solifuge
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“You know,” Draco said as he picked up and inspected the little progress he had made so far, rows of neat stitches that would have made Grandmaman proud. “These were going to be mittens to match my new coat, but it’s not too late for them to be socks.” He paused for effect. “I would assume you’ve never tried enchanted socks?” Draco asked with a judgemental quirk of the brow.
Harry grinned shyly, clearly a little embarrassed. “I’ve never seen them before,” he explained with a defensive shrug.
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Or, Draco weighs in on the endless crochet versus knitting debate.
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marked men: an ethnography of former death eaters in the united kingdom 12 years after the second wizarding war by solifuge
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
22 Aug 2025
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WERE YOU INVOLVED WITH THE DEATH EATERS DURING THE SECOND WIZARDING WAR?We are recruiting participants for an ethnographic study examining the relationship between internal Death Eater culture and external actions. Hourly compensation provided. If you are interested in participating, please contact graduate student Brigitte Conrad or her supervisor Healer Kristine Lee by owl at the mailing address below. This project received the St. Mungo's IRB clearance #001849932.
Draco blinked. Then, he searched in his bag for a scrap of parchment and a self-inking quill. Finding each, he quickly jotted the research lab's address down.
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Then, something in Harry’s mushroom-addled mind made him curious. “Have you ever?” he inquired, still running his hands over Draco’s arse. Harry looked up at the branches of the trees swaying in the breeze, and found himself captivated by the way they moved continuously, without cease, like they didn’t tire of it. Harry felt like it looked exhausting, drawing back and forth like that with a heavy load of leaves hanging down.
“Ever what?” Draco asked quietly. His mouthing stopped with his lips resting under Harry’s ear. The noise of Draco’s voice was overwhelmingly huge in Harry’s mind, like it was crawling into his ear canal and then, once lodged firmly inside, expanding.
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Or, Harry and Draco take magic mushrooms in the woods.
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After the war, despite staying in Ron’s room, Harry made it to exactly one Sunday roast at The Burrow as Ginny’s implicit boyfriend. It went fine, as fine as a meal served with a piping hot side of grief topped with fresh trauma could go. No, the official breakup that came two days later was not about Ginny’s family, Ginny’s life, or really Ginny at all.
“I think I’m gay,” Harry had confessed, squeezed into Ginny’s single bed by her side. Her room was the only place in the cramped house where the two of them could find any privacy. Not that they’d made good use of it - Their physical relationship had never escalated beyond snogging, even before the spellshock had left them mentally distant from their bodily needs. Ginny had felt Harry tense up then, like he anticipated a blow of some sort at his confession.
“Yeah, me too,” Ginny admitted instead with a great exhale. “Or something like it.”
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The summer after the battle of Hogwarts, a lot of things change at the Burrow.
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Draco spends the night with a client with a pureblood fetish, Harry spends it watching.
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When Draco Malfoy falls on hard times, Harry Potter falls harder.
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