Does Anyone Know How To Fix This Inbox Glitch On Tumblr? It Says I Have 4 New Asks But When I Check Them

When We Were Angels || Drarry || Chapter 1

On Halloween 1981, Woldvale Wizarding Orphanage welcomed two babies. One is the son of the cruellest Death Eater family, the other is The Boy Who Lived. Between constant bickering and occasional fights, Draco and Harry soon form the strongest and most unexpected friendship ever seen at Woldvale.

“Will you stay with me forever?” Draco asked. “Yes.” “Promise?” “Promise.” READ HERE

I'm finally back with another long Drarry fic! What a journey… and I’m lucky enough to share it with my lovely beta, @pl0tty ❤️ The first chapter is out!

they better accept each other's invitation, right? | also on ao3.

a little offering after being inactive for some time. happy new year, everyone!

not animated version is on DA  - part 2  - part 3 in plans?

song: “The Take down” by Dabin & Koda

omg I’ve  just back in digital and made a strip at once. I actually don’t know why I’ve decided to do an animated version  x) now I’m just trying new styles and technics and hope you like it ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ It’s been a really long time since I wanted to draw the moment with Sectusempra from HPHBP, Draco’s scars are my favorite things in the world <3 

and also this song was in my playlist for my nsfw strip

To Be Punished (M, 1k)

Fic by me

I wrote a fic for a discord challenge: Outsider POV. Read below or on AO3

Tags:

POV Outsider, Major Character Death, Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, Angst and Tragedy, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Auror Harry Potter, Sad Ending

Summary:

An Azkaban guard bears witness to Draco and Harry and all that stands between them.

***

Inmate #227: D. Malfoy. High Risk. 24-hour guard. No visitors.

Don’t interact with the inmate. That was one of the first things she’d been told during training. She was to stand guard, silent and alert. She was not to engage.

—

“What the fuck did you do that for?” Harry Potter spat. He was angrier than she’d ever seen him in the papers.

He wasn’t a visitor. He was here on ‘official Auror business.’

Malfoy lay in his cot, staring at the ceiling. He’d been that way since he’d arrived, straight from his trial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb. I was there!” The wards stretching between them shuddered.

“I’m not sure why you’re asking me about it, then.”

“I want to know why. We had a plan. You didn’t just stray from it, you blew it up. With wandless fucking magic!”

Malfoy sat up, turned. “They insulted her! You know how I—I couldn’t control it.”

“They’re gonna use this to jack up your sentence. All that work we did—”

—

Malfoy’s sentencing hearing lasted no more than 15 minutes. Two Aurors escorted him back to his cell. Harry Potter, pale and unsteady, wasn’t far behind.

“Draco, I—”

“Twenty years,” Malfoy said. His voice shook.

“It’s okay, I’m going to fix this. I’m gonna get Hermione and I—we’re gonna fix this.”

Malfoy laughed. “You’re an idiot, Potter.”

—

Harry Potter visited every few weeks. Today, he vibrated with fevered enthusiasm. She watched his steps as he paced in front of the cell.

“There’s heaps of evidence of corruption, not just in the Wizengamot. With the right angle, Hermione thinks we can build a really strong case. Maybe—Draco, are you listening to me?”

“No.”

—

“No luck?” Malfoy was leaning against the wall, picking his nails. He seemed unconcerned, but she knew better. He’d paced in his cell right up to the minute Harry had stepped through the door.

“I don't know why you're so smug about it.”

“Even the Boy Who Lived can't save the poor teenage Death Eater.”

Harry ran the toe of his boot along the stone floor.

“Twenty years Draco. I'm not sure I can—”

“I'm not asking you to.”

—

“I dreamt about that night on the rooftop, when we—”

“Oh.” A small private smile flickered across Harry’s face.

She started to wonder if it really was Auror business he was here for.

“I think you should stop coming by, Harry.”

—

It had been a few months, but Harry came back. It seemed he couldn’t keep away.

Draco’s voice was sharp. “What are you doing here, I told them I didn't want—”

“I paid off the guards.”

A scoff. “Of course.”

Harry stepped closer to the barrier. “You look—have you been sleeping?”

Draco laughed, shifting his gaze to her as if they shared an inside joke.

—

“They agreed to a hearing,” Harry exclaimed.

She hadn’t seen Draco get out of his cot for 72 hours. Today was no exception.

“Well, aren't you pleased?” Harry prompted.

“I have no feelings about it one way or another.”

—

“I saw Mother last night.” Draco’s eyes were puffy. Her colleague had said he’d been crying all night.

“Oh.”

