Yeuxverts

I just woke up from a nap and somehow while I was asleep, everyone on the bus has figured out we are not going to the right place

Process vid for Bloodtoll cover art
(Much credit to Oliver Stummvoll for having an excellent jaw clench ref, Draco is very stressed out in this fic)

archiveofourown.org/works/727275...

#dramioneart #dhrart

Bloodtoll

🩸 Cowrite with neilistic
🩸 E, 62 Chapters
🩸 Voldemort Wins AU
🩸 Durmstrang
🩸 Omegaverse

archiveofourown.org/works/727275...

Bloodtoll by @yeuxverts.bsky.social and Neilistic is up and it's a 500k rich Durmstrang Dramione fic. Mind the tags!

😍😍😍

Chapter Title: If You Know Heaven Hence the saying: If you know the enemy and know yourself, your victory will not stand in doubt; if you know Heaven and know Earth, you may make your victory complete. The Art of War X.31.

Excerpt: The road is long, and barren, and black. No light to guide him but a tideway of stars overhead, in a waltz without end. Nothing to see but the Stygian ribbon of midnight at his boot soles, laid over emptiness ahead as it rises to meet him. For ages he walks, listening to the sound of his own footsteps, and the flux of his blood, and a breeze, dark and dreamy. The breeze speaks, and its words become steps that match his own.

Excerpt: She turns her head away for a moment and looks out at the dark edge of the world where light grows steadily. The silhouettes of a pair of massive dogs chase each other in the distance, backlit against the broad expanse of a moon. It draws ever larger as it rises at the horizon line—bright and blinding in its beauty. It’s a Worm moon. A Lenten moon. Maybe. Is it still March where she is? She senses it won’t be if she lingers much longer, and perhaps this moon will become all the moons. Her dad gets to his feet and stretches out a hand to help her to hers. There is warmth there, and surety, and faith in her in his grip and things are caving in inside the chambers of her heart once again, at what she’s lost, in the face of having it for one moment’s breath.

From Chapter 55 of The Lights That Burn (a little sad that this is the last one of these I’ll be doing). After this chapter posts on Sunday it’s just the epilogue left.

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

#dhrwipwednesday

Chapter Title: Overthrow Their Kingdoms Thus he is able to capture their cities and overthrow their kingdoms. The Art of War XI.55.

Excerpt: She wanted to touch him for as long as she possibly could. There had been mornings like this at Montfort. A precious handful that she had wallpapered her memories with afterwards for years. Warm skin and soft sheets and the blushing light after dawn. It was close to noon now, and the air was brighter and sharper. She skimmed her hands over him everywhere, both craving and reassuring, as though if she somehow made the contact real enough she could keep things like this forever. She would live inside this for the rest of her life.

Excerpt: The demanding drag of lips that said you’re taking part of me with you—keep it safe. His hands cupping her face and hers at the back of his neck and I need you I love you I’ll follow you. The shared breath between them where her edges met his and We don’t get to know the end. There’s hope here in the margins. And when she had kissed all the words she could kiss, and he had done the same, they each took a step away from each other, into the sun that fell bright on pampas grass, and blinked away into the quiet breeze.

From Chapter 54 of The Lights That Burn

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

#dhrwipwednesday

Chapter Title: A Single United Body We can form a single united body, while the enemy must split up into fractions. Hence there will be a whole pitted against separate parts of a whole, which means that we shall be many to the enemy's few. The Art of War VI.14.

Chapter Excerpt: Draco awoke dozens of times. The cool light of the afternoon with her nose in his neck. The caramel glow at sunset and her elbows an insistence in his ribs. The dim, deep blues of late evening, breathing her hair in his face. Never quite able to leave her, even to sleep. He lingered at the cliff’s edge of consciousness, dragging her closer into his body at every opportunity and slipping in and out of a liminal awareness.

Chapter Excerpt: They lay there for several moments, heartbeats the only sounds between them. He buried his face in the soft part of her between neck and shoulder and filled his nose with the scent of her. He had missed the smell of sunshine.

From Chapter 53 of The Lights That Burn, only a few more left!

