Tittle: Is This What You Were Looking For?

Disclaimer: No.

Summary: "Harry moved his shock to the side for later review, just in time to watch the blonde disappear around the corner. Harry sagged against the wall and laughed. He didn't know what else to do. Malfoy just kissed him."

Two parts. H/D. Rated M for second part. Draco's wandering the halls drunk Harry finds him.

AN: Sooooo, I am incredibly ticked off right now and have been for a long while. My computer died. All my files were lost. I had about three stories going and they're all gone now, trapped inside the dead shell of my old friend. ( I can't believe he's gone!) I was so annoyed and frustrated, I kind was put off the idea of writing for a while. The thought of re-doing everything left me angry and reaching for my bottle of jack. I know I lost some bits I'll never get back. But, life goes on and so must we. So, while trying start my stories from scratch again, I started another one. However, I'm stuck so I wrote this to keep myself busy. Okay, I'm done venting now. END RANT. Thanks for reading.

I don't know what I was doing with this. ( I love how so many of my explainations start with that). I was thinking about being drunk, so then I thought what if Draco got drunk. And I like the idea of Draco drunk. And apparently so does Harry.

This is a tribute to all those bizarre thoughts that go through your head when your drunk. The 'it sounded like a good idea at the time' moments and the 'what the hell did I do last night?' questions.

Chapter One: Searching...

Harry tried to be as quiet as possible as he returned from his walk. It was late, but night was the only time he got to think any more. Days were filled with classes and students and his friends. But night was when he grieved. He had so much to process since the end of the war and taking walks throughout the castle grounds gave him the time to remember, analyze and re-live everything as much as he needed. It helped to have some quiet to reminisce about all that had been lost, but also all that had been saved.

The days after the war were the hardest for Harry. Instead of relief, he had been hit with overwhelming anger and guilt. No matter where he went or what he did he couldn't shake the resounding sadness of all the death and loss Voldemort had caused for everyone. It was every where. In the faces of the people around him, in the newspaper he eventually stopped reading, even in his dreams. It was difficult to get up, when he knew the world he woke up to was scarred. How could they ever overcome the pain of losing so many innocent lives? After living in fear for years and all the mistakes, on both sides, that made things even worse?

Harry never got to deal with losing the people he loved. His mind was always split between his life and on the insane wizard trying to kill him along with more then half the occupants of the world. But that was behind him now. He had nothing left but time and memories of the dead.

He went through all the motions of life, of course. Not wanting to add to anyone's problems as they tried to recover from the war. No one needed anything else to deal with, especially a moping hero who cried so much sometimes he thought he'd choke on the grief as it rushed out of him. They had to focus on rebuilding and putting life back togther. Harry didn't see how it could be done, but he kept that to himself.

He didn't see an end in sight, but one came to him anyway.

It wasn't anything huge or life changing. He didn't have a sudden epiphany or break down in the middle of diner only to come out of it with a brand new attitude about life.

It was a girl. One girl who changed everything for him. And the funny thing was, she was in front of him the whole time.

He was sure he was doing a good job of hiding his morose outlook on life, until one day Ginny pulled him aside and had a talk with him.

Harry's stomach knotted up as she took his hand and led him to the back yard of the Weasley home. He kept a smile on his face, despite his dread inside. He loved Ginny, but was certain he didn't want to be with her anymore. He was trying to find the words to tell her, but she spoke first.

" It's alright, Harry. I understand."

Harry didn't.

Until she went on to explain how she felt the rift between them. She still cared for him and she hoped he could find what he needed, but their time had passed. They spoke quietly for an hour, about how everything was different now. Harry listened mostly. He was interested to get an opinion that didn't come from his own mind.

Despite her promise of always being there if he needed her and Harry being unable to imagine going anywhere but the Weasley's for holidays, it still felt like a goodbye. And that feeling only grew. Even after she kissed him one last time and left him in the garden, wishing him happiness.

' Because if you don't deserve a happy ending Harry, I don't know who does.'

Her words still echoed in his mind. The idea that he'd lost one more thing to this war was his first thought, but he couldn't blame them on the war. And he didn't lose anything. Ginny would still be in his life.

Without knowing it, the red headed girl had taken the first heavy weight from his shoulders. Harry didn't see it then, but that talk was what made it easier to remove some of the others weighing him down.

