More HP-related rambling. Sort of fic! Ish!
Title: (no title)
Author: sailor_harry/hadisia
Series: Harry Potter
Pairings: Draco/Harry, sort of. Uh. One-sided Draco/Harry, I suppose!
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13, for discussion of them there wimmin-figures
Warnings: AU, genderswitch! Everyone in this has switched genders, so yeah. Good times. I love me some genderfuck.
Summary: The moment Draco realized that she knew for a fact about Harry Potter's lack of brassiere, however, was the moment Draco realized that maybe she was beginning to obsess a little.
Notes: Not really completed or anything - just me writing because I got an idea. This may or may not be finished ever; I may just edit it to change names up a bit. Draco's name didn't change because...I don't know Latin well enough to attempt to make a feminine version of his name (Draca? I KNOW NOT THIS "LATIN"). So uh. Just calling her Draco. Yeah.
As always, feel free to point out spelling errors, grammar mistakes, or just plain bad writing. I didn't really look this over or anything. CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM FOR THE WIN.
Crossposted: no where
Draco Malfoy most certainly considered herself a breast woman. In the few trysts she had engaged in, her lovers had all been woman of considerable chest, busts more than eclipsing Draco's own B-cups. Sure, there were other aspects of women to consider - the round asses, the curved hips, the long, elegant fingers - but none could compare, in Draco's mind, to a pair of large, firm breasts.
Harry Potter offered none of these. The only reason anyone would fuck her, in Draco's mind, was due to her fame as the Girl Who Lived - a jagged scar, a good broom, and what was clearly the adoration of nearly the entirety of the Hogwarts staff - were the only upsides Draco could see to being Harriet Lily Potter. She was a small, scrawny girl who barely hit 5'3" or 100 pounds, despite the fact that Draco saw her shovelling Chocolate Frogs by the dozens into her mouth at every turn. She had ugly, knobby knees, her hair tangled horribly when it got too long, and her unflatteringly large glasses seemed to engulf her face. She wasn't particularly bright; she became defensive much too easily and it seemed to Draco that she looked at most people with a weird, wary look in her eye. To top it all off, she wasn't much to look at - not even any real grotesque features, except maybe for the scar. At best, she was a bland girl, except for her eerily bright green eyes that gave Draco odd shivers down her spine. Harry Potter was a walking plank, and had been called such the moment Draco noticed that while everyone else at Hogwarts was becoming lumpy somewhere, Harry Potter was as flat as a board. No breasts, no hips, and no ass - if it weren't for the huge scar right smack on her forehead, Potter would have been mistaken for a second-year boy more often than she usually was. Draco bet Harry Potter wasn't even an A-cup, because she knew for a fact that the girl never wore a bra.
The fact that Draco knew all this should have sent claxons going off in her head that maybe she was a bit obsessed with the Fairy Princess of Gryffindor tower; however, Draco didn't consider this obsession so much as it was knowing your enemy, and what the hell did Alder Parkinson know anyways? Horse-faced bastard could barely follow a Quidditch game, let alone the intricate plans and information gathering that went on in Draco's mind every day of her life.
The moment Draco realized that she knew for a fact about Harry Potter's lack of brassiere, however, was the moment Draco realized that maybe she was beginning to obsess a little. No matter how great the enemy, Draco scolded herself, no matter serious the matter at hand, there is no excuse for staring down Harry Potter's blouse when there isn't even anything to look at.
But stare she did. Every class she shared with Potter, Draco found a way to steal a glance, maybe two, look for a few seconds, know one's watching, furrow your brows a bit to see if maybe she's grown since the last class - outright staring down the girl's blouse, and suddenly Rhonda Weasley is in her face and declaring quite loudly that no cowardly snit of a ferret was going to use Hypnotism Imperio her best friend. And while the class buzzes about, and that flakey goof Hagrid tries to settle them all down but forgot she was holding a pair of Blast-Ended Skrewts in each hand, and Hermes Granger told Ron quite snottily that there is no such thing as Hypnotism Imperio, Potter is buttoning her top buttons all the way to the collar and her face is a deep pink.
