A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE (PG) BY IAMSHADOW
Title: A History of Violence
Author: iamshadow
Ship: Gen, completely. Unless you want to imagine Harry and Draco having bitey fight!sex after the last sentence, but that's your own business. ;D
Word Count: 642
Rating: PG
Warnings: Malfoy! Harry! In close proximity! You just know there's going to be major UST blood...
Summary: He was the last person Harry expected to see there.
A/N:Happy Birthday rickey_a!
This is a little snippet/ficlet, set after The Opposite of War and An Honest Day's Work. Read those first, or the situation won't make any sense.
(I've never seen the film, I just ripped off the title.)
The first glimpse Draco had of Harry Potter after the Battle of Hogwarts (that wasn’t on the front page of the Daily Prophet) was a flesh-coloured blur hurtling towards his face. It was immediately followed by a startlingly sharp pain. He overbalanced, landing on his hip on the pavers. The sickening jolt made him reflexively suck in a lungful of air and hold it. The tool he’d been holding was kicked out of his hand, and his assailant straddled his waist and shoved the tip of a wand up under his chin.
“What the fuck, Potter?” Draco gasped, spitting blood out onto the ground beside him, when his vision cleared enough to focus on who had hit him.
“What are you doing here?” Potter asked, with more than a hint of menace.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” snarled Draco. Surely being stripped to the waist due to the humid heat of the greenhouse, filthier than he’d ever been in his life and grubbing around in the dirt was out of character enough for even a Gryffindor to recognise as out of the ordinary. “I’m working.”
Potter’s eyes narrowed. Keeping the wand pressed hard into Draco’s throat, he shifted enough so that he could pat down the pockets of Draco’s trousers. “Where’s your wand, Malfoy?”
Draco laughed slightly hysterically. “No idea. The last time I saw it, you were pointing it at the Dark Lord.”
Potter actually looked gormlessly surprised. “You don’t have a wand?”
Draco ignored him, and raised a hand to gently assess the damage to his lip. It stung when he touched it, and he hissed involuntarily.
“Why didn’t you buy a new one?” Potter continued.
“‘Accused Death Eaters are forbidden to purchase wands under the new regime, until such time as they have been cleared of charges or have served the sentence handed down by the Wizengamot’,” Draco recited, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Get off me, Potter. With your apparent predilection for groping, I’m starting to fear for my virtue.”
Potter flushed slightly and his lips tightened, as though he were holding back angry words, laughter, or both. He shuffled back and stood, not moving his eyes or his wand from Draco for a moment. Draco scrabbled gracelessly to his feet, leaning most of his weight on his uninjured leg when the other threatened to buckle under him. He didn’t even try to suppress his smirk when he saw what Potter was wearing.
“What?” snapped Potter.
“Just thinking how well those suit you, Potter,” Draco sneered, flicking his gaze up and down the Trainee Auror robes. “Throw punches first, ask questions second; you’ll go far.”
Potter visibly seethed. “Where’s Neville? Daisy said he was out here.”
“You couldn’t have just asked me that?” Draco asked, shaking his head. “Longbottom’s in Hufflepuff today. Where he should have been from the beginning, if you ask me. He’s wet enough.”
Potter again looked completely baffled, as though someone had handed him a book that didn’t consist of pictures and very short words. “He’s where?”
“Hufflepuff,” Draco said, slowly and clearly, before bending to pick up his trowel. Potter twitched, and Draco took a perverse delight in it. “The twit’s named all three greenhouses after the Hogwarts founders. Hufflepuff is two over from this one.”
Potter’s features contorted into a slightly nasty smile. “I can guess which one is missing.”
“Gryffindor,” Draco answered immediately, enjoying seeing Potter’s face fall. “We’ve not built it yet.”
Potter blinked. “What’s this one, then?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Draco said. “Slytherin.”
“Why?” Potter asked, looking around the well-maintained, beautiful space; Longbottom’s pride and joy.
Draco felt his lip smart as he broke into a superior grin. “You really can’t work it out, Potter?” He spread his arms wide, in a gesture encompassing all the healthy plants around him. “Because it’s the only one that’s green.”
