scared, potter?

gurl give it up everyone knows already except harry

Harry: I do not have a crush on Draco Malfoy! Why does everyone think that? I can’t stand him and his stupid gleaming sleek blond hair and his ridiculous glittering pale grey eyes. 

Ron: How do you feel about Zacharias Smith?

Harry: I don’t like him. Why?

Ron: What color are his eyes?

Harry: How tf should I know? 

@serpentsortias​:

Hermione: Hey what’s up?

Ron: Not much. Apparently Draco Malfoy is using a new brand of shampoo that makes his hair distractingly shiny in a really obnoxious way which means he’s probably up to something and we should all be upset about it.

Hermione: Harry was just here wasn’t he?

Ron: Yup. 

Hagrid: Now that you have money for the first time in your life, what would you like to buy in Diagon Alley? Food? A pet?

Harry: I want a solid gold cauldron.

Draco *passing by*: Mother I think I’m in love. 

Harry was sat alone in the eighth year common room, staring deeply into the fire and leaning forward towards it's warmth. It couldn't have been earlier than two or three in the morning. But he knew he would never get back to sleep following that kind of nightmare.. Moony.. Padfoot.. Prongs...

Fred.

He stared into the fire, letting the flickering of the flames drown him and pull him deeper down into his depression. The numbness that would not leave him no matter how many smiles he willed himself to plaster on to his face. No matter how much he tried to just move on. Get on with his life. Enjoy the peace his victory had brought.

That was what Ron and Hermione had said to him over and over again since the end of the war. But it was different for them. They had each other. They had distraction from their scars. Their battle wounds. Harry only had the flickering flames and his nightmares.

Harry rubbed his eyes, willing the desire to sleep away. As he massaged his eyelids he felt a dip in the sofa next to him.

"I'm not tired," he sighed, expecting it to be Ron or Hermione. He opened his eyes and froze when he saw Draco Malfoy instead.

Malfoy was staring at him with a blank expression, despite having one eyebrow slightly raised. He was sat closer than Harry had probably ever been to him in his life, which was the main reason he had expected it to be one of his friends.

They stared at one another, both saying nothing. Harry was afraid to break the silence. They hadn't spoken to one another all year. But they still watched each other. Studied each other. As they always had. Old habits die hard.

Harry knew Malfoy had been struggling just as much as he had been since the end of the war. Harry had testified for him and his mother, but that hadn't stopped the media or the other students from ostracizing him. Someone who had once been so loud and proud and just plain irritating had been reduced to a shell of a human being.

He sat with the other Slytherins at meal times, but in complete silence, often just staring down at his plate and appearing to try to make himself as small and insignificant as possible. During classes he would quietly perform the tasks assigned, but if the lecture were particularly boring or painfully simple he would gaze out the window until the class was over. He would then be the first to leave. Harry only ever saw him in three places when he looked for him on his map: the library, behind a tapestry on the sixth floor, or in his dormitory. He spent the majority of his time in his dormitory.

Harry would stare at him in the Great Hall and during classes. And Malfoy would often stare back. But they never spoke. They hadn't spoken since the trial.

In the firelight Malfoy's hair glowed bring yellow. The bags under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept at all that night. They stared blankly at one another almost challenging the other to break the silence.

Finally, Harry shook his head and sat up against the back of the sofa. He could feel the warmth radiating off Malfoy's shoulder as their arms pressed together. They both looked forward towards the fire and sat in awkward silence.

For the first time in a long time, Harry's mind was buzzing. What was Draco doing? Why was he sat so close? He could have chosen another chair... Or even taken one look at Harry and turned around.

It was strange to be so close to his former rival. Harry had no memory of ever doing anything but fighting with him. But at the same time, it was almost comforting. He smelled nice. Almost like a Christmas spice, though Christmas had passed almost two months earlier. And it had been a long time since Harry had been this close to anyone besides Ron and Hermione. But still... it was Malfoy.

He didn't know how long they had sat there like that. At some point Malfoy had folded his arms and adjusted his position so he was slouching a bit. Harry, for some reason, found himself leaning into him slightly. If he moved his head just a little he would be resting it on Malfoy's shoulder. Harry could feel Malfoy breathing deeply and a few times he believed he had fallen asleep. But whenever he slid his eyes sideways he could see Malfoy was still staring determinedly at the fire.

