Boxers

By Mia and Amethyst

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Draco didn't know how it had happened, to be perfectly honest. He had woken up in a pair of Gryffindor boxers, in a Gryffindor bed...next to a Gryffindor.

To be specific, it was his worst enemy: Mr. Perfect bloody Potter. Of all the people he had to wake up next to, it just had to be him. 'How the hell am I getting out of here?' he wondered.

Questions flew through his mind like snitches. How, why? What on earth possessed him to get into Harry Potter's bed? Moreover, what had possessed Harry Potter to let him in his bed? Good lord, what had they done? And then, suddenly, a memory crept into his mind.

*~*flashback*~* "Potter, you're fucking drunk. Why don't you go back to your tower and leave me the hell alone?" Draco snarled, backing away from the swaying Head Boy. "But, Draco, dearest friend of mine. Why don't you come with me?" Harry said, slurring most, if not all, of his words.

He rolled his eyes impatiently. The last thing he wanted to do was spend his evening getting a drunken Potter into bed - alone, and he certainly wasn't going to bother. "Go to bed, Potter. You're going to be very embarrassed in the morning as it is. The longer you stand here, the worse it will be," he said casually, knowing it would take him quite awhile to process that statement, and he began to walk away, back toward the Slytherin dungeons.

After a few moments, Harry jogged, or rather wobbled, towards Draco. Draco was halfway down the hall, which was a good head start. Harry went after him calling out Draco's name. "Okay, Draco. How about I buy you a drink, eh?" Draco stopped and thought about it. Later, he would extremely regret doing so. Harry caught up to him and flung his arm around Draco's neck. "So? How 'bout it? Just one drink, my treat."

It was a stupid move, but he agreed. It had been a terrible week, and the idea of alcohol was very tempting. What was the harm of one drink? He could keep his head; it wasn't as if he hadn't had any liquor before. Knowing he was going to regret it even as he decided to have a drink, he replied, "All right. One drink. And that's it."

Harry grinned stupidly. "Well, let's go!" he said, throwing his hands up in the air joyously. As he did so, he lost his balance and fell. Draco laughed to himself. 'This is going to be fun,' he thought. Somehow he knew going to have a drink with Potter was going to be a lot more fun for him than for Potter.

*~* end flashback *~* Draco winced, closing his eyes. How could he have made such a stupid mistake? One drink had turned into three, and before he knew it, he had been tripping as much as Harry. And drunkenly, he had been lured into this particular trap. Harry's arm was now thrown across his chest, his leg thrown across a less comfortable place, and he was thoroughly stuck.

Trying to keep from yelling at Harry to get his leg off of him, he thought quickly. How am I suppose to get out of here? he asked himself. He looked to his left; that brain-dead Neville. He looked right; Weasel. Finally, he lifted his head to see who was in the bed directly across from Harry's; Finnigan. Damnit, I'm trapped.

To make matters considerably worse, Harry began to stir, mumbling incoherently. Draco thought of how bad Harry's headache would be when he woke, but it offered little comfort. Draco sighed, and Harry's eyes fluttered open. Powerful green, brighter than any you'd find in the Slytherin common room, pierced him, foggy with confusion and certainly a hangover, but shocked nonetheless.

Harry jumped and threw himself to the other end of the bed. "Malfoy? What the hell are you doing in my...my God, you're in my bed...and in… are those my knickers?" Harry rambled, shaking his head every once and a while in total amazement. All the while, Draco nodded politely, agreeing with Harry's confusion. When Harry finally stopped, Draco just smirked at him. "And what, may I ask, is so funny, Malfoy?" Draco just shook his head.

"You do realize, Potter, that you were drunk as all hell last night, and that you were the one that dragged me up here?" he said, smirking still. "I certainly wouldn't lower myself to seducing you, Potter, don't worry." Harry merely stared, jade eyes wide with confusion and disbelief. Draco went on, "And you realize you're in my knickers, right? Going to have to have those washed thoroughly…"

Harry looked quickly down at his knickers, Draco's smirk grew bigger as Harry sighed. Harry looked back up at the smirking Draco. Suddenly, Harry's eyes started to gleam, and Draco knew Harry was up to something. Harry spoke up, with a tint of malice in his voice. "Malfoy? If I was so drunk, then why did you come up here with me? And if I did make you come up, then why are you still here?" Harry finished his sentence with a smirk. Draco glared at him.

Draco looked down, crafting a response, but his eyes met a pair of Slytherin boxers that happened to be on backwards, so that the snake that was usually on the back was in a very ironic area. His eyes jerked upwards, meeting Harry's, and his cheeks turned pink. He couldn't think of a lie to get him out of this one. "Because you got me drunk as well," Draco answered as firmly as he could, "And because I fell asleep once we were done."

