UnityAeDeSt

Artist who loves sketching, but also gaming and finding MEMES, more MEMES!

Casual gamer who most preferably considers myself a Narrative Conceptual Designer

[Jotman @jotmanlol]

I wonder...

[Ni7@Skeb◎ @Ni7NiA7]

hehe

[TakemoriKohoto @TKohoto]

Sorry if it feels a bit rushed! I wrote most of it overnight and haven't really had the chance to go back and polish everything, so yeah.

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“Princess of Slytherin.”

That was what Malfoid became known as following her return to Hogwarts for her eighth year.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and Malfoid had been busy. The Ministry of Magic and the various authorities involved had to work together to sort out the aftermath. There was still much to be done, with several Death Eaters captured and others still on the run.

That afternoon, however, they were sharing a wooden bench beside an open window overlooking the garden. Sunlight fell across their robes, warming the hand Malfoid had left resting in Harry’s. They had stopped there on their way back from lunch. Harry had suggested sitting down for a minute, and she had since become rather attached to the idea.

“Princess of Slytherin? Is the Princess of Slytherin there?” Harry asked, looking down at the platinum-blonde hair spilling over his shoulder.

Her eyes remained closed, although the corner of her mouth lifted slightly. He waited for an answer. Instead, she settled her head more comfortably against him, her fingers still loosely threaded through his.

“My shoulder’s hurting now. Ah, I can’t take it. It’s gone completely numb.”

A small giggle escaped her, followed by a short laugh that stirred her hair against his robes.

“Harry, what are you talking about? Stop squirming around. Let’s just stay like this a bit longer.” She pressed a little closer, apparently unconcerned about his suffering. “Besides, this isn’t even your wand arm.”

“But it’s been fifteen minutes, and you haven’t moved at all. What will people think of the Princess of Slytherin when they see her sleeping all day?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really, but it will reflect on your house.”

“Harry, when I held that wand with you against Voldemort, the only house I cared about was the one we’d come home to.”

Harry glanced down at her again. She had opened her eyes just enough to look up at him.

“And I’m not the Princess of Slytherin. I’m your wife. Did defeating Voldemort make you this cheeky?”

“I… I’m not being cheeky. But if you’re fine with it, then I don’t mind.”

He bent to kiss the top of her head. They shared another quiet laugh before she settled against him again, quite determined to remain where she was. Harry let his shoulder relax beneath her and looked out through the window.

For a while, Malfoid thought about very little. There were birds in the garden, leaves rustling in the breeze, and the faint sound of Harry breathing beside her. His robes were warm beneath her cheek. When someone passed along the corridor, she heard their footsteps without feeling any particular need to open her eyes.

Her hand rested comfortably in his. Beneath her fingers, she could feel small healed cuts and patches of callused skin, familiar now despite how different his hands had once been.

“I miss when your hands weren’t this rough,” she murmured. “Back at the Yule Ball, they were much softer.”

“You think so? I think I prefer them like this.”

“And why would you think that?”

Her head remained on his shoulder, her hand enclosed in his. She could feel the roughness of his palm against her skin, but his hold was gentle. Harry was quiet for a moment. With her eyes lowered, she couldn’t see his expression, and she waited, expecting him to find some way to tease her again.

“Because back then, I didn’t have this ring.”

His wedding band rested against her finger. She had been aware of it all afternoon without giving it much thought. Now she found herself listening more closely, though neither of them moved.

“And I’d trade everything to have this ring on my hand.”

For a few breaths, she could only rest against him and take in what he had said. She wanted to answer with something equally certain, something that would let him know she felt it too. But her throat had tightened, and Harry seemed quite content to keep holding her hand while she found the words.

Their first meeting came back to her, followed by the arguments, the pranks, and all the things she had once been so pleased with herself for saying. Then the Yule Ball, when she had begun to understand Harry. The memories crowded together, the growing love she could neither explain nor put aside, the despair, the nights spent wondering what she could possibly say to him. Then the bathroom floor, her blood spreading across the tiles, and Harry’s horrified face as she lost the strength to keep her eyes open. She had thought there would be nothing left between them after that. Yet he had stayed beside her hospital bed for days, and learning that had given her the courage to believe she could still change what happened next. She remembered taking his hand as they faced Voldemort, frightened enough to tremble and finally certain of where she wanted to stand.

They had lived through all of it, and now Harry was sitting beside her. She could feel his ring against her finger and hear him breathing, and for a little while that was enough to keep her from getting lost in the memories.

She remembered her father teaching her what it meant to be a Malfoy. How to stand, how to speak, how to walk, how to keep an unguarded feeling from showing on her face. To Lucius, a noblewoman held her tears back and remained composed, regardless of the circumstances. Even now, as her eyes grew damp, she instinctively tried to steady her breathing.

But Harry’s hand was warm around hers, and she knew she could cry here if she wanted to. The thought only made it harder to hold the tears back.

She didn’t want him to worry. She was happy, so happy that she couldn’t think how to explain it without making a mess of the words. Silently, she thanked God, thanked whatever kindness life had finally shown her, for giving her this man as her husband. Harry knew her. He had seen so much of her that she wished she could take back, and here he was, letting her rest against him as though he had nowhere else he would rather be.

Throughout it all, Harry said nothing.

He noticed how carefully she was breathing. Once, he would have asked what she was thinking or worried that he had said something wrong. Now, he thought he understood enough to wait. Whether that meant he had grown up or simply that Malfoid had taught him a few things, he couldn’t tell.

He looked out into the garden and continued holding her hand.

After a while, her fingers began to move again. She traced the edge of his ring, then let her hand settle. Harry glanced down, hoping to catch her expression, but her hair was in the way.

He managed another minute before uncertainty got the better of him.

“Sorry if that sounded weird.”

“Harry… don’t. Just don’t say anything.”

“My bad…”

Her shoulders shook with a small giggle, and then she began to laugh. Harry looked down, relieved despite himself.

“You ruined it, Harry. And besides, don’t apologise for something like that. I’m your wife. If anything, I’m happy to hear it.”

“Wait, the sorry part or the ring?”

“Obviously the ring part, Harry, you silly.” She lifted her head just enough to give him a look. “I really do wonder if that final spell sent your brain off to Wonderland.”

He smiled, but his eyes lingered on hers. Malfoid could tell he had noticed the dampness around them.