Harry chuckled. He had been worried about having the talk for weeks, but Ginny took matters into her own hands. It was very like the girl. He was surprised at how mature she had become. Ginny, the same girl who used to blush whenever he entered a room, just very eloquently broke-up with him.

The only thing that he didn't agree with was her parting words. He didn't want a happy ending. He wanted a happy middle. His life wasn't over yet. It wasn't the end. And just those two realizations were enough to help Harry start healing.

Returning to Hogwarts was not as foreboding as it had first been, when Harry felt the summer days becoming fewer and fewer, like a ticking bomb. Becuase when he finally passed through the doors and entered the place he'd always called home, his anxiety melt away. It was different, yet still comforting, like coming home from college.

Harry wasn't magically healed from his wounds, but he had the hope that some day he would be. It was a comforting thought that got him through the day. Eventually it transformed into full blow gratitude. The war was devastating, but it could have been so much worse. He realized how lucky he was to have made it through, with all that he did. His friends and the people he considered family, were still there. He was still there.

He survived, now it was time to live. The guilt he felt was still there, pressing on him like a unseen force, but he accepted it as a part of him. Hopefully, one day it would change, but for now he bared it and tried to get through the days.

Night was when he let it out. He cried and screamed and hit things and laughed at nothing and ran until he couldn't breath and even once did a cartwheel. It was at night he allowed himself to realize that things were still not okay.

Harry watched his friends move on around him and couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow. He wasn't ready yet. Something was still missing from his life.

Something that left him scanning every room he entered for an unknown answer, waiting for the next challenge to come his way, and walking corridors after hours hoping he'd find what he was looking for. Trouble was, he didn't have a clue what that might be. He wandered and thought and snuck in a snack or two, but always returned to bed unsatisfied.

This night proved to be no different then all the rest. He heaved a sigh and walked the same halls he had for six years, before deciding it was time to retire for the evening. As he came around the second floor corner leading to the stairs a figure at the end of the hall stopped him in his tracks.

Malfoy stood opposite of Harry. He was stepping off the last stair and froze once he saw the raven haired man. The blonde had been giving Harry plenty of space since the start of the term. Harry almost forgot the other man existed, despite the very few returning eighth year students. Funny, since he was all the Gryffindor could think of his last year at Hogwarts. Now, they were faced off again.

Harry regarded the Slytherin who stood motionless, not two feet away. A lot had happened since they first met that day in Madam Malkin's all those years ago. Harry still remembers Draco babbling away, clearly showing off, but still nervous under all that pride. Was he ever really that young? It's hard to imagine the small excited boy turned into this hardened tall man, staring at Harry with haunted eyes.

" Potter."

The voice startled Harry and he felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that always came with the feeling of being caught off guard, before it faded leaving him once again missing something.

" Harry Potter."

" Yep. That's me."

" You... Let me tell you something about...you."

Harry waited patiently for Malfoy to sort through his thoughts. He was ready for what ever the blonde was going to tell him. He had grown accustom to being the face of the war, albeit reluctantly. The only problem with that was, war killed people, it destroyed lives and cost a terrible price. For some odd reason people wanted some one to blame after it, when all was said and done. And well, him being the poster boy left him wide open for that job.

No one close to him said it out loud. He thought he saw it their eyes sometimes but he knew it would fade eventually, just like all the rest of the bad the war left over. It mostly was the others that were angry with him. The ones who'd never met him until they claimed the bodies of their loved ones and accepted his offer of condolence. The ones that passed him on the street and saw their nightmares all over again. The ones that cried and begged him to tell them if their child suffered that night, if they were brave, if they made a difference.

It was probably his fault for putting himself in those positions, but he felt like he owed the people something more. Or maybe he was waiting for them to figure out they owed him. Either way, speaking with the families who lost people didn't give Harry what he needed.

Now, Harry was more then ready for what ever Malfoy was going to throw at him. He guessed the man had a lot to be angry for and he'd always blamed the Gryffindor for everything. That wasn't likely to change now. Harry rested his hand on his wand, but waited for Malfoy to make the first move. Curse words, hexes, a punch or two. Hell, part of him was looking forward to it. At least he could fight this person back. He kind of missed the fight.

" I see you, you know. You aren't so tough."


Harry waited for the rest. Any minute now.

" No. Pfft. I could totally take you."

Harry looked closer at the man in front of him. Something was off with the blonde. Harry had been so busy remembering the past he failed to notice the present. The present, in which Draco Malfoy was standing across from him completely sloshed.

