NelaGil
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This is not an invitation, it's an order.
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“You curl your lip and wrinkle your nose and sneer and call me Saviour, yet you only seek my help at the eleventh hour. That’s what’s fucked up, Malfoy.” || Draco Malfoy is dead, and Harry is absolutely totally fine with that.
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Original fic summary: Good manners dictate that, when one’s best friend Apparates onto one’s doorstep holding the unconscious, haggard body of the schoolyard bully and begging for sanctuary, one ought to invite the two of them in for a cup of tea. Harry Potter sometimes wishes he weren’t so polite.
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Good manners dictate that, when one’s best friend Apparates onto one’s doorstep holding the unconscious, haggard body of the schoolyard bully and begging for sanctuary, one ought to invite the two of them in for a cup of tea. Harry Potter sometimes wishes he weren’t so polite.
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Draco Malfoy is not an owl, really he isn’t. He simply assumes the shape of one on occasion when he wants to find a bit of privacy—a goal entirely thwarted because Harry Potter doesn’t understand you can’t just grab any old bird from the Owlery and force it to send your missives and deliver your packages.