DISCLAIMER: If they were mine do you think Hermione would have been the one giving Harry a shy little peck at the end of GoF? No, it would have been Draco, or Severus, and there would have tongues, and it would have been hot, and steamy, and... well, anyway, their not mine and I'm not making any money. Damnit.
A Pissed Off Eskimo Presents:
"Potter?" Draco rolled his eyes to the right to see if his new found confidant was still alert. When a barely audible groan assured him he was, the blond looked back towards the grey stone in front of him, "Why the hell did I just tell you that, anyway?"
Harry let a soft, inebriated giggle slip from his lips and past the bottle he'd been sucking on, "Because, Malfoy, you're drunk. Besides, you know very well my Gryfdindor honor won't let me tell anyone else."
"'At's what I said."
"No, you said Gryfdindor."
After a moment Draco felt a hand thwack him half hearted on the back of the head. It was probably meant to be a devastating blow, but Harry couldn't pronounce the name of his own house properly, let alone summon the coordination necessary to smite his would-be enemy. "Did you get me drunk just so you could make fun of me and I couldn't fight back?"
Draco considered the sudenly bright consequence of his actions, "Naw, I'm a self serving Slyth'rin; I got you drunk because I did not want to drink alone. You are just the self sacrificing Gryfdindor that agreed to drink with me."
Draco pressed his back firmly against Harry's and closed his eyes, trying desperately to remember exactly why getting drunk had been a good idea. Oh, yes, of course, it had been his father. But then it was always his father, wasn't it? No need to make an exception this time.
This particular drinking escapade had been set off by a letter. Taking another deep swig, Draco absently remembered it was also always set off by a letter. "Potter." Harry didn't bother answering, just drove his elbow into Draco's back with little effect. "What should I do?"
The room went deadly silent, giving way only to their breathing as they both thought on the question. It wasn't an easy one, not for Draco, anyway, but it was the age old dilemma of the Malfoy family line. Should he do what his father wanted? Of course, it got a might-bit more difficult when one actually considered exactly what it was his father wanted and what the consequences of not doing it were.
Draco felt the other boy heaving a big, labored sigh, "Do you want to kill people?"
"No one wants to kill anyone, Potter."
"You're father does." A pregnant silence fell over them as Draco turned it over in his mind for a moment. Yes, his father probably did. He grabbed for the bottle he had sat on the floor next to him and tried to take a swig, only to find it was empty. Throwing it against the wall he watched it break and the pieces fall to the ground. "Do you?"
"Of course I don't!" He eyed the broken pieces of the bottle, thinking half heartedly about licking the slick fragments. "Gods, what am I supposed to do?"
Looking back, Draco stared at the back of Harry's head for a moment, stunned. "What do you think 'about?' That we're out of alcohol? About my father, you git, about my fucking future."
"Oh that." Slapping Harry's arm, Draco congratulated himself on the resounding echo. "Feel better?"
He saw Harry rubbing his arm out of the corner of his eyes and nearly starting laughing again, "Well you had better feel something, that fucking hurt."
"You deserved it."
After another long moment of silence Harry chuckled, "Yeah, I did. But, you know, the answers rather simple, Malfoy, whether you want it to be or not. Don't do it. It's not like failing a test when you don't study. You can't take it back, and you can't make it up to anyone. When you kill someone their dead, and nothing you do can change that. It'll eat you up inside."
Draco gave a deep sigh, "Yeah, but there's other things to consider, you know. If I don't, he'll kill me, or worse, he'll kick me out. You know, even if I do live through whatever he does to me I lose my inheritance. All of it. Do you have any idea how much money that is?"
"Enough to kill for?"
Shrugging, Draco laid his head back against Harry's shoulder, "Not really. Where would I live, though? I can't very well go back home."
Harry flung his arm back, putting it on the blonde's head, "You could live with me."
Draco laughed back, "Right, we can spend entire days flinging insults. Then, at night, when we're really bored, we can take turns trying to hex each other in our sleep."
They hadn't been friends for very long, in fact, 'friends' was probably stretching it; they got along when they wanted to, which was especially when one or other needed to drink. It was only the fourth, maybe fifth, time they'd done this. The year had started out so normal, too. Since fifth year neither had bothered to say more than a few words to the other, it just wasn't worth it. Harry had the world to save, Draco had his father's expectations to live up to.
Then, two month ago, he had found Harry kicking chairs over in an abandoned classroom. Draco showed up the next night with a bottle of vodka he'd brought from his father's private store and they'd spent the night drinking and reminding each other of the various embarrassing things that had happened. The ferret incident had ended up as possibly the most embarrassing thing either had suffered, although, Harry's now infamous truth or dare game in sixth year came a close second. That room had quickly become a kind of meeting place for them.
That entire first evening had been... pleasant, and relieving. Draco couldn't remember the last time he talked with someone who had an attention span lasting more than five bloody seconds; and to think, Harry had been drunk most of the time. So, they'd made a point of doing it again.
Draco cocked an eyebrow at the glass staring at him from a few feet away. Maybe Harry's idea wasn't such a bad one after all. They didn't always get drunk, sometimes they just sat, back to back, and stared at the walls until someone came up with something interesting to say, but it was never quite an awkward silence, it was comfortable. Just two people enjoying not being alone together.
Harry shifted behind him and turned half around, "Malfoy?"
