A Lil Powerpoint Of Book Recs!!!

EMMA D'ARCY — Ph. by Sarah Piantadosi for ES Magazine (May 2024)

Drarry + Eighth year + The Patronus Charm

Draco’s patronus is a doe.

A fucking doe. Not a snake, or a dragon, or the sharp fins of a great white. A small deer.

A microscopic female deer. He’d worked so hard for this moment. He’d reluctantly spent hours upon hours with his former nemesis- and savior of the Wizarding world- studying and practicing a charm he should’ve mastered years ago.

Draco is a master at magic- or so he deems himself- so the fact that he hasn’t been able to conquer the patronus charm is more than aggravating. That’s what led him to finally give into Potter’s incessant requests that they practice together. He’d rudely barged in on him one day in the Room of Requirement, and at the sight of the faint, flicker of a white wisp that exited Draco’s wand, the secret had been discovered.

“Just let me help you,” Potter insisted, and Draco had scoffed.

“I don’t need your help, Scarhead.”

“You know, I don’t have the scar anymore.” He’d flashed a facetious grin, lifting up tendrils of hair from his forehead.

“Okay, then, Saint Potter. You’re just a regular twat, now.”

“A twat who wants to help.”

“Fuck you.”

Draco had stomped out, thoroughly ruffled. How dare Potter offer help to him? As if testifying on his behalf wasn’t enough. Draco didn’t need any more favors. He didn’t need any of it.

But that wasn’t the end of Potter’s prying. Every day, it seemed, he found little excuses to spend time around Draco.

“Be my potions partner?”

“Are you fucking serious? You’ll drop my marks.”

“Maybe I need your help, you blonde prat.”

“You have a sick sense of humor, Potter.”

Nevertheless, they brewed that day’s assignment side by side.

“Care to study with me?”

Potter had approached him in the library. He’d been peacefully studying for his NEWTs until a familiarly annoying presence slid into the seat across from him.

“No.”

“Please, Draco. I need your help. I’m going to fail transfiguration.”

“You just called me Draco.”

“Yeah, I figured since were friends now, I should call you by your first name.”

“We are NOT friends, Potter.”

He smiled a quirky little grin that caused something inside Draco’s stomach to lurch.

“Okay, my not friend. Now turn to page 450; that’s where I’m struggling.”

And so on, and so forth.

Draco had eventually given in to Potter’s endless badgering and met him on the grounds after curfew to practice.

“It’ll be easier outside,” Potter promised, “where you can feel the freedom of the breeze.”

The freedom of the breeze had done nothing to quell Draco’s failed attempts that night.

It was extremely vulnerable, the number of times Draco had allowed the f-word to escape his frustrated lips. At one point he’d thrown his wand at Potter, who’d suggested he just needed to “think happier.”

Nothing made Draco happy anymore. Not since the war, which had resulted in the imprisonment of his father and a depressed mother. He’d only been pardoned himself because of Potter, a shame that he’d had to live with daily.

But on the contrary, he’d began to catch himself smiling more and more during their practice sessions. Potter would comment on their budding friendship; Draco would tell him to sod off.

And Potter would laugh. It was a peculiar sound, a dancing rhythm from his grin that sent Draco’s head reeling. He’d never noticed the small dimples in his cheeks, or the way he folds his lips when he’s concentrating. Little details that left him wondering what else he’d missed about Potter all these years.

Today, Potter had said the usual. “Hey, friend. Ready to cast a patronus charm today?”

Draco had shrugged. “Sure.”

“You didn’t tell me to sod off.”

He shrugged again, and a wide smile lit up Potter’s face. “I told you we were friends.”

His eyes were a vibrant green, a certain shade that only revealed itself when he smiled. Draco felt his belly expand, radiating a weightless sensation throughout his entire being.

Suddenly, he could cast a patronus.

The white wisp he was used to seeing morphed like smoke into a bright shape that contrasted brightly against the night sky. At first, he couldn’t tell what it was, squinting his eyes from the light.

He noticed Potter’s heated cheeks first.

Confused, Draco had studied the silhouette until he realized exactly why Potter was blushing.

A fucking doe.

A doe.

Harry’s patronus is a stag.

And Draco’s is a fucking doe.

His stomach lurches; he thinks he’s going to vomit. He drops his wand and without a word runs back to the castle.

“Draco, wait!” He hears faintly, but he refuses to turn around. He’d rather die than see his face again. This is a fucking nightmare.

***

Borrowing Pansy’s wand turns out to be more of a hassle than he initially believes. He’s forced to do a lot of things the Muggle way, as he can really only use it when she’s not.

It’s still better than facing Potter.

He avoids him at all costs; ignores his voice shouting down the corridors after him. Studies in his dormitory. Keeps his eyes on the floor, aimed oppositely of those fucking green irises, that smile...

Two weeks pass, and Draco’s doing a fine job of remaining invisible. He’s almost forgotten the feeling of flurries in his abdomen, the soft gaze of Potter’s stare. The fact that his patronus is a fucking doe. And the implication of what that means.

He hasn’t tried to perform the charm since, but something tells him he won’t be able to. It’s a nagging feeling in his gut, and he admittedly doesn’t like it.

He hasn’t been sleeping properly either.

This is what drives him to sneak out, throwing the covers from his insomniatic body and frustratingly stalking from the common room. He doesn’t know where he’s going, just that he needs some fresh air.

He finds himself outside, in the very spot where just a few weeks ago he’d been so happy and elated that he’d performed his very own corporeal patronus.