“I’m happy,” she repeated, a little more quietly.

“All right.”

She settled against him again. For once, he seemed willing to leave it there.

Malfoid kept hold of his hand while she waited for the tightness in her chest to ease. A breeze stirred the ends of her hair, and she reached up to brush a strand away from her mouth. Harry caught another where it had fallen across her cheek and tucked it back for her.

She looked up.

“I’m sorry, but you’re too adorable. I can’t help myself.”

He squeezed her hand. He meant it, although he knew perfectly well what she would think of being called adorable. Sometimes he could picture her response before he had even finished speaking. But imagining it was never quite the same as hearing her say it.

Malfoid narrowed her eyes. He looked altogether too pleased with himself now.

“Ah, so it was all a ploy, huh? I see, I see. Then no kisses for a week. Let’s see if your cheeky arse keeps acting up.”

“A week?”

She gave a small, satisfied nod.

Harry appeared to consider this. Malfoid watched him, already suspicious of the effort he was making to look serious.

“But hugs are okay, right?”

His smile widened when he caught her eye. She could feel her face growing hot, and for a moment the answer she had been preparing deserted her.

“I… I suppose.”

Harry released her hand and stood in front of the bench. She followed him with her eyes, her fingers curling slightly around the warmth he had left behind.

“H… Harry, what are you doing?”

“So I can do something like this, right?”

He leaned over her and drew her into a hug, one arm around her back as she sank against the bench. Before she could compose a reply, he lowered his face towards her neck. His breath brushed her skin, and she caught his sleeve.

“Harry, I said… I said no kissing.”

“I’m not kissing you. I’m only putting my mouth close to your neck.”

Technically, he wasn’t wrong. His lips weren’t touching her, but he was so close that he might as well have been kissing her.

She tried to turn towards him, then stopped when that brought her cheek against his.

“You know perfectly well what I meant.”

Harry laughed softly. Malfoid still had hold of his sleeve, although she had made very little effort to move him away.

Neither of them heard the footsteps approaching along the corridor.

“Potter! Malfoid! What in Merlin’s name are you two doing in broad daylight?”

Harry straightened so quickly that Malfoid’s hand slipped from his sleeve.

“P-Professor McGonagall! I was, er… only talking to Malfoid.”

“Talking?” Her eyes moved from him to Malfoid, who was hurriedly smoothing her robes. “I can see what you’re doing, and so can the rest of the students.”

They glanced down the corridor. Several students had slowed on their way past, and one near the doorway made a rather unconvincing attempt to become interested in the garden and the birds. Harry felt his face burning with embarrassment. Beside him, Malfoid sat very upright, her composure somewhat undermined by the hair caught beneath her collar.

“Even James and Lily weren’t like this. Now, get yourselves ready. Break is over.”

Professor McGonagall walked on, her shoes clicking against the stone floor. Neither of them spoke until she had disappeared around the corner.

Even then, Malfoid remained seated, looking straight ahead.

Harry glanced down the corridor again. The students by the doorway finally moved on, though he heard someone laugh as they went. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Malfoid.

She was carefully freeing her hair from her collar.

“That was embarrassing, Harry… Don’t do that again.”

She rested a hand against her stomach and let out the breath she had been holding. Harry waited while she smoothed her robes, feeling that another joke might be unwise just yet.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m deciding whether I can ever walk down this corridor again.”

He tried not to laugh. She heard it anyway and looked up at him.

“Don’t.”

“Sorry.”

For a few seconds, they managed to remain serious. Then Malfoid’s mouth twitched, and Harry’s smile returned.

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” he asked, attempting to straighten his tie.

She watched his unsuccessful efforts for a moment. He had pulled one end too far down and was now making it worse. With the corridor nearly empty again, the heat in her face was finally beginning to fade.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Depends on how you respond to this.”

Malfoid stood, caught his tie, and pulled him gently down towards her. Harry had just enough time to look surprised before she kissed him.

It was brief, but there was nothing hesitant about it. When she drew back, his hand was still half-raised towards her waist. She glanced at his face and smiled, pleased with herself.

“What happened to a week?” he asked.

“I’ll decide when it starts.”

Harry laughed, and she reached for his tie again.

“Now, don’t be silly. Stand still.”

He obeyed. She loosened the knot enough to straighten it, then smoothed it down against his shirt. Her fingers lingered there for a moment before she lowered her hand.

Harry took it in his.

They hurried down the corridor together. Behind them, sunlight lay across the empty bench, and the birds carried on outside the open window.

[Axel @True_Egoist01]

Aftermath #malfoid

[Rufus「ルーファス」🐾 ⛓️ @Rufuswolfenson]

Malfoid finally woke up from a long dream...
Mirror of Erise

WHAT'S HAPPENING??!!

[UnityAeDeSt @DatAccount]

@offsitedark Something I did now. Bookmark, Repost, Like and prepare for a good read. I read Part 4 and did not realize it until later as it was consumed.

[UnityAeDeSt @DatAccount]

@literate_gamer Darn good and beautiful work. I've got to hand it to you, it's amazing how well authors and general writers can make a story so engaging.

If there's more, I'd love it. Do you plan on something long or perhaps in separate parts that eventually reach some conclusion?

[LiterateGamer @literate_gamer]

#Malfoid #Malfoy #HarryPotter #Drarry #fanfic

A Trip To Hogsmeade - Part 4 -

Draceana couldn't believe it. She just couldn't! How in the bloody hell had they gotten here to begin with?! One moment she was enjoying tea and time with her bitter rival, Potter, and now?!

Now she was staring at that damned Ravenclaw and that thrice-damned Hufflepuff nary but a few arms-lengths away from the both of them, and all of Potter's attentions had gone with them. Gone were his gentle stares at her or the way he toyed with his hands and his scarf, now all subtle furrows of his brows and purses of his lips. Those damned, stupid lips, which ought to have been speaking to her rather than keeping quiet.

"Are you done staring?" She asked, with venom that she instantly regretted and which would have made her visibly wince were it not for her pride keeping her outward-facing emotion in check. Harry frowned at her, leaning away and focusing on covering his grimace with a sip of his tea.

"I wasn't staring."

"Yes you bloody were, Potter." What was she doing? "Don't lie to me."

Harry took a deep breath, setting his cup down and glaring at Draceana. Her heart sank, and for a moment her lips opened to speak further, only to lay silent.