Eventually, Harry, himself, started to doze a bit. He had grown more and more comfortable and was now actually resting his head on Malfoy's shoulder. Just as he was ready to give in and let his eyes close he was jolted awake by a sudden movement.

Malfoy was no longer looking at the fire. He had turned his head towards Harry and buried his face in his hair. Harry sat there for a moment feeling Malfoy breathing him in. Finally he sat up and looked Draco in the eyes.

Again they stared at one another. Malfoy's brow was furrowed and his eyes were searching Harry's. He looked like he was trying to solve an annoying arithmancy equation. Whether he found an answer Harry didn't know, but the next second Malfoy had looked down towards Harry's mouth and moved forward, pressing their lips together in the lightest kiss Harry had ever experienced.

Immediately, Malfoy pulled back and again they stared in silence. Harry's mind now was a whirlwind. What the hell was that? This was not how he had expected this night--this year!--to go. His stomach was fluttering; he could feel himself going red. Malfoy's cheeks had also turned slightly rosy, but his eyes and his mouth had gone back to their normal vacant expression.

Finally, Malfoy gave him a curt nod and stood up, walking straight back to the dormitories without looking back.

Harry stared after him for a moment and then leaned forward once more towards the fire. He was still in shock from what had just happened and then, all of a sudden, started to laugh.

It started out as a chuckle and quickly turned into a full belly laugh like he had not laughed in years. It made his stomach ache in the best way possible. It made him spill shameless, warm tears of joy. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation kept coming to him in waves and prolonging his laughing fit. He had cuddled with and kissed Draco Malfoy! "Potter stinks," "just wait till my father hears about this," ferret-face Draco Malfoy!

As his laughter finally died down, Harry realized that he felt good. He had forgotten what it felt like to laugh like that. To think about something other than the pain and emptiness and the memories that came along with the end of the war. Somehow he had forgotten that there was still warmth and light in the world. And it could come from the most unexpected places.

With that, Harry stood up and decided that maybe he could go back to sleep after all.

------------

The next morning, Harry sat down to breakfast and looked over towards the Slytherin table. He found Malfoy sat next to Zabini, quietly sipping his pumpkin juice and reading the morning paper. What had he been thinking? Why had Malfoy even sat with him in the first place? Harry had been asking himself these questions all morning and had been trying to decide if he should confront Malfoy about it or not.

The next moment, Malfoy spilled some juice on his tie. Harry watched as he swore and grabbed his wand to clean it up. For the first time in less than eight hours, Harry chuckled again.

This was Malfoy. His former rival. An ex-death eater.

But really? He was just a boy who wanted to pass his NEWTs and who smelled like Christmas in February.

Harry quickly grabbed a nearby Daily Prophet and ripped the corner off one page. He then took out his quill and wrote one word.

Why?

He was feeling too lazy, but also too jumpy to call one of the owls in the hall that were delivering mail so he wadded up the bit of paper and launched it as hard as he could across the room. Thankfully, it hit Malfoy right on the head and he immediately looked around until he caught Harry's eye. He glared and then looked down at the crunched up bit of paper that had landed on his plate.

Harry hadn't felt this anxious in a long time. He tried to eat a piece of bacon as he waited for Malfoy to do something. Anything!

Finally, Malfoy did what Harry had not and grabbed Zabini's owl. He jotted down a quick note and attached it to the bird and sent it back to Harry.

With great anticipation Harry opened the note. All it said was

You make me feel

Harry stared at the note and then looked up. Malfoy had already left the Great Hall.

He looked down again and thought of the words written in a shaky, yet elegant handwriting. He thought of the way Malfoy had made him feel in the common room on that sofa. He felt calm. He felt anxious. He felt comfortable. He felt surprised. He felt confused.

And then he remembered the way he had laughed after Malfoy had kissed him and walked away. Like it was the first time he had ever laughed before.

He thought about the anger. The frustration. The hatred he had felt towards Malfoy over the years. And also the curiosity.

No matter what, Draco Malfoy had always made Harry Potter feel. And especially lately, that was exactly what Harry needed.

Suddenly, he jumped out of his seat and ran up to the dormitory to get his map. He quickly scanned it and, to his surprise, he found that Malfoy was in his room right next door.

Without knowing what he was doing, he walked out into the hallway and knocked. He heard the scraping of a chair before the door opened.

"Hello," Harry said before Draco could slam the door in his face.

Draco stared at him in clear surprise. He cleared his throat slightly and then said, "Hello."