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

#dhrwipwednesday

Chapter title: The Movements of the Stars In every army, the five developments connected with fire must be known, the movements of the stars calculated, and a watch kept for the proper days. The Art of War XII.12.

Excerpt: He moved with a mechanical intention, as though his body had been made for this purpose. If he’d had wings he would have flown, but all he was equipped with was charms and bad ideas and the knowledge that he’d follow her into an inferno if she needed him to. He threw himself over the edge of the balcony.

Excerpt: This couldn’t be happening. Surely fate wasn’t so cruel as to see her returned to him for one frozen moment only to watch her die again. It would have been Promethean in the magnitude of its punishment, although the depths of his guilt never ceased to whisper to him. *She was the stolen fire that you were never allowed to keep. Enjoy an eternity of being viciously ripped apart.*

Excerpt from Ch 52 of The Lights That Burn, on Sunday.

This chapter was one that I figured out halfway through drafting was going to require me to reread most of the fic up through that point, and it ending up taking me weeks to write.

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

#dhrwipwednesday

Chapter title: To Crush An Army Whether the object be to crush an army, to storm a city, or to assassinate an individual, it is always necessary to begin by finding out the names of the attendants… The Art of War XIII.20.

Excerpt: He carried a passenger with him, in an oversized pocket of his cloak. One whose evil seeped and oozed into his pores, and burned the mark on his forearm. It made his nerves sting; made him gag. And yet it drew him too, and that was worse. Like the desire to claw one’s skin off to end an unbearable itch. Another hour, maybe. He reminded himself that he could endure it for just one more hour, as he stepped through the shattered remnants of a door and over a razed threshold.

Excerpt: He still had some time. Right now the gears and wheels of Shacklebolt’s plans for the Palace of Westminster would be stirring. Pawns and rooks moving into position—munitions being cautiously laid. The first steps of careful infiltration that would allow the Order to advance further into the Ministry. And elsewhere, five other sets of hands: donning cloaks, readying magical explosives, setting out on the same initial task as he.

From Chapter 51 of The Lights That Burn

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

#dhrwipwednesday

Chapter Title: A Most Important Element Spies are a most important element in war, because on them depends an army's ability to move. The Art of War XIII.27.

Excerpt: She understood why both he and Kingsley had required this—no one in this scenario was ever going to fully trust the other—but to watch him inscribe his name was to comprehend how redundant it was. It was strikingly obvious from the nature of his own demands he had already fully committed himself to this path. He’d bound himself more completely than a blood oath ever could.

Excerpt: The first night she’d ever met him he’d reminded her of an ophanim. Of a dragon. All of that celestial ferocity was there in his face now. “She was everything to me. She still is. She’s the last reason. The only reason. If I’m still breathing it’s only because I loved her enough to finish this for her.”

Chapter 50 Excerpts from The Lights That Burn

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

#dhrwipwednesday

Chapter Title: Purposes of Deception Having doomed spies, doing certain things openly for purposes of deception... The Art of War XIII.12.

Excerpt: The floor around where he sat at the centre of the hearth rug was littered with several empty glass bottles. As she approached from behind she watched him stiffen; the reflexes he’d always wielded like a knife were dulled by those bottles’ former contents, but still dangerous. He jerked his head around to look back at her and the flare of light that moved across his eyes was born and died in the time it took him to understand who she was. A passing meteor of comprehension that made him looked briefly cratered.

Excerpt: “Where the fuck did they find you?” His eyes seemed to unfocus in the firelight. “What do you mean?” she whispered. Does any part of you see me? “They knew, didn’t they? They did it on purpose.” “Knew what?” She studied his face in profile, as close as he had allowed her to be to him while she wore a stranger’s face. “They knew about her. They found someone who could torture me with it.” He turned, and caught her eyes like a sprung trap. “Tell them it worked.”

From Chapter 49 of The Lights That Burn, up on Sunday:

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

Chapter Title: His Own Secret Designs Hence he does not strive to ally himself with all and sundry, nor does he foster the power of other states. He carries out his own secret designs, keeping his antagonists in awe. The Art of War XI.55.