She bounced her leg, beneath the table. Pressed at her hand, squeezing fingers onto the back of it.

On the table there, the Hufflepuff champion was holding onto Cho's hand, pressing his fingers taut into it, rubbing in little circles. Why couldn't Harry do that for her? Why did she even want him to?

Harry bit his lips, turned away from the sight. Draceana stood from her seat. She felt their eyes on her, and from the corner of hers she could see the both of them utterly confused that she was even around.

And was that a hint of jealousy in Cho's face? After she'd dared to--

Draceana threw a galleon on the table and left.

The doors were heavy, and she nearly stumbled as she stepped outside. A moment later, and she ran. What was wrong with her? Why was she doing this?! Her footsteps felt so heavy, in the snow.

Stupid Potter. Staring at other girls like that. It was the same thing with Ronnie, or that Granger girl. It had been the same at the Ball, and it had made her chest hurt then and it made her chest hurt now. She hated it. She hated seeing him with others, hated when his eyes gave them the look that ought to be reserved only for her.

Only for her.

It'd started off as a bet, of course. It had to, for she had done him no favors ever since the start of the year. She'd been terribly worried and upset, and even she wasn't daft enough to lie to herself and say that the actions that that desperation over his well-being wrought were less than ideal. All she'd wanted to do was discourage him-- make him understand that he had to find some way or another of avoiding the Tournament. That was why she'd made the stupid pins, and that had started all of this. He'd yelled at her, but it had been in a way that was utterly different from any that'd come before.

His eyes had welled up in tears, his brows furrowed so deep in a scowl that made her feel just as ill as when Father got into one of his worst moods. He'd called her a myriad of names, names that cut deep into her soul. But the worst part was that he'd asked her why. Why she did this to him, why, despite everything he'd tried to do in order to be her friend, in order for them to be normal, did she have to hurt him like that.

She'd cried herself to sleep that night, huddled in the Slythirin Common Rooms with a blanket over her head. By morning Pansy had asked her what was wrong, and she'd acted as if everything'd been normal all along.

All she wanted to do was protect him. Dissuade him from his own stupidity, without knowing that at the end of the day the biggest fool had been her. And the worst part of it all was how much it'd hurt to see him like that, to have him speak to her like that.

That was when Draceana Malfoy realized the truth of the feelings she'd had for him for years then, feelings which she'd thought stamped out as a foolish, childish crush, but which had returned with a vengeance upon his saving of her against the claws of the Hippogriff. Feelings so bitter, given the difference in their class and her responsibility to her House and her name. Feelings so utterly bitter, given how much he seemed to be fond of producing that ache in her chest.

Draceana Malfoy loved Harry Potter. She loved him more than she ever ought to have, and hopelessly so. She loved how brave and kind he was, how frustratingly uncommon his ideas were. She loved his rebellious streak, how he looked upon all of the things about the Wizarding World that he disliked and put it upon himself to deny them altogether. She loved his eyes, and his hair, and the way his boyish looks were shaping up into the handsome face of a young man. She loved how he was just a bit taller than her, and she loved how athletic and fast he was. She loved his voice, and the way it'd make her stomach flutter anytime his tone would lower or soften around her.

She hated him. She hated him and everything he meant.

And she hated herself, more than anything. Hated that she even did, that her pride and her confidence had been shunned as much as they had.

The bet... those incorrigible Weasley boys put him up to it, of course, the twin brothers who Father always sneered at the harshest anytime that pissant family was brought up around her. Ask for her hand for a Galleon, given that he'd been rejected by his first choice, the girl who they'd seen inside that blasted teashop.

She'd been second pick, and more than that, she'd been second pick over a bet. Had she not known it'd be good revenge to accept, she never would've at all. But it had been-- fantastic revenge over both him and that Ronnie girl who always orbited around him, giving him shy little looks from beneath her messy and unkempt locks of red.

She'd been happy, secretly. So, so happy that he'd asked her. But the insult had been greater, so she ensured she had no less than fifty jinxes and hexes ready were he even the slightest bit beneath her standards.

The foolish boy had met them all and then some, of course. He always did. He always bloody did!

Stupid Potter, holding her hand with such tender care, following along in their bouts of quick wit. Stupid Potter, clearly having practiced for her sake, whisking her away in that dance that was just the slightest bit awkward enough to be endearing whilst also stealing her breath away. Stupid Potter, letting his eyes wander away until she damned near slapped him, only to focus exclusively on her the moment she placed a hand on his cheek to correct him.

Stupid Potter, following her after even though that red-headed malcontent was practically begging for him to dance with her the rest of the night.

Stupid Potter, telling her how beautiful she'd been, how happy it'd made him to finally see her like this, to finally be normal with her.

Stupid Harry Potter, making her kiss him then. Making her lose herself, and take that step that she didn't even know she'd wanted for so, so long.

Harry. It was always him. Always! It couldn't have been anyone else. It had to be him.

Draceana ran. And ran and ran and ran, each footstep heavier than the last. She ran until her legs ached, barreling past the townspeople and other students who watched her with curious and concerned eyes. Out and towards the highlands she went, to a certain clearing that she enjoyed to go to whenever everything just got to be too much.

And as she ran, she felt the sting of bitter cold on her cheeks, both the tears and the snow.

[LiterateGamer @literate_gamer]

#Malfoid #Malfoy #HarryPotter #fanfic

A Trip To Hogsmeade - Part 3 -

Out Zonko's door the pair went, arms linked and a small bag held in Harry's hand which contained a myriad of items, each of which having made Draceana's eyes roll at least twice as a form of quality control. She smiled as they stepped back out into the frigid white, pulling herself close to him and looking up with curious silver eyes.

"Where to next, then, Potter?" She queried, her eyes shifting for a moment towards the haphazardly made hempen bag in his hand, which looked as if it were made of several different materials sewed into one.

Harry hummed, looking towards her with that easy smirk. "Well... I was planning to visit Honeyduke's..." Another roll of her eyes. He had grown rather fond of that particular sight over the years, for it usually meant he'd done something to annoy her just as she constantly did him. But now it was different: He enjoyed it now for the way that it made her eyes flutter, for the way that her smile came beneath it, or how her hair flushed past with the motion of her head. How it made her look so utterly picturesque, a haughty princess pulled straight from the sweetest fairytale.

