A/N: 94 Days of Drarry - a collection of short stories, drabbles etc, all featuring Drarry. These stories are written using the writing prompts here: /2ar7iKU (there are 100, but six of them are "roll again". I'm not using a dice, I'm going through them all.
The idea is that on days that I am too tired or too busy to work on my actual writing, I should at least write a short Drarry-drabble using one of the prompts (not necessary in the order they are on the list, I'll give myself the freedom to chose in any order I like). The reason I'm doing this is because I need to work on my writing every day. As some days I just can't write on my actual stories, I need something easier to keep me going, to get me to write at all.
There will be no specific genre - there will be everything from fluff to angst to humor, established and not yet established relationship. There will be some that are only scenes, some that are short stories. Some that are just drabbles, some that are longer. There will be some that are bad and those that are even worse but maybe even a couple that are good. You get the picture, I'm sure.
Ratings will be of all kinds, they will be stated (together with specific warnings etc) in the note in the beginning of each chapter.
I also write these as an exercise, to work on my writing in general. As I write, these stories are not part of anything bigger, but who knows - maybe one of them will later inspire me to write it to a real story.
Feel free to comment; all comments are welcome. Positive, negative, neutral. Regarding the story ideas themselves, regarding the language I use. If you think I should write one later to a proper story, or bury that idea as deep as I can. All comments are 3 3 3
Chapter One is suitable for General Audiences, Pre-slash. I'm really tired as I wrote this, but at least I wrote something today, it has been several days since last time.
Harry could not decide whether he thought McGonagall were a genius or seriously deluded. Sure, he is all for promoting interhouse-unity, but to organize a masquerade Ball for all the upper classes? The sixth, seventh and eight years were all required to attend. The idea, as the Head Mistress had explained it, was that each and everyone would chose a secret glamour that they would then cast on themselves. They had even been thought how to change their voices. They were not allowed to tell anyone their identities or which of the Houses they belonged to and were now all gathered in the Great Hall that had been decorated for the Ball. At the stroke of midnight all were to remove their disguise and reveal who they were. This, McGonagall had explained, would give them all an opportunity to socialize with each other without prejudice.
Harry was not that sure. The ball had been going on for almost an hour by now, and sure, some where talking happily, but then their were others - like Harry himself - that just hang around, desperately trying to think of something - anything - to say to some unlucky soul that happened to pass by. This far, Quidditch had been the only idea Harry had come up with. He just could not say if it was a good opening line. As he had no clue who he would talk to, he would not be able to tell if they might be interested or not. He sighed to himself, and made a mental note to not over-think this. Quidditch would at least be a neutral topic, and almost everyone had at least some opinion on the matter. If they thought it to be boring, well, then they could just come up with something better to discuss then!
Harry drew a deep breath, steeling himself and urging himself to just dive in to the crowd. The first one not already talking to someone would be his target. He would ask them their favorite team. He would do it. If only his legs would co-operate. He tried not to think about how much he hated small talk and social gatherings. The more he tried not to, the more he did though, and he could just feel himself loosing his nerve.
"Are you okay?" Harry turned to look at the guy who had just spoken. He seemed to be of Asian descent, with straight black hair and almost shimmering, golden skin. His dark eyes were slightly worried as he regarded Harry, who had chosen the model his glamour after a picture of a blond Viking he had found in a book he had happened by. He had hoped looking like a Viking would give him courage, but apparently it had not worked. Sure, he was as ready to charge in head first if there were a fight, but this? This, he figured, was much more scary. He looked at the asker, who in his current disguise was much shorter than Harry.
"What's your favorite team?" he suddenly blurted out, just going with his original thought. "Quidditch, I mean," he clarified, at the same time as he realized he had not answered the guy's question. "And I'm fine," he hurried to add, cursing himself quietly. It was the first time he had opened his mouth to speak this evening, and already he was making a complete fool of himself.