“This place, Harry. I need to get out.”

Harry tugged his maroon robes.

“I'm so sorry. They upheld the decision.”

Draco put his head in his hands.

—

“I saw Mother again. He was there, too.”

“I'm sorry. Let's talk about something happy.”

“Happy?”

“Christmas. At The Manor? You remember, we tried to make gingerbread?”

A soft chuckle, “Oh yes, that was…”

—

“I can’t stop the dreams. I could never—the only time they stopped was when we—”

“I know,” Harry rested his forehead against the barrier. “Gods, I wish I could hold you.”

The dementors were gone, but the infection they’d left behind was vicious. She wondered if she should log an incident report. Nightmares were an early sign.

—

Draco had been pacing and muttering for hours before Harry arrived.

“Draco.”

“I’ve still got that twelve inch charms essay to finish.”

“Draco, it’s me. Harry.”

Draco kept pacing.

“Will you look at me?”

Draco did. “I miss you.”

—

“Mother visited last night,”

“Oh really?”

“She says hello.”

“Well, that’s nice of her.”

—

“Harry, I keep seeing him. I keep—I don’t want to go back there.”

“I know.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know. It’s okay. I’m gonna fix this.”

She felt it was rather unfair of Harry to give him false hope.

—

“We’re going to keep trying, I’m not giving up.”

“It’s okay, Harry.”

A strangled sound. “No. Don’t—”

“At least we got those months. That’s more than I ever…” Draco pressed a hand against the barrier, and the gesture seemed like a declaration.

“Don’t,” Harry whispered, a plea.

—

“I wish we’d had more time,” Harry said.

Draco laughed.

“Draco, what are you—”

“They took away my bedframe. I have no sheets.” He kept laughing.

—

Draco’s hair was matted. He’s been refusing to shower.

“Potter, what are you doing? You can't be here.”

“Draco—”

“He’ll be here any second. My Aunt, she called him—”

“We’re not at—”

“No! Harry, you have to get out. You have to win. Please. Go.”

“Okay, Draco. I’ll go.”

Harry hadn’t let her see him cry, until then.

—

“Harry.” Draco sat pressed right up against Harry, touching, if not for the magic weaved between them. “I’m not sure I can keep doing this.”

“I know.” Harry’s voice was small, kind. “I won’t ask you to.”

“In a different life, do you think—” Draco’s face crumpled. She had to look away.

Harry rubbed his eyes repeatedly. “Yes, love. In any life.”

—

He wasn’t a next-of-kin, nor a registered visitor, so he hadn't been notified.

He arrived as usual, glasses askew.

She hadn’t been trained for this.

“Mr. Potter.”

“Where is he? Have you moved him?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

His green eyes dulled as he collapsed onto the floor. She wondered then, as the hero’s sobs rent the air, who this place punished more.

just another dream.

After all, it’s only dream Potter who calls him by his name.

You’ve created and shared something so, so beautiful, and so devastating.

You owe us tissues. Lots of tissues. I ugly sobbed and had to remind myself I have the ability to breathe.

The Boy from the Piano Shop

Harry's hand lingered a little longer on the scarf, even after Draco had released his wrist. He wanted to know everything Draco knew, so he asked,

"What colour is the scarf?"

"Purple," Draco replied, "dark purple, like a plum or a violet."

"Purple," Harry echoed.

Harry touched the colour, trying to etch the feel of purple into his fingers, before his hand reached down and brushed against Draco's soft skin: his cheekbones, his cheeks, his jaw. Harry nodded and returned to his shirt, pulling it off with one hand while keeping the other on Draco's face to make sure he didn't remove the scarf.

"I won't take it off, I promise," Draco whispered.

For some reason, it was one of the few promises Harry knew he could trust. He withdrew his hand from the scarf. His T-shirt was on the floor, and now they were both exposed only to each other's touch.

From The Boy from the Piano Shop, chapter 11

Read HERE

I recently finished Never Mind the Bollocks by The_Sinking_Ship. Since that day, it has been living in my head rent-free, and will remain there. Perhaps for a long, long time.

Every time I try to collect my thoughts to articulate every single thing I loved about a fic, I just end up screaming and dying with the feels. So instead of words, here’s some drawn lines (and more screaming).

This one is on ao3 now, with something more! winks

View here

Inspired by none other than lqtraintracks’ Ten Thousand Reasons Why Not

“That alright?” line keeps repeating in my head. Help. I knew I had to project all the internal combustion into art when I read it last night. Consent. Is. So. Sexy.

I love this fic so much. "Way down we go" by @xiaq

be careful you may slip—see i just told you!