Author: sailor_harry/hadisia
Series: Harry Potter
Pairings: Draco/Harry, sort of. Uh. One-sided Draco/Harry, I suppose!
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13, for discussion of them there wimmin-figures
Warnings: AU, genderswitch! Everyone in this has switched genders, so yeah. Good times. I love me some genderfuck.
Summary: The moment Draco realized that she knew for a fact about Harry Potter's lack of brassiere, however, was the moment Draco realized that maybe she was beginning to obsess a little.
Notes: Not really completed or anything - just me writing because I got an idea. This may or may not be finished ever; I may just edit it to change names up a bit. Draco's name didn't change because...I don't know Latin well enough to attempt to make a feminine version of his name (Draca? I KNOW NOT THIS "LATIN"). So uh. Just calling her Draco. Yeah.
As always, feel free to point out spelling errors, grammar mistakes, or just plain bad writing. I didn't really look this over or anything. CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM FOR THE WIN.
Crossposted: no where
Draco Malfoy most certainly considered herself a breast woman. In the few trysts she had engaged in, her lovers had all been woman of considerable chest, busts more than eclipsing Draco's own B-cups. Sure, there were other aspects of women to consider - the round asses, the curved hips, the long, elegant fingers - but none could compare, in Draco's mind, to a pair of large, firm breasts.
Harry Potter offered none of these. The only reason anyone would fuck her, in Draco's mind, was due to her fame as the Girl Who Lived - a jagged scar, a good broom, and what was clearly the adoration of nearly the entirety of the Hogwarts staff - were the only upsides Draco could see to being Harriet Lily Potter. She was a small, scrawny girl who barely hit 5'3" or 100 pounds, despite the fact that Draco saw her shovelling Chocolate Frogs by the dozens into her mouth at every turn. She had ugly, knobby knees, her hair tangled horribly when it got too long, and her unflatteringly large glasses seemed to engulf her face. She wasn't particularly bright; she became defensive much too easily and it seemed to Draco that she looked at most people with a weird, wary look in her eye. To top it all off, she wasn't much to look at - not even any real grotesque features, except maybe for the scar. At best, she was a bland girl, except for her eerily bright green eyes that gave Draco odd shivers down her spine. Harry Potter was a walking plank, and had been called such the moment Draco noticed that while everyone else at Hogwarts was becoming lumpy somewhere, Harry Potter was as flat as a board. No breasts, no hips, and no ass - if it weren't for the huge scar right smack on her forehead, Potter would have been mistaken for a second-year boy more often than she usually was. Draco bet Harry Potter wasn't even an A-cup, because she knew for a fact that the girl never wore a bra.
The fact that Draco knew all this should have sent claxons going off in her head that maybe she was a bit obsessed with the Fairy Princess of Gryffindor tower; however, Draco didn't consider this obsession so much as it was knowing your enemy, and what the hell did Alder Parkinson know anyways? Horse-faced bastard could barely follow a Quidditch game, let alone the intricate plans and information gathering that went on in Draco's mind every day of her life.
The moment Draco realized that she knew for a fact about Harry Potter's lack of brassiere, however, was the moment Draco realized that maybe she was beginning to obsess a little. No matter how great the enemy, Draco scolded herself, no matter serious the matter at hand, there is no excuse for staring down Harry Potter's blouse when there isn't even anything to look at.
But stare she did. Every class she shared with Potter, Draco found a way to steal a glance, maybe two, look for a few seconds, know one's watching, furrow your brows a bit to see if maybe she's grown since the last class - outright staring down the girl's blouse, and suddenly Rhonda Weasley is in her face and declaring quite loudly that no cowardly snit of a ferret was going to use Hypnotism Imperio her best friend. And while the class buzzes about, and that flakey goof Hagrid tries to settle them all down but forgot she was holding a pair of Blast-Ended Skrewts in each hand, and Hermes Granger told Ron quite snottily that there is no such thing as Hypnotism Imperio, Potter is buttoning her top buttons all the way to the collar and her face is a deep pink.