The stranger looked baffled for a moment, but then he caught himself and smiled at Harry. "The Caerphilly Catapults of course, what's yours?" he answered.
"The Cannons," Harry replied with a shrug of his shoulders, readying himself to defend his answer.
"The Cannons, eh? Cheering for the underdog then?" he was laughing quietly, but Harry did not mind as it was a nice laugh.
Three hours later, they were still talking. After Quidditch they had moved on to other topics and had by now covered Wizarding bands, their favorite subjects at Hogwarts - the stranger's had been Potions, to Harry's big disappointment. Who liked Potions? He had been able to argue for it though, claiming to like the attention to detail and the thrill it apparently gave him when he managed to finish an especially complicated potion correctly. Well, Harry figured it was a good thing someone liked Potions. His answer - Defense against the Dark Arts - had triggered a more serious discussion, concerning the use of the Dark Arts in general, and whether they all were really Dark as in Evil, or just misunderstood. Harry had thought the first to be correct, but after arguing back and forth for the latest 75 minutes, he was starting to at least see the other guy's point of view.
Harry was feeling torn right now though. He was - due to the opinions the other guy presented - starting to suspect that he was indeed a Slytherin. This should have made Harry suspicious and he was telling himself he really should find a reason to leave, but almost against his will he was starting to like the guy. He obviously had an agile mind, he was quick to smile in an absolutely adorable way, and talking with him had made Harry feel like he was getting the opportunity to see things from a new perspective. He might be thinking he should walk away, but he just did not want to. The spirited conversation had made him feel more alive than he had felt in ages.
"Time's almost up," his conversation partner suddenly said. For a moment, Harry did not understand what he meant, but as the sound of a gong sounded through the hall, he realized that Midnight was almost here.
"Ladies, Gentlemen and Others," McGonagall's voice was magically enhanced so that everyone could here it clearly. "The gong has sounded once, and will soon sound a second time, at the exact stroke of midnight. I hope you have all made some new friends today, and that you will keep on to those friendships, no matter what House your new friends are from. Remember the person, do not just look at their House." McGonagall gave them all one of her rare smiles, and then the gong sounded again.
Harry gulped nervously, but this was the sort of bravery he did possess. Turning toward his companion, they looked each other in the eye. He noticed that for the first time this evening, the guy next to him seemed nervous and reluctant. He clearly did not want to reveal himself to Harry. Harry smiled at him in what he hoped was a encouraging way and nodded as to give a signal so that they would remove their glamours at the same time. The guy closed his eyes for a moment, before meeting Harry's gaze again. He nodded in reply and then they cast.
Harry had expected a Slytherin. He had not expected him to be an Eight year though; not someone he knew. He had not expected his fascinating and charming conversation partner to be Draco Malfoy.
It was though, and as Malfoy lay his eyes on Harry, he clearly had not guessed Harry's identity correctly either. The already pale boy paled even further. He mumbled something, for the first time this evening not speaking clearly and with confidence, and turned as if to run away. Without thinking, Harry reached out and took a hold of his arm.
"Uhm," he had reacted before thinking about what to say again. He had just known he did not want Malfoy to leave like this. "I'd like to know more. About how Dark Magic are not Evil. You know, I'm still not sure I believe you. But I'd like to talk more. I'd like to know your side of the story. If it's okay. If you want to. I mean…" he blushed, as he find himself rambling almost incoherently. Malfoy looked at him with eyes that did not betray anything what he might be thinking. He had stayed though. After a moment of silence, he smirked, but it wasn't as haughtily as Harry was used to. Instead, it was almost a smile.
"Whatever, Potter," he said, and now Harry could hear that there was no true malice in his words. "Meet me at the lake tomorrow after class? It should be quiet enough there."
"Sure Malfoy, meet you there," Harry grinned. Maybe this whole thing had been a good idea after all. Maybe this was a chance for new beginnings.
As Malfoy turned and walked away, Harry looked after him. Yes, he would definitely do his best to get to know this new side of Draco Malfoy.