"Please, Potter. We're not children anymore." She began, pulling away from his arm and taking a couple of steps in front of him before spinning in place to look at him. She grinned, pointing a finger towards the center of his chest, prodding right where his heart would be. "And besides, I believe you've already had your turn in showing me around."

Harry scoffed. "I thought the whole point of this was for you to follow me."

"Well, I've changed my mind. It's my turn to pick a spot."

Harry rolled his eyes playfully, making sure to mimic her earlier motion as near as he could. He didn't struggle as she tugged at him, his steps feeling lighter than they probably ought to have.

Past the center of town they went, close by to Honeydukes and even The Third Broomstick and Hog's Head, before arriving at a building of green and pink decor, as gaudy as they come. Harry felt his stomach pit at the sight, and he groaned, tugging at Draceana's arm.

"Madam Pudifoot's?! You know what this place is, right?"

"The best and only good teashop from here to Diagon Alley?"

"Dracy..." That nickname again. She grinned at him, wiggling her brows this way and that. "What? There's nothing off-putting about the place, it's a perfectly good spot."

Harry sighed. She was teasing him again. She already knew why he was apprehensive.

"Scared, Potter?" She intoned, with that harsh spelling of his name that she always used anytime she wanted to get a rise out of him. It worked.

"You wish."

Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop had been a mainstay of Hogsmeade for well over a hundred years as far as Harry knew, a near permanent fixture which hadn't changed much in that time. The insides were painted with a gaudy pink that reminded him of some of the uglier wallpapers the Dursleys coveted, and the main dining room was utterly cluttered with little tables that were so tiny you couldn't eat in a group without being near shoulder to shoulder.

Even now, late in the Winter as it were, it was decently full of students, each and every one of them couples. Harry recognized a few of them, a smattering of fifth and sixth years who'd stayed behind after the Holidays, most of them incidentally owing to the Yule Ball. A lot decided to go back home to spend the time with their loved ones, but a few chose to stay behind instead, for one reason or another.

Teacups flew across the air in lazy fashion, and everywhere did the ceramics clink. In the air, the pleasant smells of freshly made and oven-pressed biscuits wafted, and the lighting made everything look just a little bit more cozy than usual, with warm orange overtones that meshed surprisingly well with the harsh pink of the wallpaper and the green-and-white tiles of the flooring.

They came to sit at one of the tables by the wall, with Draceana off-handedly mentioning that 'even if not many are around, it'd be a great mess if we were to be seen by all'. It was a ruse, of course. In reality, she just wanted an excuse to sit closer to him, and the little table at the far corner provided just that, even if she would be loathe to ever admit it.

They sat and they ordered, and a certain awkward quiet came over them as they waited. Harry's eyes flicked towards the rest of the room, and he rubbed his hands together, anxiously.

He looked so cute when he was nervous. His eyes kept flitting back and forth between her and the rest of the room, and he kept touching at his hands and messing with the sleeves of his cloak. His hair had grown messy over the last year, what usually was a short-cut and well-kept haircut now a mop of brown atop his head. His tie was unkempt again, peeking out from beneath his coat and his scarf. He'd become more loose this year, more unkempt.

Her hands moved to his front, pressing delicate fingers onto his scarf, against his tie. He groused, huffing and pulling away from her, but she pushed forward. "Stop fussing, Potter." She muttered, ignoring the flush that came across his face or the whinging from his lips. "You ought to look more presentable, you know."

"I'm plenty fine."

"No." She shook her head, squeezing at the top of his shirt's collar. "You should always look your best."

Just like he did in the Ball.

"You clean up nicely when you put some effort in, you know. Sometimes I think you just like me fussing over you."

He paused, staring at her.

Did he?

It was annoying, wasn't it? She was more than just annoying, she was incredibly frustrating! How many times had he had to endure her ceaseless teasing? At times, it even went beyond that. They'd even gone so far as physical fighting before-- be it the duel during their second year or even the year prior, where the two of them got into a spat right before Buckbeak injured her.

And yet... he couldn't help but stare at her anytime she went past. Couldn't help but worry, anytime he saw her eyes downcast. It was happening more often now than before, ever since he'd saved her. And now she looked at him different. She'd stopped teasing him as often, and he'd realized the nights prior that she'd even stopped calling Hermione mudblood or Ronnie Weaslebee.

She'd started to adjust his tie anytime she saw him, scolding him and telling him to be better. He'd catch her staring at him across the dining hall, oftentimes with a show of her tongue or a sneering look he would then return.

He caught himself thinking about her, in the quiet moments late at night, in the great baths he sometimes visited on his lonesome.

"I... Maybe I do." He muttered, and the admission sent the both of them into a flush.

"What?"

"It's... I don't know."

It was nice, seeing you in a dress. He wanted to say it. He couldn't. And before she could pry any further, the tea came. Earl Grey for her, pure black for him. Sweet and with a couple of biscuits-- it wasn't the same as stuffing his face with Honeydukes' candy, but it was good enough.

Across the room, the door opened, and Harry's attention was severed from her. He saw there a head of shiny raven hair... and a tall, handsome figure beside it.

Harry clicked his tongue before he realized.

Cho Chang and Cedric Diggory.

Draceana's expression shifted, confusion in her features that morphed into annoyance as she looked across the hall. She sighed, rolling her eyes again and taking a sip of her tea.

This better not ruin their lovely afternoon.

[LiterateGamer @literate_gamer]

#Malfoid #Malfoy #Draceana #HarryPotter #fanfic

A Trip to Hogsmeade - Part 2 -

Hogsmeade always felt dreamlike to Harry this time of year, with its many picturesque huts almost overdecorated in Holiday cheer. White snow had covered every street and every roof and every tipped chimney, and through the roads of the sizeable village the commonfolk were busy amongst themselves.

The multitudes were rather numerous, owing to the obvious fact that quite a lot of the students that'd stayed behind for one reason or another --the third years and up at least-- would congregate here in times of merry. And though Christmas had come and gone a couple of days prior, nevertheless was the wondrous magical village utterly full.

Through the streets came men and women dressed in heavy coats and tall hats singing out carols which were full of well wishes and sweet dreams. Here and there were vendors still, their noses red from the cold though their voices nevertheless broke through the muffle of white. Boys and girls from Hogwarts were everywhere, each of them proudly baring their House colors and many more of them with candies in their hands or belated presents in their arms.

