Harry And Draco's Reactions In The Aftermath Of The Sectumsempra Incident Are Both So Wild.

I just know that dating her must be a nightmare.

“You’ll be all right,” Elphaba said, “now you’re a seasoned traveler. This is just the return leg of a voyage you already know.” She put her face against Glinda’s and kissed her. “Hold out, if you can,” she murmured, and kissed her again. “Hold out, my sweet.”

I AM PULVERIZED

Draco Malfoy is a Girl Dad. You're telling me this man wouldn't wear a feather boa and sit in a comically small chair drinking tea (water) from a tiny china cup??? Unacceptable. That man's entire existence revolves around his daughter's convoluted stuffed animal heirarchy.

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III. Coffee

<- 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

Draco has never been good at waiting.

The day the Prophet breaks the story of the year, the decade, nay, the century—cover splashed with a blurry photograph featuring a nonetheless unmistakable bird's nest of hair and another man, topped off with the unimaginative yet direct headline, POTTER: GAY?—is the very same day Draco sits down across from Pansy in their favourite booth at Theo's Bar (also unimaginatively titled) and announces, with verve: "I have a plan."

Pansy sighs, sharp and judgemental. "Let me guess—"

"No," he interrupts. "Let me tell you."

"I already know this is about Harry fucking—"

"This is about Potter," he continues, talking loudly over her, "and my absolutely foolproof plan to get my hands on some Chosen Cock."

"Only your hands? Dream big, Draco," she says sarcastically, brow flat with irritation.

"Oh I am. Naturally this is only stage one. Stage five is marriage. Stage six? Impregnating him with the Malfoy heir."

"Not a visual I actually needed, thanks ever so!"

"You're not listening, Pans." He emphasises his point with a sharp slap to the tabletop. "You're not appreciating this for the life-changing moment it is. I am going to seduce Potter, and fuck him so hard he—"

"What?" comes an amused voice. "So hard I what, Malfoy?"

Draco's life flashes before his eyes, confirming that he's experiencing some sort of near-death phenomenon. He manages, somehow, to start breathing again, and affects a casual, unaffected lean against the booth seat, turning to face Harry Potter, giant wanker and wank-inspirer.

"Potter."

"Hi."

He's grinning, dark hair even more disastrous than that wretched photo. So annoying. Draco's never found him attractive in his entire life, actually.

"We were having a private conversation, very much not concerning you."

"Oh?" Those stupid green eyes are fixed on Draco's face. His grin is so. fucking. obnoxious. "Is there another Harry Potter you were hoping to impregnate?"

"Yes," Draco scowls, feeling his face grow blotchy. "You don't even make the top hundred. Sorry for the terrible blow, but you could stand to be taken down a peg or two."

"Oh, you know me." Potter spreads his arms. "I'm not averse to a good peg."

Pansy gags into her martini, as Draco tries to regain the feeling in his legs.

"Well," Potter shrugs, tucking his thumbs into his jeans. Merlin. Draco wants to climb him. "I guess I'll leave you be, then. Good luck impregnating that other fellow."

And then he's turning—leaving!—

"Wait!" Draco's hand shoots out, and the warmth of Potter's arm sends a shock right up through his fingers, tingling. "Perhaps you could be of some use, Scarhead."

There's a dimple threatening Draco's sanity, in the corner of Potter's cheek. "Yes, Draco?"

"Yes." He's such a prick. "Harry." Draco rubs a thumb against the inside of Potter's wrist, watching with great satisfaction as a shiver runs through him. "After all, I'll need someone to practice those impregnation skills on."

Waiting 🍸 Day 17 of @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean’s prompts. Full collection on ao3.

Two Women Kissing in Nature (b. 1859)

— by Georges Rochegrosse