Making Sweet Lemonade
Summary: In which James and Lily are alive, Neville is thought to be the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry has an older twin brother named Nolan, and Draco wants to shag Harry senseless. Let the drama commence. Oh. Of course, Severus will be in it too. Because I love me some Severus.
Warnings: AU: Obviously. OC: Nolan. But he's cool. I promise. OOC: Because I can. SLASH: Mmm. Yummy. VIOLENCE: Although no paddles are involved. I think. SEXUALITY: Also, possibly non-con. Because I'm a pervert that way. ALCOHOL USE: Designated drivers are the shit. LANGUAGE: Fuckity fuck fuck. Fuck. GENERAL WEIRDNESS: Because we all are. Generally weird, that is.
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Harry Potter universe no matter how much I really, really want to. However, Nolan is all mine. So there. I also disclaim any poor grammar, spelling. It's not mine. I swear.
A/N: You're still here? Well, what are you reading my bullshit note for? Get on with the story. Oh, and review, or flame, or whatever it is you do. Please.
Harry was pissed. And that definitely wasn't good considering the fact that it was an ongoing joke with his year-mates that someone could probably kick him in the face, briefly apologize, walk away and Harry wouldn't even make a fuss. Not that any of his friends would do that. Harry was nice. Plus, his brother would probably kick their asses. Anyway, trying his damnedest to ignore the bitter smell in the air that even half the bottle of air freshener couldn't completely cover, Harry manage to flush the source of the putrid smell down the toilet. Not bothering to stick around and watch the bowl full of vomit go down the drain, Harry carefully stepped over the passed out body in the bathroom.
Needing to find his brother, he made his way through the maze of people on the staircase and began his search in the living room. It didn't take long to find him. His brother was busy jumping up and down on a coach, flailing his arms wildly as if playing an imaginary guitar. Pushing pass the crowd bopping to the real music, not the fake stuff his brother thought he was making, Harry grabbed the bottom of his brother's shirt and with a yank, pulled him down to the floor. Landing on his feet, but stumbling quite a bit, his brother turned around, looking confused and angry. Until he recognized Harry.
"Har!" he exclaimed in a voice louder than it needed to be. "Fin'ly found ya. I been looking fer ya." Although his words were understandable, they were moderately slurred. Before Harry could respond, he found himself wrapped in his brother's strong arms. He was being hugged in an alarmingly tight grip. "I loves ya, brother!"
Struggling to breathe, Harry pushed at his brother's chest. "Get off, Nolan!"
With a distressed shove, Harry finally managed to dislodge himself from his brother's arms. Nolan just looked confused. He grabbed his clearly irate brother's shoulders and brought his face down so he could look straight into Harry's. "What's matta', Har?" He asked, tone revealing some hurt.
Harry just chose to glare into his brother's chocolate brown eyes, so unlike his own bright emerald ones. "There are lots of things the matter right now, Nolan. First of all, there has got to be at least a hundred people here right now, and they are all wrecking the house. Also, you're drunk off your ass and being no help what-so-ever. And most importantly, Ron just passed out in mom and dad's private bathroom!"
Nolan could only stare at Harry, clearly not comprehending. "Wha'?"
Harry resisted the urge to yell. Instead, he took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and counted to ten. When he reopened his eyes, Nolan was still looking at him, concerned. Harry spoke very slowly, very patiently. "Will you," he paused and pointed to Nolan, "go upstairs," he pointed up," and help me," he pointed to himself, "move Ron into my bedroom?"
Nolan looked to be concentrating very hard. Finally, he spoke. "Wait, wha'?"
Surely, Nolan was saved from the punch he was undoubtedly going to receive by the owner of the next voice. "I'll help, Harry."
The voice's owner, no surprise to Harry, was Neville Longbottom. In other words, the Boy-Who-Lived. The Savior of the Wizarding World. Also known as the boy who's been chasing after Harry for the past two years. It had only been brought to his attention this summer. Harry had been horrified.
Not because Neville was a guy. Harry was gay and everyone was well aware of it considering he had dated Cedric Diggory during his fourth year. No one had been too happy with that revelation. Again, not because they were both males. It was the three year gap in their ages that had Harry's family, in particular, worried. Three years were hardly anything for wizards. However, it apparently became something quite large when one of the wizards was only fourteen. James, more than anyone, had been quite happy when that relationship had ended along with school. Harry didn't like to talk about why.
