Drarry Oneshots (𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆)

Like butterfly wings 4

Top!Harry

Bottom!Draco

Author: black_ellebore ( on ao3)

(there might be some spelling mistakes because I translated this from Italian to English, it might say she or her instead of he and him sometimes.So watch out to see who is talking.)

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"Maybe we should check it out ... Well, it will be over an hour since it closed there."
Theodor Nott looks away for a moment from the book of Arithmancy, just long enough to roll his eyes, then resumes reading, without deigning a glance at Pansy who, sitting next to him, in turn keeps her gaze insistently pointed towards the Slytherin male dorm.
"You said the same thing no more than fifteen minutes ago." His tone expresses his exasperation. "And as before, I don't think it's a good idea."
"But maybe he's sick ... Why should he be hiding behind the curtains of his bed, so silent?"
"For the same reason he does it every time: he doesn't want to have people around." He sighs and turns the page. "Or maybe he needs to" polish his wand "."
Pansy wrinkles her nose and nudges him in the ribs. "Cretin! ... Anyway ... This time he didn't look like someone who wants to take a nap in peace. He seemed quite agitated. "
"So why don't you go there, have to check?" He retorts her by rubbing his offended side.
"Why..." A third voice joins the discussion, as calm and silky as it is deceptive. "... The first and last fool who tried, a sixth year, convinced that handsome Malfoy needed a shoulder to cry on, is still trying to get her hair back to its original color." Zabini leans with his side against the back of the sofa on which the other two Slytherins are comfortable. "Although, in my opinion, the green lizard suits them. It distracts attention from that embarrassing potato nose. "
Pansy crosses her arms across her chest, glancing sideways at her newly arrived friend. "Stop it Blaise, he wouldn't do that to me."
The boy flashes a bright smile: "Shall we bet?"
The brunette does not take up the challenge. "What friends! You two are completely useless. " She snorts and turns the other way pouting. Evidently she is not too convinced of her own statement.

Draco stretches on the soft mattress. As comfortable as he may be, he feels all numb from being cross-legged and brooding. He lies down on his side, his chin resting on the palm of his hand.
Scowl as if trying to solve an intricate puzzle.
The curtains closed around him, along with the bedspread, create a small, muffled emerald space.
Pleasantly intimate, he would like to say. Except that the word "intimate" awakens the memories, still fresh, of the insistent advances of that arrogant Gryffindor, who threatens to sneak there, in Slytherin territory, right in his bed.
"I could sneak into your dorm under the invisibility cloak ... Sneak between your sheets ..."
Draco indulges on the mattress, his face buried in the precious bedspread.
"... See how long you can remain silent, before waking up your roommates with your moans ..."
He can't avoid pushing his hips against the bed, but only just enough to allow him to pretend that he is seeking relief for his back muscles. Certainly not for the tension in his lower belly. It is unacceptable that the nonsense that the inflated balloon gives him would have such an effect on him.
She claws at the sheets to find the strength to stop "gymnastics on the mattress". But instead of finding a solid grip, his hand slides back with a shred of cloth clenched in his fist.
She lifts her confused face: no, she didn't tear off a piece of the sheet, she just grabbed a small addition of green fabric, which part of her bed kit is not, but matches it almost perfectly.
The briefs that Potter gave him ... No, that Potter forced him to take and that for some strange reason, Draco has not yet incinerated. Probably just because of his dedication to good things.
"(Damned of a half-breed, who decides to bring out the good taste he kept hidden who knows where, just at the least opportune moment.)"
If they were horrible, vulgar, cheap briefs, it would be so much easier.
Because Draco wouldn't want to try them on.
That Chantilly lace on the skin must feel as light as a caress.
He sighs in defeat and opens his hand, stretches the delicate fabric, passing over his fingertips.
At first he shut himself up there thinking of hiding his panties under his pillow, but what if someone unfortunately sees them?
That would make him look like some kind of maniac. And maybe Potter is becoming one, too, but not the type who steals underwear and keeps it hidden in bed. No one would doubt that they were his (thankfully).
He might try to transfigure them into something different.
But the risk of not being able to get them back to how they are ...
"(And if they get ruined? ... Wait ... Who cares, right? !!)".
But if he destroys or hides them, Potter may not believe him even if he tells him what he did with them. He might think he kept them ... That he uses them! "(That idiot thought I routinely wandered around school carrying women's underwear!)"
No. He'll take them back to the damned Chosen one tonight. To drive them down his throat. Or to set it on fire in front of him. Or maybe both at the same time.
He sits up again and traces with his index finger the outline of the object that makes him so uncomfortable.
She bought them for him. Just for him. You could see he wasn't lying.
No one has ever bought something so intimate for him. Not even his mother. Ms. Malfoy is certainly not the type to go looking for underwear for her son. Maybe a shirt, a suit or cufflinks ... But underwear is the stuff that house elves do. And they do it because they have to.
And Harry Potter, the Chosen One himself, took the - unsolicited - trouble to purchase a pair of delicious and probably expensive briefs. Just for him.
Most presumably because he wants to see them on him.
Draco blushes at the thought and, despite the privacy afforded by the closed curtains, covers his face with his hands.
It is useless to deny it, he is dying to try them. The curiosity to see how they are killing him.
He remembers Potter's rapt expression when he saw his pink briefs on after the Quidditch match.
Maybe something is really wrong.
But what's wrong with wishing to wear something so cute?
Did he enjoy receiving compliments for it?
His father certainly could give him a long and detailed list of reasons why it is inappropriate and deplorable.
But he also thought it was okay to go around killing Muggles.
Draco shakes his head. He is losing sight of the main problem: it is Potter. Who apparently came out of the war even more disturbed than Draco is.
Nothing good can come of it, to indulge his madness. And then Draco Malfoy can't give him a win like this.
No. She doesn't need to try on those damn - gorgeous - panties.
He just has to find something suitable to put on to go out that evening, that is, to go and meet that madman and make him give up, to avoid him coming after him, revealing their secret to the whole school. Something appropriate and above all, masculine.