Excerpt: The contents of the dark, unoccupied house were not a surprise this time. She shouldn’t have felt the same wave of unanticipated sorrow as she wandered through it, turning on lamps as she passed them. And yet—somehow there was still a mournful thrum every time she noticed a bruise that his love for her had pressed into this place.

Excerpt: “I give you something, you give me something back.” I’ll give you something. Give me something back. The way his face melted into heartache he couldn’t quite hide hurt her. Her bones throbbed like they had during the long midnight she’d spent almost splinching her molecules apart over desert sand. It looked like it was a monumental effort for him to move past it. To brush it off like what she’d said hadn’t just decimated him with memory. His voice was rough. “What did you have in mind?”

It’s not Wednesday anymore, so WIP Thursday I guess.

From Chapter 48 of The Lights That Burn

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

Chapter Title: The Art of Handling This is the art of handling large masses of men. The Art of War VII.25.

Excerpt: Opening up the green front door and stepping into the dim still air inside that house was a cannonball right into several vital organs. If her nervous system had been operational enough to let her look down, she ought to have seen a smoking hole right through the centre of her. She couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t here yet—he wasn’t waiting for her. But she was. Her ghost was everywhere.

Excerpt: Hermione had neither given him up, nor given up on him. She never would. She’d believed him when he’d told her it was the same for him. Some covenants, once formed, were not made for sundering. *I won’t let you go. Not ever.*

From Chapter 47 of The Lights That Burn, up on Sunday

(If you thought there was angst before…)

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

#dhrwipwednesday

Chapter Title: The Utmost Liberality Hence it is essential that the converted spy be treated with the utmost liberality. The Art of War XIII.25.

Excerpt: They didn’t understand why she couldn’t let go of him. She’d been here two and a half years. Longer than the entire time she’d even known him, let alone the few months of happiness they’d had together. She had thought it in her heart, when she’d made the decision to love him. That they would have made it ugly. And they did.

Excerpt: Somewhere, far off, a night heron called against the quiet susurrus of the shoreline. “…he was very, very scared for me. For a long time,” Lily whispered into the dark. In her head she heard echoes of that same whisper. A hundred small moments of Draco’s terror for her, and the things men did for love, and for fear.

From Ch 46 of The Lights That Burn

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

#dhrwipwednesday

Illustration of Veela Draco holding Hermione - nudes

Soft Veela Draco and Hermione drawing from magma #dhrart #dramione

Chapter Title: Crossing A River After crossing a river, you should get far away from it. The Art of War IX.3.

Excerpt: If you say you’re mine then you’re mine. I won’t let you go. Not ever. She missed him all the time. It was a constant, unending, unbearable ache that she nevertheless bore. She missed the bite of autumn in her nose when she breathed in around him. She missed soft nothing words and low everything words from the other side of a pillow. She missed touching him. Running fingers through his hair and hands across the hard planes of his body. She missed being touched too. She hadn’t really been touched in a long time.

Excerpt: It was hard for her, sometimes, being in a place that was untouched by things that had stained her heart with black ink. She felt like the stain here. The ever-present reminder—a mascot of what all of the rest of them were meant to be fighting for. There were certainly other escaped slaves in Alexandria, but not many. Not enough. It kept her apart in too many ways. Still. Even in a place that was meant to be freedom.

Kicking off Part IV of The Lights That Burn with bits from Chapter 45 — VERY SPOILERY for the end of Part III FYI

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

#dhrwipwednesday

Chapter Title: The Force of the Flames When the force of the flames has reached its height, follow it up with an attack, if that is practicable… The Art of War XII.8. (3)

Excerpt: Hermione didn’t need to be hauled out before it on her knees. There was no kicking and screaming, and no stopping what was coming either. She left the dark of her cave mouth to go greet ten thousand wizards who would savour her end with her chin up.

Excerpt: But there was nothing that could have prepared her for the Roar. The noise of an impossible, unfathomable number of people who demanded satisfaction for the worst sin she could have ever committed. To be born into this world with a new magic was unforgivable. The generative seed of power buried in her heart and her hands at her birth was unexpected. It was novel and bore the breath of life within it. It created. And they despised it, and her, because what they carried within themselves was stale and dusty and dying. It was not an animating magic. It didn’t grow or sustain or nourish. The thing it did best was destroy.