Harry stared at him and Draco wished he would take those gorgeous emerald eyes and stare at something else. Damn you, Draco. You just called bloody Potter's eyes gorgeous. He mentally slapped himself and promised never to say that again. Snapping back into the now, he waited for Harry's reply. The longest thirty seconds of his life. "How did I manage to get you, the sexiest man in school, to come and get drunk with me?" Harry asked, playfulness not in his voice.

We both have to be drunk still, Draco thought, staring at him in awe. I'm thinking his eyes are gorgeous, he's calling me sexy…yeah, we're still sloshed. But that doesn't mean I can't use it against him. "Sexy, am I? So you still feel that way even when the alcohol wears off, do you? Well, Potter, since you're so eager to know, I'd had a bad day and I thought it would be hilarious to see you get drunk and act like the wanker you really are. And I had too much to drink." Despite the advantage he thought he had, his cheeks that were already pink turned pinker.

Harry smiled. "No, Draco, I'm not drunk. I may have a mighty hangover, but I'm not drunk. And now that my memory of last night is coming back, I specifically remember you acting like an ass, which was quite funny. And I am no more a wanker then you are, plus, I'm smarter then you. Although, you do beat me in looks." Harry smirked and Draco raised his eyebrows. Well, now what are you going to do? he asked himself.

Draco glanced around the room. The others were thankfully all still fast asleep. He turned back to Harry, suddenly finding their nearness and half-nakedness rather uncomfortable. "At least I don't trip every other step when I'm drunk, Potter. And you're right, I do beat you in looks. But if we're going to keep up this discussion, can we hold it somewhere where there isn't a batch of Gryffindors about to wake up?"

Harry shrugged. "Sure, Draco, whatever you want. I suppose it is a good idea to...ahem...leave this room. Where would you like to go?" Draco stared at Harry in utter disbelief. Did he want to actually leave with Harry along? No, not really. Did he want to continue the conversation? No, but he didn't think he had a choice. He sighed. "I don't care, Potter, wherever you want to go. But I will say that we do not have to continue this conversation."

"Oh, no, Draco," Harry replied, "We're finishing this conversation." Draco sighed, defeated. The worst that could happen was that a pack of Gryffindors would discovered him with Harry. If that happened, Draco probably wouldn't be the one with reason to worry. "Grab your clothes," Harry told him, pulling him away from his thoughts. Draco slipped out of the bed and spotted his clothing; thankfully, all of it was near Harry's bed. He pulled on his pants and shirt quickly, his robes going on over them. He wanted to be out of there, and felt in desperate need of a shower.

Draco watched as Harry put on his clothes. Shaking out of his reverie, he put his shoes on. Harry went to his trunk and pulled out something that looked like a cloak. Harry motioned for Draco to come over to the door. Draco hesitantly went to Harry. Harry threw a cloak over them both and Draco started. Harry turned his head and smiled at him. "It's an Invisibility Cloak. C'mon, let's get out of here." Harry and Draco walked close next to each other until Harry stopped in front of a brick wall.

Draco was impressed. He had known the Potters had been wealthy, but he had never thought they had been so well off that they could have afforded an Invisibility Cloak. Even his family, considered the wealthiest in the wizarding community of England, didn't have one, that he knew of. Draco abandoned his thoughts as Harry pulled out his wand and murmured something to the wall. A small door formed, and Harry opened it, pulling Draco inside.

Draco looked around the room. Black, that was all he saw. Harry flung the Cloak to the other side of the room and conjured up some candles and lit them. Draco looked around the room again. The walls were made of brick and there was a wall full of...he walked closer. The wall was filled with potion ingredients. Harry quickly spoke up. "Draco, looking at potion ingredients was not part of the plan. Would you please," Harry motioned at the corner, "sit down?" Draco walked towards the corner, wanting to get this over with.

There was a sofa in the corner, and he sat down on the edge. It was a very small sofa, not much bigger than a large chair, and when Harry sat down next to him, they were closer than Draco would have liked. There was a very tiny part of him that wanted to get closer, but he was ignoring it with all his might. In the tense silence, it quickly became apparent that Harry was not going to be the first to speak, so Draco took it upon himself to make Harry as uncomfortable as possible. "So, when do you plan on giving me my boxers back?" He glanced over to Harry, and, for effect, let his gaze lower. "And, you know, you've got them on backwards, which, granted, makes the design considerably ironic…"

Harry coloured slightly in the dim light. Draco smirked at him. "I plan on giving them back, Draco, when I can change into my own. But seeing how I can't do that right now, I think it inappropriate to change them right now. I'll return them to you later." Draco nodded and then remembered his other comment. "But dearest Harry, you didn't mention them being on...backwards. What are you going to do about that?" Harry glared at him.

