9 Works by floydig
Listing Works
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Summary
The problem with Auror training isn’t having to work with Potter. The real problem is the mandatory nightmare simulations.
“Don’t let them get into your head,” Potter says, voice easy. He grins at Draco because they’re friends now. It’s horrible because it’s the realest thing Draco has had.
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“How have you been sleeping?” Harry asks. “Sorry, you know I have to ask.”
“I had a dream about you,” you want to say.
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Harry adopts eighteen kittens and punches a photographer. Draco paints his fingernails bright blue.
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It’s 2005, and Draco Malfoy says, “Fuck the Ministry,” Harry works as a handyman in muggle London, and Draco should really stop pissing off the Squib gangs.
Or: Harry beats up a pimp and isn’t sorry about it, Draco deals black market potions, and they’re shagging. Again.
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Harry is a hitman who can’t die. Draco tried to kill himself last year. Harry returns from a mission, Draco wears bright pink boxer briefs, and Harry calls Death a cunt because he can.
Or: we’re taking a deep dive into Harry’s head.
Malfoy asks if I died this time. It’s a joke because I can’t die. Turns out when you cheat Death too many times, the cunt doesn’t want you back. What does that mean for me, that not even Death wants me anymore. Yeah I call Death a cunt. Malfoy wants Death and Death doesn’t want me and we’re in a fucking love triangle like in the movies.
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“I dreamed I turned the Great Lake into hot chocolate,” Teddy says, “And I drank all of it with a straw.”
“What happened to the Giant Squid then?” Ron asks, grinning. “Fucker probably suffocated.”
“Pass the salt, Potter,” Malfoy mutters.
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Harry and Malfoy are Auror Partners.
Harry is a shit Auror. He hates the rules, and he hates the politics, and he hates the paperwork, and he hates all of the death.
But Harry doesn’t hate Malfoy. No, Harry doesn’t hate Malfoy at all.
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“I’m not going to tell you I love you,” you say.
“Have it your way, then,” I say. I grab the Firewhiskey and try not to think about people dying once you love them too much.
“I don’t want you to die, and if I tell you, then you might.” You take a raspy breath in.
“That wouldn’t be too bad,” I say.
Draco drives a Knight Bus in the slums of Paris. But it hasn’t always been this way.
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It was like everyone thought they knew me, and I knew no one at all. I was lucky Draco knew me so well.
"I love you, Draco," I whisper.
But he's already asleep.