"You're a real buzz kill sometimes." Soft laughter followed quickly, indicating that it was a joke although, of course, it was just as true as it was humorous. Now that they weren't sucking down vodka like pumpkin juice Draco was sudenly very tired.
"Potter, what time is it?"
Harry stumbled to his feet, pulling Draco up with him, "Time to get you back to the dormitories." With much stumbling, and several incidents of the blonde falling on his ass, Harry finally managed to deposited Draco on the sofa of the Slytherin common room, where he promptly passed out.
Trying not to make too much noise, Harry slipped outside the portrait and made his own way half-hazardly through the dungeon. It had been so much easier to keep himself upright when he was supporting someone else. Stopping at a familiar door, he slammed his fist into it and leaned against the frame. A whole damn bottle of vodka. It really had not been a good idea. He hadn't thought it was good idea when Draco had come up with it, either, and yet he'd still gone along. Oh well, of the two of them he was sure the other had drank the most, more than half. So Harry was fairly sure it was safe to say he'd been the responsible party.
He stood up straighter and tried to knock again. It seemed more like an attempt at pummeling the door, especially when it opened in mid swing and, instead of solid, supportive wood under his hand, he found air. Stumbling forward into the room, Harry grabbed the first thing he could reach and found himself looking up into the face of his very displeased lover. "Hi, Severus." Then everything seemed to fade happily away into nothing.
The 'meetings' were arranged for once a week. If Draco could get booze so much the better, but either way they met to let off steam. Sometimes they indulged in placing thick silencing charms around the room and kicking things, usually they sat on the floor or the large teacher's desk and huffed at each others problems until they realized that, in major scope of things, petty jealousy and grades really did no matter.
Tonight, Draco really needed to hurt something; really, really needed to hurt something and as much as he would prefer for that thing to be able to fight back, he had little hope that Harry would go for it. He hadn't call him Saint Potter all those years back for nothing.
Turning into the doorway, Draco plastered his usual smug grin on his face, playing their normal game of 'everything was all right.' Like anything could be right about the two of them meeting late at night in an abandoned classroom to talk. It was probably the most moronic thing to come out of their time together. It even beat the hangover he had last week, which was another reason he was wishing he could use Potter as punching bag. Honestly, leaving him on the couch? Did he have any conception how embarrassing it was to not only wake up vomiting, but find most of your house staring down at you while you did it.
It took him a few moments to find Harry in the room and when he did he almost wished he hadn't. The black haired boy was sitting in a corner near the door looking utterly miserable. Draco stood and stared for a moment. What the hell was he supposed to do? Harry had never looked this... despondent. He looked like a child who's puppy had run away, hell, he looked like he was about to cry.
The glistening green eyes sudenly latched onto his and he stared back for a moment, waiting for something. He was at least hoping for some form of embarrassment. Instead Harry sighed and looked back down, "Just go away, Malfoy. I'm not in the mood tonight."
'Not in the mood?' Draco defiantly plopped himself next to Harry and stared straight ahead, listening to the other boys uneven breathing, "I could care less if you're in the mood, Potter, we have a date and you are keeping it."
After a moment he heard a deep chuckle and was surprised at how relieved he felt, "Date? God, Malfoy, you're something else. Since when does sitting in a dark room doing nothing in particular constitute dating?"
"Since you had the nerve to say you weren't in the mood."
The blonde quirked an eyebrow to his right and watched Harry dissolve into laughter, "Yeah, okay, so it sounded a little..."
Draco grinned back, feeling a bit more sure of himself, "It sounded like you were trying to get out of sex."
To his own horror he watched Harry's face nearly crumble, "Could we just not talk about that, please?"
Throwing his arm drastically around Harry's shoulder, Draco waited until he had eye contact, "You just said 'please' to me."
"Oh, god, no."
"You, Harry Potter, said please to Draco Malfoy."
Harry elbowed the other boy with enough force to bruise, and smiled when he was rewarded with a very unMalfoylike curse word. "That'll learn you."
Snickering, Draco leaned back against the wall, elbows on his upraised knees, "'Learn me?' Where do you get that stuff?"
"Same way you get the alcohol. 'You don't wanna know.'"
They sat quietly for a while. Harry seemed calmer, still upset about something, but no longer holding back tears. It was strange, but Draco was feeling better himself. Breaking the silence, Draco leaned on the brunette and gave him puppy dog eyes, "Potter, it's absolutely horrible. I have a sneaking suspicion we've just become actual friends."
Harry raised his eyebrows, "How the hell did you come to that conclusion."
"I liked making you feel better."
Sarcasm dripped from Harry's voice, "Oh, this is serious."
Slapping the other boy's calf, Draco smirked, "Don't make fun of me, this is a travesty. Malfoys are not friends with Potters! So, is there anything else I can do to make it better?"
For a moment he expected Harry to make some kind of cutting remark, but then his face began to lite up, and he started grinning wickedly. "It's brilliant. Malfoy, have sex with me."
"I thought you didn't want to talk about that."
"No, Malfoy, listen. Have sex with me. None emotional, short term, never to happen again sex."
Well, that was rather unexpected, but not entirely impossible now that he thought about it. "No strings?"
"None what so ever. It'll be like it never happened."
"Nothing changes between us?"
"Not even if you beg."
Slapping the side of Harry's head, he thought it over for a moment longer before getting to his feet stretching, "All right, but I'm on top."
Thus began what Draco would, twenty minutes later, consider the new most embarrassing moment of his life.