No, it wasn't Neville's gender that turned Harry off. Or his looks for that matter. In fact, once Neville's baby fat had disappeared, he had grown into quite the fit and handsome young man. At fifteen, he now stood at an acceptable height of 5'10". Not quite Nolan's 5'11", but quite a bit taller than Harry's miniscule 5'5".
No, Neville's gender and looks were not the problem. It was the way he carried himself. Harry couldn't stand the holier-than-thou attitude. It was quite obvious to him that Neville thought he was perfect and that the whole world, Harry included, owed him for something he did when he was one. Despite Neville's arrogance though, Harry had always tried to be nice to him. He didn't like to cause problems. It just wasn't in his nature. That is why Harry very hesitantly agreed to Neville's help.
Somehow the two teens made it passed the bodies crammed in the living room and on the stairs and to the entry way of the bathroom Harry had abandoned his friend in. Neville, to Harry's annoyance, couldn't hold back a quick bark of laughter at seeing Ron's prone body on the cold, tiled floor. "He's had a rough night, has he?"
Instead of replying, Harry merely offered Neville a strained smile before maneuvering around Ron's body so he stood by his head. Bending over at the waist, he grabbed Ron's wrists. He looked expectantly at Neville. "Well, grab his ankles, I guess," he instructed Neville when he didn't make a move to help.
Acting as if Harry hasn't even spoken, Neville just stared, making Harry feel very uncomfortable. Finally Neville asked, "So what did poor Ron drink to get him so bloody wasted?"
Realizing he would have to converse with Neville if he expected him to be of assistance, Harry sighed, laid Ron's arms back down on the floor, and straightened up . "Not sure, really. I found him up here puking his guts out. Don't know where he got the idea to do it in my parent's private restroom. Bastard." Harry grinned good-naturedly. "Anyways, I stayed with him to make sure he was okay. And to make sure he didn't end up vomiting on the floor."
Neville smiled in a way Harry supposed the guy thought was charming. "You're such a good friend, Harry." Then a brief pause. "I bet you'd make an ever better boyfriend."
Now how in the name of Merlin was he supposed to take that comment? "Err…sure."
Neville chuckled while attempting to get passed Ron to make his way further into the spacious bathroom. And closer to Harry. What in the world was Harry supposed to do now? Before he could decide, he found his head unexpectedly surrounded by Neville's arms. The teen was leaning over so he was nose to nose with Harry. Also, his feet were on either side of Ron's head. "It really sounds like you haven't had that great off a night Harry. Don't fret though, I'm sure I can make it better."
Harry was positive that was the alcohol-induced confidence speaking. He cleared his throat. "Uh, actually, it hasn't been too terrible. Just the whole Ron passing out thing got me a little worked up. I'm sure I'll get over it. Nothing some yummy left over tuna casserole can't fix up. Don't worry about it."
Harry imagined he would have found this situation (the whole talking about tuna while practically getting groped thing) pretty damn hilarious if he wasn't involved in it. Neville only chuckled at his rambling and let his face, and consequently lips, get closer to Harry's own. Harry backed up as much as possible. He hit a wall. What to do? "Um…Neville?"
Having Harry trapped, Neville asked, voice gruff, "Yea, babe?"
Acting fast, Harry did the only thing he could think of that didn't involve hurting Longbottom's feelings. He brought one hand up to his own mouth and used the other to push away Neville, who in response nearly tripped over Ron's big head. Neville looked gab smacked. Still, Harry clutched the bottom half of his face with his left hand. Through his fingers, he whispered, "I think I'm going to be sick." Without further ado, he launched himself at the toilet, immediately making gagging sounds.
It took nothing more than that to get Neville to scramble out of there, making stuttered promises to get Nolan. With Neville gone, Harry was safe to pull himself off the toilet and let out a huge, relieved sigh. Praise Merlin that the Savior of the Wizarding World couldn't stand the sight of throw up.
Harry turned his attention to the body on the hard floor. Ron. He looked pathetic and helpless. Still feeling obligated to help his friend, Harry made his way towards the bathroom entrance and grabbed Ron by the ankles. "Sorry mate, you might be a bit sore in the morning."
He then proceeded to drag Ron's heavy body from the bathroom and across the upstairs hallway to his room. Luckily, there were only a handful of curious bystanders.
Two more witnesses were added to that handful when he entered his room to find a couple, two to-be seventh years he only half recognized, making out on his bed. Harry's face transformed into a scowl. "Out. Now."