Now, he sits alone. If he’s honest, that hurts a bit.

The breeze tickles his cheeks, and there’s a slight freedom that comes from that.

“Fucking Potter, always being right.” He mutters to himself, wishing he hadn’t ended up here. Wishing he wasn’t thinking about stupid Potter.

“Hey, I’m not always right.”

Draco starts as Potter’s very form seems to appear from thin air beside him.

“What the fuck, Potter? How did you-“ His face is a cross between confusion and embarrassment, and his heart is pounding.

Harry lifts the invisibility cloak, revealing his secret. “I needed some fresh air.”

“Why are you always where I am?”

Harry chuckles. Draco swallows, and it’s a hard knot in the back of his throat.

“You’re so fucking stubborn, Draco.”

Before he can respond, Harry pulls out the familiar length of hawthorn from his pocket. He extends his hand, and for a moment Draco’s gaze snaps up to meet a set of vibrant green eyes.

He gulps, drinking in the sudden presence of what he’d denied himself for weeks. His stomach begins to inflate. His blood tingles. He’s drawn not only to the wand before him but also the hand that’s holding it.

He reaches his fingers forward, wrapping them around the base of the wand. He hesitates, nervous at the sudden proximity.

But it’s Potter who slides his hand from the wand and instead rests it on Draco’s hand.

“Potter, wh-“

“Your patronus is a doe, Draco. And mine is a stag. And that means something.”

His stare is piercing. It cuts through every guarded wall Draco has spent the past few weeks constructing.

“Potter, it doesn’t-“

“I wasn’t finished.”

Draco silences. The assertiveness startles him.

“It means something. For you, and for me. Magic doesn’t lie, Draco.”

His fingers trace soft circles around his hand.

“I know you’ve been avoiding me. I’ve missed you.”

He rubs a gentle caress along his forearm. Draco doesn’t dare move, or breathe for that matter.

“I want to see where this goes, Draco. I don’t care what it takes. I... I want you.”

“You do?” Draco’s voice is a whisper, barely audible even in the crisp night atmosphere.

“Is that so hard to believe? We all made mistakes, Draco. People died because of me. But that’s just it. We’re not in the war anymore. It’s over.”

Those eyes are peering at him again.

“I made more mistakes than you.”

“You saved my life, Draco. If it weren’t for you lieing at the manor, I would’nt be here.”

“It was nothing.”

“It was everything.”

There’s a silence that rattles Draco deep within his core. Because maybe he isn’t nothing. Maybe, to Harry, he could be everything.

He doesn’t have time to contemplate this, because Harry is leaning forward. His eyes have fluttered shut, and Draco doesn’t have much experience with this but he knows what’s coming next.

Harry’s lips are soft against his own.

The patronus feeling ignites a fire that courses through his veins. He knows he could perform the charm. He knows he will never fail at it again.

When they separate, Harry’s smiling. Draco can’t help but smirk playfully.

“You know, I really thought my patronus would be a shark.”

Harry laughs. “Why?”

“Because they’re mean. And they eat people.”

“But you do neither of those things!”

“Are you sure about that?”

They spend the next few hours just like this. Laughing, and smiling, and being everything together.

House for a Painter by DTR_studio architects

Ellie and Dina throughout The Last of Us Part II (1/2)

↳ "I don’t want to lose you."

I think there’s something so deeply and intimately and morbidly true about The Last of Us’s primary thesis which is that humanity’s fatal flaw, in that very Shakespearian way, is that we are destined to care too much about one another so much so that we discard the collective entirely. like we have such a capacity to love the human race and humanity as a whole, to grow our communities and govern cities how we know best and foster such connection with the masses which we are part of, but it’s overtaken by our capacity to love even just a single other person. like one human can come into your life that creates such an intrinsic and passionate love in you— or maybe two people or a family’s worth or any small number— and you suddenly would burn entire villages down just to keep them safe.

joel doesn’t blink twice murdering to find ellie. he doesn’t look back when he decides to do what he does at the hospital later on. he has no remorse about any of it it, because this one girl has grown to mean more to him than any possible greater good could ever mean. and it’s reciprocal. ellie would— and does— do anything she can to help him, save him, protect him, and, eventually, to avenge him. because that’s what you do when you love someone. not when you love people. when you love someone.

and it’s selfish, in a way??? because we love these people and would do so much for them because they mean more to us than other strangers do. it’s exactly like an iteration of the trolley problem, actually. one track has your daughter on it and one track has fifty people. don’t even try telling me you wouldn’t go onto track B if it meant saving your daughter and her puppy dog eyes from the whimpering and pain and fear. The Last of Us says yes, you would. I would. we all would. and like yeah that is our greatest weakness, that we have such a unique ability to love a handful of people so deeply that our compassion towards community and strangers and the bigger collective starts to slip from view. but goddamn what a fucking great fatal flaw it is to have. we are all going to die and the world will burn because we loved another person too much.

It’s throbbing.

Commissioned piece for @primavera-cerezos based on his HP 2020 Kinkfest fic: Like This and Like This (Dreams of Lace)

Summary: Harry gets an accidental peek. He can’t think of anything else.

(Or as I see it, Draco being a total tease. hehe)

It’s been a while since I’ve made a post, and I figured that these tips might be extra helpful with exam season approaching. As someone who struggles a lot with procrastination, I do everything I can to fight the urge to put assignments off until the last minute (even though I’m not always successful). 

As always, good luck! (ᵔᴥᵔ)

just some pep talks to myself💫

I love these 10 cute motivational posts from chibird.