*MKT fanfic writer **LoVe* Reylo* *Dramione* @MrsKissyT on AO3, MKTandKMDwrites on FFN for co-authored Dramione. Come talk to me on Twitter! @MrsKissyT / @MKTthatsMe Header art by @simariz / Profile art by @brylobren
He wanted to scream, to run, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do this. Bloody fucking hell! He was not one of them. Draco tried to move back into his garden, but the screaming was near constant and he couldn’t seem to find his bearings. His breathing became erratic as the panic he’d been trying so hard to push down consumed him.
Writer’s culture is agonizing for weeks over how to describe the most mundane detail and then coming up with the best sentence you’ve ever written while brushing your teeth
I’ve always wanted to do a Witch Weekly cover like I’ve seen others do! Today I ran out of time (only 35 minutes left of June 5 here) so I ended up patching this thing together in GIPHY of all places! Which also means all other animated elements except Draco are not made by me and he winks twice in a row… aaand definitely a redo on this! Maybe for Hermione’s birthday 😅 Anyways, happy birthday Draco Malfoy! 🥳
Draco’s chest radiates yellow when he’s with Theo, green in Harry’s vicinity, grey most every other time, and red when he looks at her. At first, Hermione isn’t certain what the colours represent. She follows Harry around with a notebook and asks him how he’s feeling now when he’s orange (hungry), and now gold (exuberant), and now as he turns pink (none of your business, Hermione) and she watches him trail off after Ginny into the locker rooms. But what could red possibly mean?
Does Draco still hate her? Could red mean anger? But the Slytherin Quidditch team turned shadowy black after they lost against Gryffindor and she was certain that was rage.
“Ms. Granger, care to share your Potion with the class?” Slughorn stands over her with a clipboard and an eager gleam in his eyes.
“It’s a type of Synesthesia Potion, Sir. It allows the drinker to observe emotions in colour. I’ve formulated a list of what I think each colour represents, at least the ones I’ve managed to identify.”
“Fascinating!” Slughorn lifts the beaker and sniffs.
Glass shatters on the floor behind them. Metal legs screech against stone. A resonant thump-thump-thump as textbooks tumble. “Ow!” yelps Draco, knocking his head on the edge of the table, scrambling to clean up the mess he made. His cheeks are full of colour. He flicks his hair over his eyes in a feeble attempt to shield himself from the attention.
“Alright, dear boy?”
“May I—” He clears his throat. “May I be dismissed? I’m feeling lightheaded.”
Slughorn waves him away and the class resumes, with no further interruptions.
Hermione is unconvinced. Draco had the audacity to apologize to her earlier this year, insisting he’d changed. They’d even started studying in the library together. Only because she was generous enough to give him a chance. And all this time, he’d hated her. Red hot hatred.
She corners him in the courtyard before Herbology, pointing her wand in his direction. “You, you!”
Draco retreats in a panic until he has nowhere else to go. Pinned against a birch with Hermione’s wand at his throat. “You foul, you evil—”
He lifts his palms innocently, turning his face away, wincing. “I can’t help the way I feel, Granger!”
“You told me you’d changed!”
“Things happen, alright! I never expected to get close to you this year.” He’s paler than the bark behind him, a bead of sweat trickling over his brow.
The words land like a swift punch to the gut. “Your feelings changed after you got to know me?”
“I mean… how could they not?” He swallows deeply. “I don’t devote hours of my time to those I feel lukewarm about. I thought maybe you knew.”
Her throat feels tight. She blinks hard, wishing she wasn’t such an easy crier. “No, you just spend time with the people you hate. What were you trying to do? Trick me somehow? Win back popularity points with your Slytherins?”
His mouth opens, shuts, opens again. He utters a single syllable. And then stops talking. His eyes flick down to the tip of her wand. Then up to her. He looks helpless. If she weren’t so wrecked, she might have felt sorry for him.
Finally, he says, “I don’t hate you.”
Her wand lowers fractionally. “Then what does red mean?”
As if summoning the colour by name, Draco’s face blooms full of it. He takes her wrist cautiously and lowers her wand all the way. His grip is gentle, the edge of his thumb running over her pulse.
“It’s better I show you,” he says in a low voice.
The racket behind them is gone. The bell rang five minutes ago and now they’re officially late. For once, Hermione can’t be bothered. Instead, she nods tentatively, thinking maybe she’s so upset because she’s grown fond of his eyes. The way they look at her. Not lukewarm at all.
The hand still holding her wrist tugs her closer. One step forward and they’re pressed right up against each other—and she feels it. He’s hard.
Her heart begins to race.
Draco caresses her jaw, watching his fingers in fascination, touching her skin.
Her eyes flutter shut.
Their lips meet.
Oh, she determines, somewhere in the back of her mind, That’s what red means.
(717 words, prompt: neptune & somewhat inspired by the full flower moon last night 🌸🌕)