<- An Honest Day's Work ~@~ Most Wanted
Author: iamshadow
Ship: Gen, completely. Unless you want to imagine Harry and Draco having bitey fight!sex after the last sentence, but that's your own business. ;D
Word Count: 642
Rating: PG
Warnings: Malfoy! Harry! In close proximity! You just know there's going to be major UST blood...
Summary: He was the last person Harry expected to see there.
A/N:Happy Birthday rickey_a!
This is a little snippet/ficlet, set after The Opposite of War and An Honest Day's Work. Read those first, or the situation won't make any sense.
(I've never seen the film, I just ripped off the title.)
The first glimpse Draco had of Harry Potter after the Battle of Hogwarts (that wasn’t on the front page of the Daily Prophet) was a flesh-coloured blur hurtling towards his face. It was immediately followed by a startlingly sharp pain. He overbalanced, landing on his hip on the pavers. The sickening jolt made him reflexively suck in a lungful of air and hold it. The tool he’d been holding was kicked out of his hand, and his assailant straddled his waist and shoved the tip of a wand up under his chin.
“What the fuck, Potter?” Draco gasped, spitting blood out onto the ground beside him, when his vision cleared enough to focus on who had hit him.
“What are you doing here?” Potter asked, with more than a hint of menace.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” snarled Draco. Surely being stripped to the waist due to the humid heat of the greenhouse, filthier than he’d ever been in his life and grubbing around in the dirt was out of character enough for even a Gryffindor to recognise as out of the ordinary. “I’m working.”
Potter’s eyes narrowed. Keeping the wand pressed hard into Draco’s throat, he shifted enough so that he could pat down the pockets of Draco’s trousers. “Where’s your wand, Malfoy?”
Draco laughed slightly hysterically. “No idea. The last time I saw it, you were pointing it at the Dark Lord.”
Potter actually looked gormlessly surprised. “You don’t have a wand?”
Draco ignored him, and raised a hand to gently assess the damage to his lip. It stung when he touched it, and he hissed involuntarily.
“Why didn’t you buy a new one?” Potter continued.
“‘Accused Death Eaters are forbidden to purchase wands under the new regime, until such time as they have been cleared of charges or have served the sentence handed down by the Wizengamot’,” Draco recited, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Get off me, Potter. With your apparent predilection for groping, I’m starting to fear for my virtue.”
Potter flushed slightly and his lips tightened, as though he were holding back angry words, laughter, or both. He shuffled back and stood, not moving his eyes or his wand from Draco for a moment. Draco scrabbled gracelessly to his feet, leaning most of his weight on his uninjured leg when the other threatened to buckle under him. He didn’t even try to suppress his smirk when he saw what Potter was wearing.
“What?” snapped Potter.
“Just thinking how well those suit you, Potter,” Draco sneered, flicking his gaze up and down the Trainee Auror robes. “Throw punches first, ask questions second; you’ll go far.”
Potter visibly seethed. “Where’s Neville? Daisy said he was out here.”
“You couldn’t have just asked me that?” Draco asked, shaking his head. “Longbottom’s in Hufflepuff today. Where he should have been from the beginning, if you ask me. He’s wet enough.”
Potter again looked completely baffled, as though someone had handed him a book that didn’t consist of pictures and very short words. “He’s where?”
“Hufflepuff,” Draco said, slowly and clearly, before bending to pick up his trowel. Potter twitched, and Draco took a perverse delight in it. “The twit’s named all three greenhouses after the Hogwarts founders. Hufflepuff is two over from this one.”
Potter’s features contorted into a slightly nasty smile. “I can guess which one is missing.”
“Gryffindor,” Draco answered immediately, enjoying seeing Potter’s face fall. “We’ve not built it yet.”
Potter blinked. “What’s this one, then?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Draco said. “Slytherin.”
“Why?” Potter asked, looking around the well-maintained, beautiful space; Longbottom’s pride and joy.
Draco felt his lip smart as he broke into a superior grin. “You really can’t work it out, Potter?” He spread his arms wide, in a gesture encompassing all the healthy plants around him. “Because it’s the only one that’s green.”
<- An Honest Day's Work ~@~ Most Wanted