves or,” he shuddered, “bagged?”

Harry smirked again. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

Draco fought back a smile. He took the tea from Harry’s hands and took a generous sip from it. It truly was perfect. Harry deserved some credit for actually taking note. 

"I love you," he said sweetly, nuzzling Harry’s shoulder in appreciation, and slight apology for freaking out.

Harry grinned and kissed the top of Draco’s head, silently accepting the equally silent apology. “I love you too, prat.”


Harry grinned again.

Draco took another sip of tea and sighed happily. “But seriously,” he remarked, a pleasant smile on his face. “If you even think about threatening my hair again, I will kill you.”


8 months ago // 17 notes

Anonymous said: Drarry prompt: Angels


((Just a warning, my mind immediately went to angsty and guardian angels, so this is probably not what you wanted at ALL. But thanks for the prompt and we’ll see how this goes.))

"I saw him again today, Daddy."

"Hmm?" Harry looked up over his copy of the Daily Prophet, ignoring the loud clink that came to his right as Ginny slammed her fork down on the table. That’s what she usually did when James came back from visiting Fred Jr. and Victoire claiming he was seeing angels.

"My guardian angel," James replied cheerily, either ignoring his mother or not noticing that he made her upset. He was coloring happily on a napkin with a crayon, his food forgotten. George always did like to feed him more sweets than he could handle. "He saved me from getting bit by a garden gnome."

"Did he now, son?" Harry went back to his Prophet. He had tried to explain the concept of ghosts to James a couple of times now. About how they were souls that chose to stay behind, whether to wait for something so they could move on or to avoid death as it was their worst fear. But James still seemed to be convinced that there was a difference between angels and ghosts - something that he’d read in a book somewhere, probably, the smart little bugger.

Harry didn’t even really question it anymore. He had never been religious growing up but if his son wanted to believe in angels, who was he to take that away from him? He’d grow up eventually and realize that the ‘guardian angel’ who was keeping him safe his entire childhood was really just his Uncle Fred, unable to move on without his twin by his side. It still upset Ginny, though, and rightfully so. He just wished she wouldn’t throw such a tantrum about it in front of their son.

"He did. He told me that that that…that one was hiding. Behind a bush. And that he was dirty and stinky and poor just like Uncle George.”

Harry snorted and he didn’t have look up from the paper to know Ginny was glaring at him. “He sounds like a fighter, your guardian angel.”

"He’s amazing," James sighed, reaching for a yellow crayon to use. "And and and on the way home—"

Harry looked up then. On the way home? As far as he knew ghosts could only travel where they had been while they were living. Fred had never been down the road leading to the flat he and Ginny now shared.

"—he was telling me that when him and Uncle George were really young, they both played Quidditch and Dad I want to play Quidditch, too. Can I get a broomstick? My guardian angel says you can afford to buy me twelve broomsticks. Can you really buy me twelve broomsticks?"

"I, uhm." He paused for a moment, lowering his paper. "James, are you sure your guardian angel told you this on the way home? While Uncle George was dropping you off?"

Yes, Dad,” James said exasperatedly, like Harry was a child that wouldn’t listen. “I told you. And we talked about Quidditch in the car and Uncle George told me to stop talking to myself so we started whispering.”

Talking to himself? People could see ghosts. Harry’s shoulder’s tensed. “James, what are you drawing?”

"My guardian angel playing Quidditch. He told me all about it.”

Slowly, Harry rose and walked around his wife to peer over his son’s shoulder. He felt his mouth go dry. There was no mistaking the green robes and blond hair, the number on his back and the fact there was a Snitch in front of his outstretched arm. James’ guardian angel wasn’t Fred. It was Draco Malfoy.

"He told me that you used to play Quidditch, too, Dad," James said, shifting to the side to let Harry see more. "You used to play together and he said sometimes you’d sneak onto the field and practice with him."

Harry took a deep breath. “Did he tell you what we did there?”

"Well yeah." His breath caught. "Practiced Quidditch, Dad, I just told you."

"Well that’s a very…very nice drawing," he said, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. James beamed up at him and began to add grass to his childish work of art. "Looks just like him." He especially liked the smile that James had added. Draco rarely smiled, but it was the way that Harry liked to remember him. Happy. Care-free. Like he was before Voldemort. Like he was for a while after Voldemort. Like he was right before he died.

"That’s what he said, too," James said, filling in some of Draco’s Quidditch uniform before going back to the grass. "He also said you look like a git, sitting there reading your paper." He looked up. "Daddy, what’s a git?"

Harry froze, mouth opened slightly as though he was gong to respond, but he couldn’t get the words out. What had he just said? Luckily for him, though, Ginny was still as capable of keeping her head as she always was, and she rose to grab his elbow. “Harry,” she said softly, “let’s go talk in the sitting room. Finish your breakfast, James.”

"But Daddy hasn’t told me what a git is yet."

"Ask Uncle George when you see him again. Right now I have to talk to Daddy."

James pouted but allowed for them to leave the room. Ginny glanced around the sitting room, looking for any sign of their other children, and when she saw the coast was clear, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Sneaking onto the Quidditch pitch now?” she said, looking somewhat hurt. “Even you and I never did that.”

"I guess that’s what happens when you’re just being a good friend and playing beard," Harry replied absentmindedly, and Ginny actually got tears in her eyes. "Which I told you when we started dating, Gin, please don’t cry about it now. It’s over."