The girl seemed particularly embarrassed and tugged her boyfriend out of there, muttering a soft "sorry" to Harry on the way out. Even though he was utterly exhausted, Harry somehow managed to get Ron into the bed and even covered him with a soft comforter.
"Ahem." Harry startled and turned to the open door, surprised to see an observer. Draco Malfoy. Just when he thought the night couldn't get any worse. "What are you doing here?" Harry questioned, irritated, but too tired to add any real malice to his voice.
Malfoy's seemingly permanent smirk just grew larger than it already was. "I'm a Malfoy. I can be wherever I want."
"Except here," Harry replied immediately. "Now get out of my room. And my house for that matter."
The blonde raised an eyebrow in response. "Manners, Potter. No need to be callous."
A chuckle escaped from Malfoy's gullet and a low growl from Harry's. "I'd only expect that language from your brother. Not you, baby Potter."
Normally Malfoy's stupid taunts would bounce right off of Harry, but with the night he was already having, they were quickly getting under his skin. And what was worse, he couldn't think of anything intelligent to say back. "I'm not a baby."
"Well, not literally, you twat. But you are the youngest Potter. Even if it is only by an hour or two. Not to mention the fact you get whatever you want."
"I get whatever I want?!"
"Are you deaf or just stupid? I mean, I've formed my own opinion and am most definitely leaning towards option number two, but seriously…which is it?"
"Bloody well just shut up, Malfoy! Besides, you're the one who's a spoiled brat! You even have those two idiots, Crabbe and Goyle, following you around practically acting like your servants."
Harry was well aware that he was yelling and getting worked up, but he didn't very well care at this point. He did care, quite a bit though, when Malfoy was suddenly in his face. "I'm alone now, aren't I?"
Harry tensed; something in Malfoy had abruptly changed. He wasn't fucking around anymore. Finally Malfoy spoke again. "Relax little Potter, I was just yanking your chain." His smirk returned. And Harry was instantly angry again. If he didn't have better control of himself, he would hit Malfoy. In the face. Hard.
"First of all Malfoy, don't call me little. And secondly, most importantly, go away!"
Malfoy just grinned impishly. "I only called you small because you are. I'm at least eight inches taller than your scrawny ass. Also, no. I don't really feel like leaving you alone just yet. You're entertaining when you're mad."
Entertaining? No. Harry was not entertaining when upset; he was intimidating. Or at least he liked to think so. "Whatever, Malfoy. Just go downstairs. I don't care what you do as long as you're as far away from me as possible." Harry missed the slight frown that crossed the blonde's face in response to the verbal lashing. It quickly shifted back into a confident sneer.
"You just need to loosen up, Potter. Have a little fun. It's your birthday party after all."
"Mine and Nolan's." Harry corrected before adding sarcastically, "And yes, turning fifteen is an excellent reason to get smashed."
"I thought so," Malfoy injected, ignoring the sarcasm.
"Well, I don't," was Harry's fast reply.
"What? You scared or something?"
"Scared of what?" Harry inquired, indignant.
"You tell me, oh brave Gryffindor."
Malfoy only leered and thrust his drink at Harry, eyes challenging him to take it. "Why don't you have some?"
Although far from sober, Nolan hadn't had a drink in an hour or so and was moving out of the phase 'completely shitfaced' and into the phase 'extremely buzzed'. That was when he started worrying about Harry. He hadn't seen him in a while and knew his brother wouldn't be sleeping while a party was happening. He'd be way too anxious to sleep.
Vaguely remembering Neville saying something about Harry and a bathroom on the second floor, he dragged himself up the staircase.
Even drunk, he couldn't help but feel a little badly about the whole thing. The party, that was. Harry strictly didn't drink, while Nolan did occasionally. Even though he hardly drank, he couldn't pass up the opportunity his parents practically hand delivered to him. They were currently on their second honeymoon of sorts. They had left two weeks after Harry's and his fifteenth birthday. A perfect reason to party. Nolan begged Harry for this until his little brother finally, grudgingly, agreed. While he had been excited about the party ever since, he still had felt that pang of guilt. He knew damn well that Harry didn't like this kind of environment.
Finally reaching his parent's bathroom after trudging up the stairs, Nolan opened the door to see nothing. Well, nothing save for the toilet, sink, bath, and the works. No people. Figuring he might as well check his brother's room while he was up there, Nolan made his way down the hallway.
