A Big Black Sky

AlexMeg @alxmeg

Chapters: 13/13 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy & Scorpius Malfoy, Teddy Lupin & Harry Potter, Teddy Lupin & Draco Malfoy, Scorpius Malfoy & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Original Male Character(s) Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, Teddy Lupin, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Parent Draco Malfoy, Parent Harry Potter, Abusive Relationships, Domestic Violence, Child Abuse, Homelessness, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, dark themes, The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Harry Potter Raises Teddy Lupin, Everyone Needs A Hug, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Slow Burn, Pining Draco Malfoy, But it’s very very subtle and repressed, Panic Attacks, Protective Harry Potter, Falling In Love, Smitten Harry Potter, Mutual Pining, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Down and Out Draco Malfoy, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Kid Fic, Post Mpreg

Summary:

Draco shifts his head as he turns to look at Scorpius, his cheek touching the pillow. “Did you know that…” He pauses, his throat convulsing, and it sounds audible in the silence, besides Michael’s steady, even breathing from the other bedroom.

Scorpius is staring back at him, in wait of something new to learn, a beautiful and intelligent child. He has Draco’s mind. He has Draco’s eyes and nose and mouth and hair. He is his. All his. All he has of Michael are his wild curls and the green of his eyes, and sometimes he looks into them and imagines that they aren’t Michael’s, but someone else’s.

Draco leans his head closer, biting the quiver out of his lips before he breathes a laden and shuddering exhale, and he whispers, “You are my star in a big black sky.”

Excerpt:

Harry shifts his weight on his feet. He isn’t sorry for what he said, not in the least, and maybe he is upsetting Draco for speaking in such a way about his husband, but it’s about bloody time somebody says these things to him. “So if he is stupid enough to come back… we will deal with him together.”

There was a time when, even as cold as he was, Draco used to wear his emotions all over his face clearly; the blaze in his silver eyes and the sneer that curled at his lip when he was angry or disgusted, or when he was mocking someone, the genuine distress that furrowed at his brows and pinched his eyes when Harry’s sharp, retaliating barbs hit a little too hard, even if it’s shown only for a split-second before it’s covered up by an icy set to his features or fury, and the way fear and anxiety ran through his face and his body in tremors and left him wide-eyed and ashen, the exhaustion and terror and harrowing mourn that haunted him throughout Sixth Year and left him slumped in chairs and picking at his food, his gaze downcast and his voice low.

Harry longs for that emotional visibility now, even if not for the boy he used to be,  because right now he is absolutely unfathomable.

“Together?” Draco repeats, quiet. There is still that look that, when Harry looks closely enough, he begins to read it as a bit like he’s trying to work him out, and then with one downward flick of his eyes, a slow blink, there is an inexplicable emotion slipping into his gaze and the delicate line between his brows.

“Yes, Draco. Together,” Harry echoes back, softly, and it vaguely occurs to him that he’s just accidentally addressed Draco by his name aloud, and that being for the first time ever.

He hopes one day Draco can feel him settle into some part of his life, as someone who is there and as someone that he matters to, like he and Scorpius have settled into his own now.

Maybe he has.

By the next second, Draco’s mouth is on his own, soft and warm, pushing his head back just so by the suddenness of it, by the light pressure startling all his breaths right out of his lungs and all his thoughts right out of his head, leaving him blank and scattered.

There is a zap of pleasure breaking over the plush of his mouth, running down the flesh over his spine and back, shivering his skin into goosebumps. Just as he’s about to retrieve his mind and breaths back, the pressure over his mouth is gone, letting go in a soft kiss and leaving behind phantoms of warmth and a throb of longing. Draco’s gaze is fixated on him, the pupils of his eyes overblown black over grey, lips parted slightly as he tries to regain air of his own into his lungs.

And then, as if it’s just hit him what he’s done, his eyes widen to saucers. His face goes drained of colour, horrified and stricken, humiliation and fear flooding into his expression. “Merlin, fuck! My apologies, Potter, I-I didn't—” He is steadily growing rigid and tense, beginning to tremble something terrible. He stumbles back a few steps, a hand gripping the counter tightly to repress its tremors, and Harry doesn’t think, he just acts.