More than a few held each other at the hand, and the sight of it brought a certain sense of trepidation to Draceana's heart.

Her and Harry Potter had been mostly quiet again following their small altercation halfway out of school grounds, the both deciding unanimously to keep things affable for the time being. What little they'd spoken had been incidental; Their hands had met somewhere along the way, and Harry had remarked that hers felt utterly cold, even through the gloves. So it was that they clasped both of their hands together, and that was how they arrived to the foot of one of the streets which cut right through the magical village.

She was holding his hand now, just how those couples were as they walked down the snow-laden bridge which led towards the hamlet. There and for a moment the thought brought a certain pause to her. She already knew deep down that their appearance at the Ball was likely a mistake, one that the gossip columns of the Wizarding World that so oft preyed on the inner politics of Hogwarts would cry to every rooftop once the new term was fresh.

"Just for today."

The words echoed in her mind, and she chose to heed them for once. So she squeezed at his hand harder, wrapping her own arm around his and keeping those fingers locked tight. He tensed, but did not push or pull at her. It wasn't the first time she'd done this to begin with, and the memories of the Yule Ball were all that were needed to spur the boy into accepting the affectionate gesture.

At the entrance, some folk were outside of the old Cauldron Shop, with a wiry grandma of grey hair and a kindly face using her finger to gently whisk a great pot which smelled wonderful the closer they got to it. Around her were other villages, all of them smiling and laughing and each of them with red on their cheeks and their noses, and each of them with a bowl in their hand filled with the soup that the woman had made. A bit beyond that was the scroll shop, where a man carrying stacks upon stacks of rolls near as tall as he shambled his way inside, muttering curses beneath his breath each time the tower swayed just a little bit too far to the side.

A few houses down the road a young girl came out from a shop with a particularly impressive looking set of scissors at the door, her long hair absolutely dazzling for all of the five steps it took before it puffed up in an afro that left Harry utterly shocked. Further still was Zonko's, that little haven of trickery and mischief that always made Potter's eyes twinkle with possibilities anytime he heard of it, nevermind now that he'd come to visit.

There Malfoy paused, squeezing at his arm and scoffing towards his expression with a sort of teasing smirk that was so completely alien to any of the self-assured arrogance he was used to.

"We're not going in there." She remarked, to which Harry huffed, rolling his eyes and clicking at his tongue. "I wasn't planning to."

"Sure you weren't."

"I wasn't. But now that you mention it," He paused, and a bit of mischief crossed across his features, an easy smile over his lips, "You did mention that I ought to show you around, and I'd bet a good galleon that you've never stepped foot in this place. Am I wrong?"

Draceana shifted her gaze away. "Of course you're right. What use would such a place hold to someone of my status?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised. We're going in."

"What? You can't be serious. Do you know what will happen if--"

But he was already pulling her, and Draceana could only let out a small yelp as she corrected her steps by way of his arm.

The inside of Zonko's was just about everything that Draceana had expected, both from the way that she'd been warned of that place by other people of similar social status and by the way that the lowborn and the insolent described it. A joke. Everywhere she looked, gaudy colors and gaudier artifacts were around, from pop-up jesters which made for quite a fright for the few students around to the many joke items which were flung about to create a soundscape best described as cacophonous.

But, even though most of her prejudices were being confirmed-- especially owing to the fact that the colors she saw the most in those student's garbs were of two certain red and yellow houses-- she just couldn't bring herself to hate any of it. If anything, she was growing fond of it, and that was just because of the look that Potter gave her as he entered, excitement in his gaze and an elated smile on his lips as he turned to give her a formal welcome.

"Welcome to Zonko's, Dracy!" He said in half jest, pressing a hand to his chest and making the worst curtsy she'd ever seen, one which forced her to hide her face in her scarf lest his ego grow at the sight of her laugh.

"And you plan to impress me by showing me this? All I see is parlor tricks, Ha--Potter."

"See, that's where you're wrong. Where you see nothing but tricks and pranks, I see opportunity. Look around us, Drace..." There was a pause there as he sidled close to her, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards a cabinet full of miscellaneous items meant to cause as much nuisance to others as possible. There, amidst the stock meant to be tested live, he grabbed upon something labelled a "Can of Wonder" and handed it to her.

"It's not just stuff meant to cause mischief either," he began to explain, that light in his eyes again which somehow made her actually pay attention to every word. "It's also meant to amaze you. Try it!"

She looked at the can with a suspicious glare, and pressed her hand to the lid. When she opened it?

A constellation suddenly opened up, above her. Stars and blooming fireworks lit up across the space around them, and a few of the other students and villagers that had stopped by to buy or peruse stopped what they were doing altogether.

Dust had popped out of the can at first, blue and black and filling the space around and above them. Immediately after was the darkness filled with pockets and marks of light, and a moment after that did those marks bloom into gorgeous fireworks that looked so much like shooting stars coursing across the night sky. In that second, Draceana was brought back to the Ball. To dancing with Potter in the midst of a room whose eyes were all trained on her. To the moment after in a certain balcony, the both of them staring up at the sky as they made for a private encore of their performance.

To the way her heart beat so fast when he was near, his hand on her waist and hers around his shoulder. To the way that his gaze softened.

To the way now that he looked so childlike, so innocent, so utterly enamored with what should've been by all accounts mundane to him by now. How much love he seemed to possess for magic, love that she'd never seen like this in someone else. This kind of wonderment was reserved only for the muggle and the ignorant, it was unbecoming.

And yet, in those emerald eyes, it was gorgeous.

The spell dissipated, the clouds drifting apart and away, the colors fading.

Draceana smiled, sweet and tugging at his sleeve.

"Could you show me more?"

Harry blinked, stupefied. Then, his grin grew as wide as it could, and he pulled at her, eager to show her every which thing he could.

Just for today. Right?

[LiterateGamer @literate_gamer]

I directly blame @MaskedBatter and @facer360 for this. This is a continuation of my latest flash-fic earlier today inspired by @propermint's artwork. You can read the inciting thing here: https://t.co/nFyjJni4iN

A Trip to Hogsmeade - Part 1 -

"You know, I never learned who it was that gave you the permission slip for this. With the way the rumors circulated, I figured those horrid muggles you live with would've never done you the favor of it."

"Malfoy, could we please not speak of this?"