With all the Gryffindor courage he could muster, Harry took a step forward until they were almost touching. He could feel Malfoy's breath on his face. Could smell the cinnamon and nutmeg.

Slowly, he leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Then whispered, "you make me feel everything."

Cho: *tells Harry the next Hogsmeade visit in on valentines day*

Harry: hmm?? I wonder?? why she’s telling me this?????

I can’t stop laughing

I love one (1) idiot wizard boi

Ok but imagine every other Hogwarts student finding out each year why the Defense against the dark arts teacher has left.

“Harry Potter kiLLED HIM WITH HIS BARE HANDS?”

“Harry Potter erASED HIS ENTIRE MEMORY?”

“Harry Potter let hiM TURN INTO A WEREWOLF?”

“Harry Potter disCOVERED HIM IN A CHEST??”

“Harry Potter let heR GET CAPTURED BY CENTAURS?

Forget the curse, Harry is the real problem here.

“No need to call me sir, Professor” is the epitome of big dick energy, don’t @ me

Emma Watson as Hermione Granger in every Harry Potter movie

“ I think it’s brilliant. ”

                                                                                 ➛ THE BURROW. ☀︎

‘I see’, said Lupin thoughtfully. ‘Well, well […] I’m impressed.’ 

all those clothes I can’t wear, all those girls I can’t date

instagram | redbubble | youtube

friendly reminder that in half-blood prince harry was so busy staring at draco’s dot on the marauder’s map that he walked into a suit of armour

also reminder that in order of the phoenix draco was so distracted by harry walking in that he messed up his charms test and dropped a wine glass

And people insist Drarry isn’t canon…

Harry disappears from the wizarding world for a little while after the fall of Voldemort and only like Ron Hermione and Ginny know where he’s gone

but he’s traveling. he considered backpacking Europe, but then he realized he’d had enough of camping for at least twenty years, so he teaches himself to drive and pulls enough strings to get himself an American drivers’ license and and then he’s off on a roadtrip in a beat-up car that’s still fast as anything. he doesn’t use magic if he can help it because it feels tainted, feels like it belongs to the war, feels like it marks him out again as someone with power and responsibility and the weight of a world on his shoulders. and for now he wants to find out what it is not to be a world-saving wizard, but just to be Harry.

and he meets a lot of strangers (he figures it’s safe enough picking up hitchhikers when they’re more than likely muggles and he’s got his wand if anything bad happens) and he learns what it’s like to be just another face, another car on the road and he learns all sorts of stuff on the radio, tries every genre out there. and it’s nice to listen to stuff that isn’t specifically designed to remind him of the wizarding world, but he finds so much of it surprisingly relatable and sometimes he just breaks down sobbing at the wheel and has to pull over.

and one of the hitchhikers he picks up is a veteran, and Harry doesn’t tell him much but he does say that he’s been a soldier, too, and it’s hard adjusting to a life that you never thought would exist because things were so hard that you could not imagine yourself after. hard to think about settling down and marrying the girl you thought you’d die loving. hard to think that not everyone around you is an enemy. were you a prisoner of war? the veteran asks. or undercover? both, says Harry. and lost, not knowing whether I was on the run or on a mission that was taking a year. I got back alive in the end but something—something’s definitely dead, you know?

how old are you, says the veteran. I’m eighteen, says Harry. the veteran raises his eyebrows. but they both know that some armies, some wars, don’t care about your age.

I think the dead thing is me, Harry says one day, when he’s going seventy in a fifty-five mile zone and the sun is setting in their eyes. when I killed the enemy, I killed myself.

and the veteran looks at him for a very long moment and Harry slows down and looks back at him and at last the man says, no. no, you lived. and you’re going to keep living, son, and one day you’ll be ready to marry that girl, if you love her, and now that you’ve got out of the war, it’s time to get the war out of you.

(they almost have a wreck when Harry pulls over to the side of the road, gets out, sits in the grass and laughs through his tears. flowers start to spring up around him and he feels the magic in his core, but this time it’s peaceful and pure and fun. unspoiled. and he knows it won’t always feel this way but for now things are leaking out of him, joyful things, because he is the boy who lived again, the boy who lived after the war.)

“Idiots to lovers” is a phenomenal fic tag, and exactly my brand of romance. I love it when they’re just so….. fucking…. stupid

ginny weasley 11/08/1981

Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other.