He grabs his face in both his hands carefully, makes sure Draco sees them when they reach for him, and Draco halts still, wide-eyed in a different way now, perhaps in a better way.

Harry is the one to lean forward this time, growing slow and tentative when he’s so close that their breaths are mingling through their parted lips, slow and heavy. His mouth lingers closely over Draco’s, one flick of a glance meeting his eyes, seeking confirmation.

Draco blinks, all beautifully baffled, his silver gaze tentatively lowering to settle over the way Harry’s chapped lips disappear beneath the lick of his tongue, comes back damp and pressing together in a twitch of restraint. Harry wonders if his heart is pounding just as fast as his own, and he thinks of splaying a hand against his chest to feel it beat, but he keeps himself rooted where he is, not yet sure if he can.

He crosses the last of the inches and catches Harry’s mouth again with his own, opening slightly to let him in on their next kiss. Harry’s bare toes curl ever so against the cool tiles in the haze of sensations, the heat, the tenderness and how his gut softens into a throb. Draco is leaning against the counter now, leaning his weight on his palm, and Harry’s hand slides up into his hair, soft and silky between his hesitant fingers, as if afraid of making a wrong move and ruining it all.

In the stillness and quiet of the morning, of the kitchen, there is just this; just the quiet sounds of the movement of their lips, of tentative and tender kisses, sharp exhales of a breath when they break for air inbetween, lips hovering over each other’s for no more than a few seconds before they’re pulling each other close, keep pulling each other closer by hands curled into waists and stomach of woollen sweaters and jumpers, and then they’re kissing again, one body melding into the other to trade warmth and comfort. The pale daylights swathes the whole kitchen in bright sun-golden, swathes them through transclucent curtains, as if trying to frame the two young men losing themselves in each other.

Draco pushes him back gently by his shoulders, breaking away the kiss with a breath of air, and this time, he doesn’t pull him back in by the front of his sweater. Harry is startled for a second, blinking. His cheeks are flushed hot, his chest heaving slow and heavy. His lips throb with hunger and need for more, with the phantom little nips of teeth tugging at his bottom lip, a heated drop of desire diffusing low in his stomach.

“Okay?” Harry asks, a dry throat and breathlessness making his voice rough and strained. 

Draco nods, glancing over at the doorway, just as breathless from their kisses, and it makes Harry’s heart feel funny to think he did this to him, made his lips swollen like this, made his cheeks pink like this, made him feel just the way he made Harry feel, or so he hopes.  “I reckon we ought to take this to your room, lest the kids wake up and see us.”

Harry’s eyes widen at the forwardness, not out of distaste, however. If anything—his swallows audibly in the silence at the possible scenarios, at the images and thoughts flooding into his mind of what this will lead to—

Draco rolls his eyes, unimpressed, “I don’t necessarily mean that.”

Harry blinks, feeling mortified at his own presumptions. “No, no, I—I understand.” He laughs, nods quickly. “Yes. Yes, okay. Let's… yes, let’s just—”

Draco smirks something hushed at his awkward blabbering, and Harry stops, even though it doesn’t seem mocking or unkind. Almost the opposite, maybe. He doesn’t know. He can hardly even think straight now. He feels hot and lightheaded and afloat, his heart all tight and strange in the best of ways. He feels a little out of his depth, a little out of his place in his own skin, nervousness and excitement fluttering rapidly in his gut. They’ve only just broken apart, and Harry already can’t wait to kiss him again, and he feels a little like a hormonal teenager with his very first crush.

ღ˘◡˘ற♡.｡oO

Room 341

Drabble + Drawble: Drarry | Gen | Read/View on AO3

Harry couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was missing.

The second-year auror trainees were in Riga for a week-long dueling conference, and they’d already put in a hard day’s work. They’d attended an early-morning wand identification seminar, toured the wizarding wing of the Latvian Museum of War, and gone for a run along the Daugava River. After splitting up for showers and rest time, they were all supposed to meet in the hotel lobby to head out for dinner in the city.

But Malfoy was missing.

Harry looked for Theo, Malfoy’s assigned roommate for the week, and finally spotted him near the doors talking to the pretty woman behind the front desk.