Draceana Malfoy made her way with long and graceful steps through the snow-frosted cobble of the Hogwarts Courtyard, Harry Potter in tow. She spoke with a certain lilt to her voice, her hand wrapped around Potter's arm and her words half muffled by the scarf that somewhat covered the front of her mouth.

"I'm just wondering! Perhaps 'The Boy Who Lived' wasn't the only one of his family who 'Lived'."

Harry's face soured, an already annoyed look across his features turning morose. The girl noted this, clearing at her throat and shifting her gaze elsewhere.

"...I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I was just curious, is all. You never took my offer last year, the one for my mother or father to write you a slip." Her voice grew just a bit more quiet, frayed at the edges.

"It wouldn't have worked." Harry answered, with a certain gruffness he didn't really like himself. "Only a parent or guardian can do it. They're neither. Neither are the Weasleys, before you make another insipid comment about them." He was irritable, to say the least, and Malfoy elected to keep her quiet.

They walked together through the courtyard, the blistering whites of snowfall all around and over them, with very few souls left anywhere around. It wasn't an uncommon sight to Harry, and indeed this would be a rather calm stroll out to Hogsmeade were it not for present circumstance. Still, the two of them huddled up to themselves for warmth in their thick coats, a foot or two apart from each other even though they walked at exactly the same pace.

They walked past the courtyard and through the bridge and out towards the Scottish Highlands with nary a word spoken between them, though by then Draceana had begun to anxiously press against her hand and toy with her scarf and a few strands of her hair. Harry was no different, the boy keeping his hands deep within his pockets and fiddling with the lint of them and his gloves therein.

Finally, Malfoy opened her mouth to speak. "Potter... I..."

Harry interrupted her. "Why are you doing this, Malfoy? I've had enough to deal with this year without all of this, haven't I?"

The girl found herself taken aback by the question. "What do you mean?"

"All of this! Ever since last year, ever since..." He bit his tongue, preventing himself from mentioning the injury of her arm. An injury that now had never existed to anyone but three. "...ever since I pulled you away from Buckbeak."

"...I've been exactly the same, thank you very much." Came the girl's response, which her eyes told Harry she didn't even believe herself.

Because she truly hadn't. Not for a year now. She'd stopped being nearly as cruel, started teasing him in new ways which slipped past his usual defenses. He could deal with cruel and unruly Malfoy-- he'd been doing so for years at that point. But this? This was completely different. This was intimate. Personal. And it made him all the more wary of when the inevitable shoe drop would come.

"You haven't been. You know you haven't been. Don't lie to yourself, Malfoy. What do you want from me? Truly, what?!" He'd stopped, maybe a fifth of the way through the pathway which would take them near the Quidditch Pitch and out towards the outer gate to the Scottish Highlands.

"...." Malfoy's mouth moved, but no sound came out. Harry spread his arms wide, motioning to something and nothing all at once. "Well?!"

"I just..."

"You just what?!"

"I don't know, Potter!" She'd blurted it out harshly, her voice shrill and high and breaking through the silence that snow had naturally enveloped them with. Somewhere down the path, an errant soul or two stopped to check on them, but neither of them paid any mind to it. Harry's emerald eyes were instead fixated upon Malfoy's, whose silver quivered as she stared at him with a face red with what he could only assume was rage.

"I could ask you the same exact bloody thing! Why did you help me, then? Why did you pull me away?!" She pointed an accusatory finger at his chest, and for some reason it only served to incense him further.

"Because it was the right thing to do!"

"Oh, don't give me that! You'd sooner watch me trip and laugh alongside that m-- that dirty Granger and that Weasley girl! Those two that are always hanging from your bloody arm like the colors you're oh-so proud of!" Draceana stomped at her feet, teeth grit and hair flung away from her scarf to drape across her arms and her back.

"Because I didn't want you to get hurt!" Came another confession from him, one which left him suddenly cowed. His hands pressed to his sides and he looked away, to a particularly interesting patch of snow a few dozen steps away. He remembered the sadness in her eyes, that arm on a sling. Remembered the way she seemed so happy when he'd come visit, and so remorseful when she'd heard the news. He'd never seen that side of her, the tears barely contained, her silver eyes devoid of the life that always filled them.

"...I didn't want you to live with knowing that he'd get hurt over it, either."

Draceana's lips opened, and for a moment Harry thought she'd scoff, sneer at the thought. But she didn't. Instead, those lips pursed tight, sucking into her face in a fashion he'd find most humorous were it not for his confusion.

"...I thought you hated me."

He sighed, suddenly exhausted. "I've never hated you, Malfoy. You... I find you the single most frustrating person in the whole bloody world, but I could never hate you."

"Why...? After everything I've done to you, everything..."

Harry stepped forward, grabbing onto her scarf in a manner most similar to how she'd begun to do so to his tie in the last few months.

"Come on. Lets get to Hogsmeade. We can forget everything there, go back to bothering each other senseless tomorrow. But... I'd..." He paused, adjusting and tightening the scarf, making sure that it wasn't choking her or slipping. "...I'd like for us to act like we did at the Ball, just for today. Is that too much to ask, Dracy?"

Her face had been red for so long, one might wonder if she was catching a fever.

"...alright, Harry. Just for today."

#Malfoid #Draceana #Malfoy #HarryPotter #fanfic

[LiterateGamer @literate_gamer]

"Staying behind for the rest of the Holidays, Potter?"

Her voice startled him, coming from the window as it had.

Harry had just said goodbye to his friends for the Holidays, electing as usual to stay in the Castle for them. It wasn't exactly uncommon for him to do so, for any time spent away from the Dursleys was a blessing he'd eagerly take. It was a bit lonely of course, most students usually elected to go and see their kin after all, but he was used to being lonely.

And he'd much rather be lonely in Hogwarts than anywhere else, especially given his circumstances.

So imagine his surprise when he came back with a sullen expression on his face to the Gryffindor Common Rooms, only to find himself face to face with none other than his bitter rival. A bitter rival who he'd taken out to the Yule Ball a few days prior. A bitter rival who he'd kissed at the end of that night, and whose presence he'd been avoiding since.

"Well, don't look too sour there, Scarhead. I figured you'd be all huff and puff without those leeches stuck to your hip. Surprised to see me?"

Harry clicked at his tongue, rolling his eyes towards her. "You shouldn't be here." He answered, curt and harsh, and to that Draceana Malfoy scoffed.