Mind still dazed from alcohol consumption, Nolan unceremoniously pushed open his brother's bedroom door. He was not at all ready for the sight that greeted him. Cold fury washed over him and he saw red. Malfoy was going to die.
Harry couldn't see straight and he wasn't sure if it was because he had lost his glasses or it was those shots of vodka he had been coursed into taking making his vision increasingly blurry. Either way he was desperately clutching his dresser to stop himself from falling.
He was fairly certain Malfoy had left to get more liquor. And for some reason, he felt ridiculously alone in his huge room. Until he remembered Ron. Harry couldn't stop a random giggle from escaping his lips. "Silly Ronnikins!" Harry exclaimed before stumbling across the room, attempting to get to Ron and his bed. He thought he was doing quite well until he tripped over his own two feet. He landed face first on the floor, and even managed to smack his head on his bed frame on the way down. Harry groaned. Cheek pressed against carpet, he muttered, "Sorry Ron. Think I be stayin' here t'night."
Harry was pretty sure he would have fallen asleep just fine where he was if it wasn't for Malfoy coming back and laughing so damn loudly. "'S not funny," Harry slurred, feeling annoyed.
Malfoy's light laughter continued for a while longer before it slowly died off. "No, you really are quite hilarious," Then a soft sigh. "Let me help you up, Potter."
Harry decided his arms felt much too heavy to put up a struggle and didn't protest when he feel Malfoy's hands lift him up by the armpits and then wrap his muscular arms Harry's slim waist. He was half dragged, half carried to the right side of the bed. The half Ron wasn't already occupying.
Eyes closed and mind blurry, Harry was only really aware that someone was pulling off his socks. That someone was also muttering. "You're lucky I like you, little Potter."
"Wha'?" Harry asked, cracking his eyes halfway open. The hands removing his socks froze. "Nothing Potter. You're drunk and hearing things."
Harry eventually managed to peel his eyes all the way open. Hm. There was a blur of blonde and what locked to be a person attached to it messing with his socks. Definitely Malfoy. Not being able to help himself, Harry spontaneously let out a snigger. Swinging his upper body forward, he managed to grab poor Malfoy around the neck and drag him back downwards with him. Refusing to let go of the blonde's head, Harry giggled some more.
Not aware of Malfoy's sudden stiffness, Harry could only smile drunkenly as his hug buddy pried his arms off of around his head. He tried to reach for the blonde again, but soon found his wrists pinned to the mattress by two larger hands. Malfoy was suddenly on top of him, knees on either side of Harry's hips. "Not smart, Potter. Not smart at all." Harry paid no mind to the tense tone.
Instead, he pouted and jutted out his bottom lip. "But, I jus' wan' a hug. 'M cold." There was a yielding sigh from above him.
"Fine." But the voice didn't seem particularly upset. The warmth of another body surrounding him was soon the only thing he could think about. It felt so good. Better than any hug he had ever had before. It was as if his body was hypersensitive. Harry just snuggled further into the lovely warmth. He just couldn't get enough of it. Wanting to be held tighter, he arched his body upward, trying to get even closer to the other body.
When the source of warmth suddenly pulled away, Harry felt terribly cold. A whine emerging from his throat, Harry reached up towards Malfoy and clung. The blonde resisted. For a reason Harry couldn't begin to understand, especially in the state he was in now, Malfoy seemed to b breathing exceptionally heavily. "You don't know what you're doing., Potter. Let go."
Cranking open his eyes that had closed during the long hug, Harry looked up into the handsome face above his. Parting his lips, he only said one thing. It came out as a whimper. "Please."
No one moved for a moment. And then the warmth and comfort was back. Harry shivered as Malfoy warm breath touched his neck. He sounded strange. "Only because you won't remember this in the morning."
Harry pushed Malfoy from him just a little so they could see eye to eye. "I won't?"
Harry thought it was the most natural ting in the world when the blonde rested his forehead on his own, their noses touching. "No, you won't."
Those words, spoken in that hushed tone, made Harry feel suddenly anxious. He didn't want the warmth to go away again! His arms tightened around Malfoy's back. "Then…"
Harry began, but didn't get the chance to finish. Warm lips were suddenly pressed against his own soft ones. Feeling a desperate tongue pushing for entrance into his mouth, Harry immediately complied. The kiss was wet, messy, and frantic. But it felt so good. Harry let out a moan and continued to cling to the boy above him
Neither noticed the door open. "What the fuck is this shit?!"