"Is it?" She kept her gaze fixed on him, even as he looked away. "Is it really, Harry? Because sometimes I really refuse to believe that you were really just Malfoy sexual, that it was something you could just turn off after six years with him-"


"No don’t Ginny me, Harry! I am your wife! I’m the mother of your children, and I have been here for you through thick and thin, patiently waiting all these years for you to turn around and look at me like you used to look at him.” She grabbed her elbows, looking more like she was hugging herself than looking defiantly up at him now. “I can’t keep waiting for you to fall in love with me, Harry. You have to let him go.”

"Ginny, I have let him go."

"Then why is he haunting our son?" She pointed angrily toward the kitchen. "Why is his fucking…his spirit in there right now? If you’re so over him, why do our kids still know him? Why did you look at that picture like it was the best piece of art you’ve ever seen? James has drawn a million things for us and you never look at them like that.”

"I don’t know why James can see Draco," Harry replied through clenched teeth, temper flaring a little bit. "I don’t know why he’s seeing my dead ex-boyfriend, Ginny! It’s not like I’m sitting here telling Draco to go and haunt our son. He’s been dead for years! I lost him, I accepted it, and I thought he was gone and because of that I married you!" He felt tears begin to well in his eyes. "And you told me you understood. That the first cut is the deepest and that losing Draco was a tragedy, and you told me you understood that I’d always love him. That only time can fix a broken heart, and you told me you’d be patient-"

"I have been patient. But Harry, we’re never going to get rid of him now. Not unless you move on. If he has nothing to come back to…maybe he’ll leave us alone.”

Harry glanced back toward the kitchen door. He could imagine it now, James talking excitedly to what seemed like the air. More pictures of his guardian angel. Draco talking to him through James. And then what if Harry started seeing him, too? What if he let himself become so childlike as to believe in angels and see him? What then? Could his marriage survive it? 

Could he?

"Ginny…you know I’m trying…"

He trailed off and they both looked toward the entryway to the room, where Albus Severus had just stormed in, looking the very definition of upset. “Mum,” he whined, “Lily stole my dragon stuffy from me.”

"I did not,” came the squeaky, indignant reply, and Albus turned back around and shouted, “Did too! Mum, make her give it back.”

Ginny sighed. “Harry, please. Just think about what I said.” Then she turned back to her son and daughter and said, “Okay, you two, where is it? No, don’t talk, just show Mummy, okay?”

Harry stared after them. His wife. Two of his children. They were such a happy little family, a story book ending that everyone he encountered said they envied. They lived well. Better than either him or Ginny had ever lived. They had a perfect family. A perfect life. They completed one another, the five Potters did.

But now he knew it wasn’t just the five Potters. It never had been. It had been the five Potters and the one almost Potter. The one that got away. The one that was killed before Harry could take him to a church and make it official. Before he could make him forever his. And Ginny expected him to give him up now that he had that back?

He made his way back to the kitchen, opening the door to see exactly what he had expected. James sitting down and talking animatedly, pausing to listen to words Harry couldn’t hear every now and then. Then he turned around and raised his eyebrows at his father. “Dad,” he said. “My guardian angel told me you were standing there.”

"I believe you," he said quietly, and he walked over to take the seat next to his son. Across from where his guardian angel supposedly was. "Please tell him that I say hello."

"He can hear you, Dad. And he says you could hear him, too, if you’d just open your ears for once."

Harry smiled but felt the tears well up anyway. “Well then hello guardian angel,” he said quietly. “Thank you. So much. For taking care of my son. And keeping him company. And thank you for everything else.” Thank you for loving me, was the one he added silently but somehow he felt that Draco would know he meant that. James smiled next to him.

"My guardian angel says you’re welcome."

And then for a moment, Harry thought that he could see the love of his life sitting across from him, his hair as neat as always, his clothes perfectly pressed, his usual smirk planted on his face.

But it could have just been a trick of the light.


8 months ago // 22 notes
Drarry prompt: secret relationship for anonymous





“Draco.” his name was called from the bed beside his for what felt like the twentieth time in a row. “Draco!” he let out an annoyed sigh and put his quill down, turning his head from the potion homework he was currently working on. “What?” he asked and glared at Blaise….

8 months ago // 14 notes

HP next gen: The Art Club
Oh, the oldest club in Hogwarts. Well, not a club really, not in the classical sense anyway. It’s not like they had time to sit around in empty classrooms, with those Slytherins. (And Ravenclaws. And Hufflepuffs. And Gryffindors). And those classicists. Those Muggle lovers. No, of course not. Leave that to the drama club. 
But if you were in the Art Club, you could always identify its member. They would get that look in their eyes, as though they’ve suddenly noticed something… magical in something completely ordinary. And that’s how this strange collaboration would start. Not openly, of course, but once in a while you’d leave a book open in the library, for the other one to notice. You’d spend too much time near the same painting, and even exchange a couple of looks. You might even giggle at each others jokes. Over time, you’d learn to recognize each others signatures. Doodles on the walls and pieces of paper left crumpled on the floor. Jewelry the Ravenclaw girls wore to the Halloween feast. Cursed necklaces. Scars left on others.
Of course, not all limited themselves to just this one club. You could find them anywhere: The Order of The Phoenix, The Knights of Walpurgis, Dumbledore’s Army, the Death Eaters. Everyone decides for themselves how to use their talent.
After the Second War things didn’t change much, but the fascination with Muggle culture brought a new wave of fashion. Those who called themselves “old-schooled” rolled their eyes. “Isn’t magical art supposed to talk?” they’d whisper bitterly. “To move? To be alive? There is no magic in this new “art” of theirs!”
They couldn’t be more wrong, of course. Art always talks. You just have to listen.

Ayyyyy happy holidays from me & Troye in front of this Christmas tree even though he’s Jewish and this picture is from a few weeks ago.