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Summary: Those crucial moments that essentially shaped Draco and Harry's relationship. Told in Drabbles of varying lengths. Each Drabble could be standalone as well!
Warnings: Profanity. Lime, maybe some lemon later on, could even get pretty graphic.
Timeline: Post-war, eighth year, and basically – "Till death do them part"
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter.
POV: mainly Draco, may be Harry, sometimes may also be third person.
A/N: I'll be happy to take requests and suggestions about Drarry plot bunnies for this series! And because I cannot yet find a suitable title I'm using this lame one.
Word count: 1,410.
Day after Day
September 1, 1999 – Going Back
This is the not what I need at the moment. In fact, this must be the very last thing I would've done if it was a question of my volition. But the decision isn't mine to make and I've learnt to play along with whatever my parents decide. Besides, it's not like I have much choice, it's either attend Hogwarts for completing the NEWTS or spend the year under the scrutiny of the media. No thank you, I'd rather wash Weasley's dirty laundry with my bare hands before further media attention.
So that was that and September 1st finds me at the station with my mother who is unusually quiet. For the very first time after the war, I feel real apprehension. I tug at my sleeve, conscious of the filthy Dark Mark that still hasn't quite disappeared. My mother gives me a half-hearted smile of encouragement and a one-armed hug and I nod to her. Both of us expertly masking the tension we are currently feeling.
This is it.
And I take in a deep breath and then step through the barrier between Platform 9 and 10.
The familiar noise of King's Cross falls abruptly silent as soon as I appear unto platform 9¾. But I do my best to ignore them, holding my head high and walking as fast as possible without seeming in a hurry to get away from the hostile glances to downright hateful glares thrown my way. Climbing into the familiar scarlet train, I hurry to the compartments usually occupied by the Slytherins.
Predictably the compartments are rather less populous. I knew for certain that Goyle wasn't returning, after that Room of requirements incident back in the war and something broke between the three of us after Crabbe's death. Goyle had moved to the States with his family to flee prosecution from the Ministry. So did the Parkinsons and the Notts, to France and Denmark, respectively.
Thankfully I find an empty cabin and slip into it, hoping that no one will want to sit with me.
Two hours later and much to my chagrin, no one actually bothered me, apart from the occasional heads poking in to see whether the seats were vacant. I feel strangely vindicated when a few first years actually cower after looking in.
But just as all good things must come to an end, I make the first mistake of the year when I step out of the compartment cabin in order to go in search of the Trolley lady. Honestly, I was bored to tears and I simply needed a chocolate frog and some of Bertie Bott's
All that went to hell because as soon I crossed the threshold that joined two compartments and I felt a vicious spell hit my right calf.
The bloody stinging hex.
I whip out my wand and turn with lightning speed only to see someone fire another aimed at my face and I react faster by drawing up my arms in defence which lead to my forearms taking the brunt of it.
The funny part was that the hex came from a Slytherin.
It took me a split second to bolt into the nearest cabin, which turned out to be my second mistake.
Because Harry bloody Potter was sitting inside it, accompanied by Weasley and Granger.
Shit.
Shit. Not this.
And certainly not now!
Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion.
Potter lowered the liquorice wand from his mouth, his green eyes bright and wide, looking utterly baffled and started to say something but in a movement I quite didn't see because I was looking at Potter with eyes as wide as his; Weasley whipped out his wand and poked it painfully into my chest.
"Get lost, Death-Eater scum!"
Next, it was Granger who gasped and surprisingly, pulled back the buffoon, restraining him with her smaller arms.
"Gladly" I gritted out throwing Weasley the dirtiest look I could imagine and turned on my heel.
"Wait."
It was Potter.
I didn't.
I slid open the door and foot out my foot when someone grabbed my arm and pulled me back into one of the seats.
"Fuck you, Potter! That bloody hurts!"
"Ronald!" Granger shrieked at the same time "Stop pointing your wand at Malfoy!"
Like the stupid arsehole he was, Weasley kept his wand aimed at me, but when Granger added "Now!" he looked at her disbelievingly, but lowered his wand anyway.
It was amusing to see Weasley letting Granger dictate him and him obeying her like a faithful dog.
I couldn't help the smirk that formed on my lips which caused Weasley to glare daggers at me.
Granger ushered him out of the cabin all the while casting surreptious glances over her shoulder at Potter.
"It'll be alright" he said and the door closed behind them.
That's when I realized that my wounds hurt like fuck.
"Sorry," he said, his green eyes apologetic. "You're hurt."
"Very observant, Potter." I bit out harshly causing Potter to flush.
"If you don't mind, can I have a look?"
I wanted to come back with a scathing reply, because what Weasley said touched a damn nerve, but my arm and legs hurt so bad that I simply bit my lips and nodded.
Potter kneeled down on the floor and began rolling up my robes.
I tried hard not to wince. And I definitely did not want to imagine the way those wounds looked.
Damn it. Unfortunately for them I knew the perfect way to treat those kinds of wankers.
Only when I felt the cool fingers brushing my ankle that I realized I had shut my eyes. Lowering my gaze, I notice Potter muttering some healing spell, his wand glowing a warm green.
Through the haze of the dulling pain I belatedly realize that Potter's head was uncomfortably close to the juncture between my legs.
And it was doing odd things to my brain in direct connection to said area.
I tightened the grip on my wand, because odd things or not. I'd like to keep my valued bits intact, Thank you very much. Especially when it involved none other than my nemesis present this close and armed with a wand.
The entendre in that thought caught me off guard.
What the fuck?
I couldn't possibly be this desperate for a fuck.
But all that flew out of the window when Potter made a move to stand up.
"Done"
He said, with a self satisfied grin and promptly fell forward as the train jerked vigorously right then.
And my last shred of self constraint snapped.
The sight of Potter flailing like a large, awkward bird would've been hilarious if his gaping mouth wouldn't have been removed by a hair's breadth from landing on my cock.
Salazar's red knickers.
"Oh-um I-I'm-uh" Potter began, stuttering and blushing to the roots of his hair.
His embarrassment was strangely endearing. For a moment I felt my chest twinge with the thought that Potter would probably never want to be around me anymore. Not that he ever wanted to in the first place, but his presence, even in channelled through hateful glances and foul words was strangely placating. It reminded me of a better past where crazy Dark Lords did not breathe down your neck.
Wait. Of course this doesn't mean I want Potter's idiotic company. Get that straight.
"Potter, relax" I scoffed, shifting myself carefully to conceal the evidence of my arousal.
"Er...Right, are you alright now-the wounds I mean, I know it isn't as good as Madame Pomfrey's spells but it should help till we get to Hogwarts and then you could go get Madame Pomfrey's help-"
He was babbling, still blushing like a thirteen year old, his eyes hesitant to meet mine.
I wondered why. Because it sure as hell wasn't possible for him to actually be aroused by that...was it?
"It's alright if you'd like to sit here till we get to Hogsmeade." Potter was saying.
His eyes met mine and I detected a hint of shyness which I attempted to brush off as my imagination.
"Erm..." He started awkwardly and I realized he was waiting for a confirmation all this while.
"It's because...well...those students who hexed you are still out there..." He concluded, trailing off unsurely at the end.
Was he apologizing for nearly kissing my cock?
That thought caused me to smirk.
"Whatever, Potter."
Needless to say, it was the most awkward trip of my life.
I'm in dire need of plot bunnies. Help would be greatly appreciated.