Chapter 42 of The Lights That Burn (up Sunday). One of those *the* chapter sort of chapters…

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

#dhrwipwednesday

Chapter Title: Survive Place your army in deadly peril, and it will survive… The Art of War XI.58.

Excerpt: It was just past 4:00 AM on June 21st—the longest day of the year. Events with dragons always started right after sunset—she guessed she had approximately seventeen and a half hours left to live.

Excerpt: Death was a presence here. It waited patiently. It had come to claim this creature and now it paused. Propped up a wall. Crooked a finger. It did not require haste—it had no need to come to her. She’d be dragged before it on her knees by this evening. Draco was going to return to a house late tonight and find it dim and silent as this tomb. Late. The word ricocheted around the corners of her brain. Late hours and late, departed loved ones and too late to matter. There would be nothing he could do. No one was coming for her.

A little bit from Chapter 41 of The Lights That Burn, where things are looking grim (updates on Sunday)

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

#dhrwipwednesday

…and the slightly more sfw version: thank you dragon patronus tail for being so accommodating.

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

#dramione #dhr #dramioneart #dhrart

His patronus was a dragon. And not only his. Hers. Theirs.

She was a fire-breather too.

(8/8)

she could see what he saw through his eyes.

He took in every silvered curve and the undeniable manifestation of their own love, and power, and joy. He knew he would remember her this way for as long as he walked the Earth. The heat of its breath seared itself into his mind.

(7/8)

And the light limned every part of her with a backlit glow that coloured her hair the same as his white blond.

She wouldn’t turn her head—he knew with the same certainty as he knew his own thoughts that she was not ready to drop the threads that bound them yet. But it didn’t matter;

(6/7)

He hadn’t known, and yet the knowledge was already there. The rightness yawned and awakened inside him along with the silvery spectral form that took its place at her back. Its maw was a crown. Its spread wings were her own.

(5/7)

—more than he had ever seen.

It trickled across sheets and over his legs. Over hers, gathering momentum.

Blooming and unspooling behind her. Above her now. Looking down on them both. Coalescing and unfurling.

A wingspan that stretched across the entire width of the room.

(4/7)

She didn’t say it out loud. But she said it anyway.

It was written on him too.

*Do it*, she whispered.

“Expecto Patronum,” he breathed back.

It flowed like a river. Like her river. Slowly and then faster, faster, until aethereal silver was pooling and swelling and rising—

(3/7)

The silent melody would sign his name in the stars of her freckles—one day the dragon constellation realigning over her clavicle, the next on her cheek, or her forearm.

Each time an unspoken message.

I carry your name within me.

I have written you on every inch of my body.

I love you.

(2/7)

An excerpt from the chapter it comes from:

He thought about how she would move her hands. The graceful twist of a wrist, a gesture of extension, a slow roll of the palm, her fingers dancing and crawling over each other like they were playing invisible piano keys.

(1/7)

Image described in excerpt in threaded text below

Art I did for Chapter 37 of The Lights That Burn

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

#dramione #dhr #dramioneart #dhrart

Chapter Title: What He Holds Dear Forestall your opponent by seizing what he holds dear. The Art of War XI.66.

Excerpt: The door opened and she heard a familiar, clipped stride and saw a flash of silver in the corner of her eye and for one half of one moment she felt safe, and warm, and intact again. Draco had fixed it. He’d come back; everything was going to be alright. The second half of that moment was akin to expecting a kiss and receiving a gut punch. Draco was physically so much like his father.

Excerpt: He stared pitilessly at her and the soulless sire hung above him offered up a resounding echo. She couldn’t have moved, even if she wasn’t glued in place. The only thing her brain could do was scream don’t twitch don’t blink don’t breathe. He steepled his hands and narrowed his eyes, and she was an insect pinned on a wall. “I don’t believe my son has ever made a worse bargain in his life.” He spoke into the silence in the room.

A bit of Chapter 40 of The Lights That Burn (up on Sunday) 🫣

archiveofourown.org/works/575963...

#dhrwipwednesday