"Please. It wasn't hard to get the password this year, either. Balderdash? Fittingly ridiculous for Gryffindor to use."

She scoffed, pulling the green and white-striped scarf tighter against her neck and turning her gaze towards the white of the rest of Hogwarts.

"I've always had such a distaste for this place. To think the lot of you so arrogant to hold yourself atop one of the highest towers of the castle, especially when few of you deserve it. Really, its..."

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry spoke up, interrupting the oncoming ramble with a light glower in his voice. Draceana turned towards him, a smile on her face which was utterly unlike any expression he'd ever seen on her.

No. That was a lie.

It was just like the smile she'd shown him at the Yule Ball. That smile which had utterly disarmed him in a second, which had pushed him to hold her tighter to him, hand on hand and on waist.

"I heard you'd be one of very few who stayed behind, this year. At least from Gryffindor. So, I thought I'd throw you a bone."

He shifted in place, eyes narrowing.

"Oh, really? And to what do I owe the attention of the queen serpent?"

She pushed herself away from the windowsill, walking towards him with short, confident steps. His instincts told him to run away, but he stood his ground, leaning forward in defiant fashion.

"Call it a return of favor for the Ball last week."

"That was a bet. I thought the favor had already been paid."

"Well, then consider it a reward for not stepping on my feet."

"I thought the reward was not hexing me."

"Potter!" The girl suddenly snapped, grabbing onto him by the lapel of the cloak, her expression soured.

"I'm doing you a favor, get it? Now... show me around."

Harry's brows raised. "What?"

"Yes. Show me around. I'm doing you a favor, remember? So quit your whining and get to it!"

Harry sighed. It really was all back to normal, wasn't it? The last night they'd spent together nothing but a dream, a mirage.

"...whatever. Fine."

"Good. Now! Shall we?"

"We shall."

#Malfoid #Draceana #Dracona #HarryPotter

[UnityAeDeSt @DatAccount]

@literate_gamer @MaskedBatter @facer360 @propermint I've got to make sure to keep these saved for me to read later. All this peak hiding right under my nose.

Preposterous...

[LiterateGamer @literate_gamer]

#Malfoid #Malfoy #HarryPotter #Drarry #fanfic

A Trip To Hogsmeade - Finale -

Through the forest Draceana Malfoy ran, tears on her face and fury in her heart. A heart that ached, ached for herself and for The Boy Who Lived, accompanied as ever with her racing mind.

So many thoughts went through her head, but more than anything the anger she felt was directed squarely at herself. For all of this was ridiculous, and she knew that she had been nothing but ridiculous for the last year or so. That, no matter how she looked at things, she'd stooped down to the lowest levels, and only kept digging further once she'd hit that rock bottom.

What would her Father say, if he knew about this? She could already picture it: His cold eyes looking down at her with that emotion that he seldom used against his own daughter, with that look which she'd only seen a handful of times throughout her entire life, and yet which had haunted her ever since.

Disgust? Certainly not, for Draceana knew that no matter what she did, her Father and her Mother would always love her.

Worst.

Disappointment.

Draceana was terrified of disappointing them. She was a Malfoy, for heavens' sake! Being a Malfoy meant so much to her, to her family! They were purebloods of higher stock, people of renown and high political stature who commanded those beneath them in the same manner that shepherds do the wayward flock. They were Wizarding nobility in every sense of the word, far above the likes of paltry squabbles and forbidden lovers' quarrels!

And yet here she was, betraying everything that she stood for, and for what? For Harry Potter of all things. For The Boy Who Lived, the boy who'd rejected her at every turn, rejected her ideals and her pride and her family name time and time again as if they meant nothing to the world. But that was wrong! They meant everything-- everything! Theirs was the right to rule over others, theirs was the right to command respect and authority everywhere they pleased!

Hers was the right of excellence, born and raised to be nothing but the very best, and proud of it! Her parents would love her just the same no matter what she did, she knew this, she was certain of it!

But every single one of those rare times in which Father had looked at her with disappointment... her heart had broken. It'd ached in ways that she never, ever wanted to live through again.

In the way that she was living through now, as she ran through the trees. That hollow feeling in her chest, that pit in her stomach, the sting of tears on her cheeks. She hated it, with every single fiber of her being. But she hated what it meant more than what it felt like.

Perhaps this was for the best. The Yule Ball had been a mistake, after all. A lapse in judgment, owed to the way that Potter had maliciously manipulated her the last year and a half of their lives. Surely, it'd all been a trick at the end of the day! Comeuppance for her relentless actions against him, done so when she'd finally let her guard down and seen him differently, tried to be different for him.

He was still her bitter rival, after all. Not a friend, and certainly no love.

Or so she wished would be the case. It would be so much easier then, on her heart and her chest and the turmoil in her mind. On the fear that gripped her heart, unknowing of what would happen if Father were to ever know of what she felt. Of what had bloomed inside of her as a poisonous weed planted by that odious, detestable boy.

Of what Father would do to Potter, if he were to ever find out. How it would all be her fault, too.

The clearing was quiet. A cozy little spot circled by the trees, with a lone and sturdy oak in its center. A spot that would likely be riddled with the stain of others had she not made sure to keep it an utmost secret from everyone, even the likes of Crabbe and Goyle. It was something meant only for her, hidden away from the rest of the world. A place where she could go when she needed utmost peace and quiet, be it for lofty personal reasons or simply because she desired a nice spot of study or a good place to read.

There she ran, beneath the great mighty oak whose leaves had long since dried and left in the winter season. She sat, pressing herself against the base of it, and bunched up into a little ball with her knees hugged tight by her arms. Then she cried, both in sorrow and in abject frustration, rubbing at her eyes and hiding her face in her sleeves. A frustration that only grew when she realized her scarf had fallen somewhere long behind.

Her thoughts repeated, again and again. Stupid Potter. Stupid Chang girl. Stupid Weasley, all of them, Ronnie and the insufferable twins and even that daft sister of theirs that made googly eyes at Potter anytime he was near. Stupid heart of hers, eagerly betraying her when she'd been certain that her little crush for him had been all but stamped out years ago. Stupid Potter family, for daring to leave him in any sort of vicinity to those filthy muggles, who robbed them of a future they could have easily had hand in hand.

Stupid Harry, coming out of the treeline with her scarf in his hands and worry across...