“Hey, mate, where’s Malfoy?” he asked, aiming for casual but likely failing. 

Theo turned around reluctantly. “He probably fell asleep,” he said. “Here, just go wake him up.” He tossed Harry his room key card and turned back to the desk.

“Er,” Harry said to Theo’s back. “Um. Okay, then.”

Feeling his pulse quicken, Harry turned to walk toward the stairs to find Malfoy’s room. After mis-translating the sign the first time around and accidentally ending up at an oddly lush workout room, Harry finally found himself in front of room 341.

Just go in, he muttered, what’s the big deal?

Nervous in spite of himself, Harry slowly unlocked the door and pushed it open, peeking his head around the edge.

He stopped in his tracks.  

Malfoy was curled up in the closer of the two beds, fast asleep. His hair was slightly curled, wet from the shower, and Harry’s mouth watered at his strong, toned arms wrapped around—wait—a small, purple, stuffed dragon.

“Oh my god,” Harry breathed, heart pounding. He’d known for a while that he found the man gorgeous, but a sleep-rumpled Malfoy clutching a stuffie made Harry’s heart ache with a feeling he didn’t know what to do with. 

Malfoy stirred at Harry’s words and blinked open his eyes, then sat up with a start. Realizing what was in his arms, he flushed pink and furrowed his brow. 

“Of course, it’s you,” Malfoy sighed, resigned. “Hullo, Potter. Meet Sir Wingsy Floppington the Third.”

Harry beamed at them both, delighted. 

“Absolutely charmed,” he said.

Prompt: “Unexpected.” Drawble prompt: + “Complementary colors.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20659997

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Harry Potter - Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry/Draco Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: rentboy, post-DH, semi-epilogue compliant Summary:

There’s only one cardinal sin for a whore.

Excerpt:

I turn the corner, past a group of witches huddled together by the fire, their laughter bright and loud and champagne-tinged.

A man bumps into me, knocking me back against the wall. “Oh, fuck, sorry–”

Potter blinks at me. Shit.

“Toby?” he asks, under his breath.

Smile, I tell myself, and I manage to eke a faint one out. “My Damocles.” Thank God a wine tray floats by. I snag a glass and drink half of it in one gulp.

Potter flushes. “Not that good with glamours, am I?”

“No.” I twist the glass between my fingers. “Not really.”

“You could have said.” Potter gives me a wry smile. “Look, you’re not going to say–”

My professional pride prickles at that. Despite the fact that I damn well would have. “I’m a whore, not a Prophet columnist.”

“Right.” Potter has the grace to look chagrined. “Sorry.”

I sip my wine and say nothing. I scan the room for my next client. I’ve still another hour or two to kill.

Potter shifts from one foot to another. “Wouldn’t expect to see you–” He breaks off, flushing again.

I’m amused. “Zola and Anthony are old friends.” Let him make of that what he will. And judging from his widening eyes, his filthy mind jumps to entirely the wrong conclusion.

Delicious.

“Oh.” He shoves his hands in his trouser pockets. He’s lost his robe as well in the heat of the house, and his white shirt is loose at the collar.

Christ, that damn throat of his.

He catches me looking and blinks again before smiling.

“How is your wife?” I ask sharply. “Still friendly even after the Prophet?”

Potter raises an eyebrow. “For the moment.”

“Charming.” I set my wineglass down. “I should go.”

“Don’t.” Potter catches my arm and I look back at him in surprise. He sighs. “Look, you’re the only one tonight who hasn’t kissed my arse–” I snort and he grins, “–metaphorically speaking, okay? And if I have to suffer through a party, I’d like to enjoy it with someone.” He coughs. “I mean, talking, that is.”

I hesitate. This is a really bad idea. I’m quite aware of that fact, be assured. Then again, I’m rather known for my wretched decisions, aren’t I?

“Get me another glass of wine,” I say.

Potter smiles.

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I stayed up re-reading this one until 2am, y'all. I don't get enough sleep as it is usually, even on the weekends. And if that doesn't tell you how amazing this fic is, then I don't even know what to tell you. Just read it, okay? @femmequixotic has a gift. She's definitely given us a huge present with this fic. Open up this one, people!