"I think they'll be fine that way for now," Harry replied coldly, though his cheeks were burning. Draco chuckled, greatly enjoying the torture he was putting Harry through. Still, he wanted to be out of there, and he was dying for a shower, perhaps a long soak in some very soapy water. "Well, Potter, you wanted to talk. Are you going to anytime soon?"

Harry sighed. "Yes, I will, as soon as I..." he was cut off. "As soon as you what, Potter?" Draco sneered and Harry glared at him. "I was getting to that. Anyway, I will as soon as I figure out what I want to say." Draco snorted. "You mean to tell me, that you dragged me down here, and you don't know what to say? My God, Potter, I knew you were slow, but I didn't think you were that slow." Harry sat there, looking at the ground.

"I know I need to say something, but I don't know how to put it," Harry said, his voice tinged with annoyance. For some reason, Draco fell silent. He didn't know why he wasn't enjoying making Harry frustrated. It must be the hangover, Draco thought, but that theory was quickly forgotten as Harry spoke again. "Last night didn't mean anything at all to you, did it?" Harry questioned, eyes still trained on the stone floor.

Draco looked at Harry. Confused, Draco asked, "What was last night? Did it mean anything to you? Or were you too drunk to remember?" Harry continued to look at the floor. "I remember it, don't you?" Harry asked. Draco nodded, "Yes, I do. Most of it, that is." Harry looked up at him. "What do you remember?" Harry asked nervously.

"Well, the major details," Draco replied, "I think that's self-explanatory. How much do you remember?" Harry turned tomato-coloured and replied, "All of it." Draco nodded nervously. "But you never answered me, Potter. What was it and what did it mean to you?"

Harry looked at the floor. Draco waited patiently. He looks so...sexy when he's embarrassed, Draco thought, then mentally slapped himself. He sat there for a minute, then checked to make sure Harry was still alive. "Potter? Potter, answer my question," he said quietly. Harry sighed and swallowed hard, "My answer? Here's my answer. I...I think that...that I kinda...like you. As in...a crush kinda of like." Draco quickly looked at him, shock plastered on his face. "Oh, um...okay," Draco stuttered.

He wasn't sure how he felt about it, really. It was unexpected, certainly, and while Draco had accepted that he was bisexual quite awhile ago, he had never spent much time considering Harry that way. But now…now he was facing an attraction that he had never once thought he would feel. He found himself staring openly at Harry, realizing. He had a crush on his supposed worst enemy. And he had gotten drunk and slept with him last night. What would it do to his reputation? Did he even care? …No, not really. "I…I think I've got a crush on you, too."

Harry's head shot up. "You do?" he asked incredulously. Draco nodded slightly and realized that Harry wasn't breathing. "Potter, breathe. You know, the number one thing to do in life." Harry looked at him for a moment, but Draco could tell that he was breathing again. Thank God. He thought.

It seemed that once more, Harry wasn't going to be the one to initiate conversation. It was a shame he didn't need to be made speechless. Draco knew quite a few ways he could create that particular effect. Then a thought struck him…a very evil thought, indeed. "You know, Potter. I'd really like my boxers back. Right now."

Harry's head shot up. "Y-you…you what?" he stuttered. Draco grinned wickedly, "I want my boxers back…now." Harry gulped; Draco grinned some more. This is going to be fun. Draco thought. Not only do I get to mess with Potter's head, but I get more then enough pleasure out of it.

It was Draco's turn to be surprised. "I want to keep them, though," he said innocently, though there was a definite glimmer of mischief in his eyes, "you know, as a souvenir. But…if you really want them back, I guess you could always go ahead and get them…"

Draco raised his eyebrows. Potter must still have a hangover, he thought. Harry looked piercingly at Draco, and Draco squirmed under his gaze. He quickly came to his senses and replied, a bit too sexily, "Is that an invite, Potter?" Harry nodded.

Draco gulped slightly. He had certainly not expected that when he had asked…though he didn't mind, either. Smirking, he did what he considered the proper thing in this situation - the promiscuous thing. With skill that could only come from much practice, he quickly straddled Harry and unbuttoned his pants, pulling the zipper down forcefully. Draco grinned and leaned forward, his lips just touching Harry's ear. "Why don't we see about getting your boxers back as well, hmm?"

Harry grinned wickedly in response. Draco's eyes glittered with a strong craving as he saw Harry's face. Harry, using what muscles he had gained from Quidditch practice, gently but forcefully threw Draco to the ground. "Now, now, Potter, don't play rough."

Draco reached up and tugged Harry's pants down as far as he could, now fully appreciating the view. Harry kicked them off the rest of the way, proceeding to fumble with the fly of Draco's trousers. It was quite obvious that Harry had quite a bit less experience. Impatiently, Draco sat up and removed his own clothes before assisting Harry out of what left he had on. It wasn't long before they were a pair of sweaty, tangled limbs, both tired and still with considerable hangovers, but both smiling.