"Go away!" She called out, rubbing at her face and standing.

"No." Came his answer, eliciting a deep growl from her throat.

"I said go away, Potter! Go back to that damn Chang girl, go back to Weaslebee-- go back to bloody Granger and all of the fools that orbit around you! Leave me alone!" Please. Just make it easy. Please.

"No. I'm not going to leave you alone in the middle of the woods, Draceana." Her nickname was gone, a phantom ache left drifting upon his lips. "Not like this. I promised I'd show you around, didn't I? That I'd make it up for you, for the Ball?"

She scoffed, smudging at her likely ruined mascara with her sleeve. "Are you kidding me, Potter?! There is nothing to make up for. Clearly I..." Clearly I trusted you too much. Clearly you have eyes for others. Clearly this could never have happened. Clearly I was a fool.

"Clearly I do." He retorted, with that trademark sass that always made her want to rip out her hair in frustration.

"Please. Look around us. You've made me chase you all over the Highlands, and you think you'll get rid of me now, so easily?" He sighed, and for the first time she got a good look at him, so focused was she on staring at anything but his face before.

He had snow all over him, covering up to his knees from the running he'd done and utterly blanketing that messy mop of hair. Those round glasses of his were half-fogged, and his face was red at the cheeks and the ears and the nose. He was panting, white tufts of vapor rising from his mouth and his nostrils, and now that she thought about it his voice was hoarse, too. Though hers was far worse off, cracking and fraying at the seams.

His scarf was hanging on loosely, his coat was half open, and her own was bundled tight in his fist, as if he were afraid to drop it.

Draceana let out the most exasperated exhale of her life thus far, and let herself fall back against the tree again. She shut her eyes tight, face tilting upwards and towards the sky. Snow tickled at her cheeks, but she didn't care anymore. Maybe if she shut her eyes, he'd fade away. Maybe she'd fall asleep, and wake up, and all of the last week would be revealed to just be a dream. The Ball would be due, and she would simply ask another of her House of high renown and import, and dazzle everyone with her appearance, utterly stealing the show from the Champions as if there had ever been any sort of doubt as to if she could.

She'd go back, and Potter and her would be rivals and nothing more, and she would be able to focus again when it came to tormenting him. Of making sure that he regretted every second of his rejections towards her, of the friend that could have been.

"I never thought you'd be the like to daydream. I always figured you too proud to allow anything as fitful as that to take you."

She would never have to hear this grating voice in her ears ever again.

"Perhaps I merely wish to wake up from this nightmare."

Her eyes remained closed. She didn't want to see him. Not now.

"What sort of nightmare is it? I have them too, you know. Quite a lot of them."

She let out a sigh. "Oh, you know... the nightmare where I am humiliated and paraded around by a Potter for well over a year, where he uses me for his own gains like the coward he is."

Neither of them spoke for a few long, long moments.

"You know..." He began. She opened her eyes against her better judgment, though she only looked at him from her periphery. He'd sat down right next to her, and he was looking to her with a nauseating little smirk on his face.

"You could have just said no."

"I should have just said no."

"But you didn't."

"No. No, I didn't."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Harry shook his head, rolled his eyes. She shifted her gaze closer, to the snow on his clothes, the way he shuffled in that cloak.

"Why did you take the bet?" She asked, before he could speak again.

He hesitated for a single second. She saw it-- he bit at his lip, and his breathing halted, and he sucked in a breath.

"I think I wanted to see what you would say. If you'd say yes or no."

She opened her mouth. This time he interrupted her.

"Why did you kiss me?"

And it was her turn to quiet. To look at him, see his rosy skin and his emerald eyes and the mop of hair on his head, all now layered by a thin blanket of snow.

He smirked again, as if something tickled him.

"I thought you hated me." He said, echoing her earlier statement, what had been hours ago but by then felt as if days. He moved too as he did so, handing her the scarf.

Tears welled up in her eyes again. What was she doing? What was wrong with her?

"I can't hate you."

Draceana Malfoy turned, grabbing at the offered scarf before pulling it away and grabbing at his collar and his neck. She moved as if on autopilot, her mind and her will so at odds that it felt as if though she was moving in a dream. Everything was slow, methodical. Everything just was.

"I can't bring myself to hate you, anymore." More tears fell down her face. She was kneeling next to him now, staring down at his wide emerald eyes as she cupped his cheeks with both hands.

This was so stupid. Utterly moronic. She was a Malfoy. She was his better.

So why did he have to look at her with those eyes?

Her lips were soft, slightly dry, and warm against his. She trembled like a leaf her nails digging down into his shoulders.

She kissed him again, as if to affirm to herself what she couldn't stomach saying, anymore. And she hoped in that moment that anyone who'd be able to hear the silent prayer made would be able to.

She hated when he looked at others. She hated when he got hurt. She hated that he made her feel this way. She hated that she was just a bet to him.

Because she wanted to be so much more.

And if that meant lying to herself, to her family? If that meant hiding it all as best she could? She would.

She'd be good at it. She'd be the best at it. Because Draceana Malfoy was never one to do anything but her best.

So, she kissed him once, then kissed him again, and again and again. She kept trembling as she did, utterly terrified of what might happen.

Until his arms wrapped around her. Until his lips pressed back, making her stomach flutter and more of her tears fall.

Later, they'd figure out what they were. What this was. It'd be done over a snippy set of remarks by the both of them, each one cutting in their own special little way. Later they'd return to the Common Rooms of their Houses', and they'd melt into puddles in their own ways, wondering how the hell any of this had happened. Later they'd figure out how to hide it, not just from the outside world, but the inside one, too.

But for now, the pair kissed, holding each other time beneath the slowly darkening skies of a snowy, cold, and beautiful afternoon.

What had she done, indeed.

[KamiKen @KenSu1208]

Jean Grey and Malfoid...🥰
#HarryPotter #Malfoid #Malfoy #SpiderManBrandNewDay

[Eunoe Atoms @EunoeVA]

Justice for big foreheads! ✊🏼🥺 #malfoid

[Tiago 🇻🇦 @Dies_Iri]

“Love alone is credible. Nothing else can be believed, and nothing else ought to be believed.”
― Hans Urs von Balthasar

[Zirra Unlimited 🔞 @ZirraUnlimited]

Rerorerorero
Malfoid
#HarryPotter #malfoy #malfoid