Thinking back now, Harry wondered how he didn't smell the alcohol at first. It was strong, kind of Oakey and nothing Harry had ever encountered before.

Not surprising, Malfoy had enough resources to get his hands on the most expensive liquor. It was probably some alcohol made by tiny woodland elves that only came into existence ever two hundred years, just to make a drink that turned normal wizards into sloppy merry idiots.

" You're..."

Malfoy broke into giggles before he could make out the rest. Malfoy was a happy drunk. Who would have guessed?

" I know your secret, Potter."

He stepped closer. Harry stood his ground, still expecting some sort of fight. He wasn't going to back down.

" But you don't know mine."

Then the blonde moved so quick Harry had to wonder if he was even really drunk in the first place. He slipped into Harry's space and pressed his wet lips to the Gryffindor's forehead.

Then he was gone.

Harry moved his shock to the side for later review, just in time to watch the blonde disappear around the corner. Harry sagged against the wall and laughed. He didn't know what else to do.

Malfoy just kissed him.

It was all so strange and yet intriguing at the same time.

What secret was the blonde talking about? Harry wasn't keeping things from his friends or doing anything that he wouldn't tell them about, so he wasn't sure what Malfoy meant. The brunette sighed as he began the walk back to the tower.

And what was the blonde's secret? Maybe it was nothing. Malfoy was drunk after all. Not many people are coherent with that much alcohol flowing through their systems. On the other hand alcohol has been known to liberate some of the more buried truths.

So the question is, which was it for Malfoy, a blabbering random rant of a man too drunk to think of a proper threat or something deeper he didn't really mean to divulge?

Harry needed to investigate it more and find out what Malfoy was talking about. He didn't think it was evil, but it wouldn't hurt to find out what secret the blonde thought he had.

At the very least he now had excellent black mailing material. Harry smiled as he thought of the blonde's face when he would tell him about the kiss. He was defiantly going to find Malfoy tomorrow.

The blonde wasn't difficult to locate. The marauder's map helped with that. Unfortunately, he was in the Slytherin common rooms most of the morning. Probably nursing a brutal hang-over, Harry snickered. Yin to that unfortunate Yang, was that it was Saturday, which meant Harry had the entire weekend to get to blonde alone.

Opportunity came at lunch, which Malfoy looked to be making a late appearance to. He looked awful when he came through the hall doors and Harry decided to give him a break as he slowly made his way to the Slytherin tables. He nibbled on a piece of toast and was seated all of five minutes before he left the hall again. Harry stood and followed him out.

" Hey, Malfoy!"

He saw the blonde cringe and fought back the apology on his tongue.

" Sorry." He lost, but the blonde didn't notice.

Malfoy turned to face him. He wrinkled his nose and rubbed circles into his scalp.

" Most you shout, Potter."

" You know they make these neat little things called hang over potions. Not that difficult to get a hold of I hear. Great for those headaches."

Malfoy closed his eyes.

" Took three. I should have know when Mother answered my request without pause, something was up. She'd lace it with anti-hangover..."

Malfoy finished that sentence with a scowl. He opened his eyes.

" What do you want, Potter?"

Harry was surprised to find he was disappointed when the Slytherin brought all his defenses back up. He ignored it and pressed on.

" I thought we could finish the talk we had last night."

" What are you on about?"

Harry noticed the other man shooting a quick glance over his shoulder. He looked nervous. Harry smiled.

" You don't remember? It was very interesting."

" Potter, if you insist on playing these games then have fun playing with yourself. I've already got a headache."

Malfoy started to walk away.

" What? No kiss goodbye this time?"

Malfoy froze in his tracks. Harry watched his cloak sway in the castle draft before he slowly turned.

He made an assortment of faces before deciding on an indignant one.

" You're lying. I would never..."

" Admit your hot passionate love for me?"

Harry laughed out the last words, but it still had the effect he was going for. Malfoy pulled a face and worked his jaw, reminding Harry of a fish he once saw in one of Dudley's books.

" Please stop. I might be sick any moment."

Harry had to laugh again. This was way more fun then he expected.

Maybe the blonde wasn't so bad after all. It could be the hangover he knew Malfoy was feeling right now, but Harry had to note they weren't insulting each other yet. And teasing the blonde was way more satisfying then fighting him had been. Malfoy looked torn between running away and passing out.

" But, Malfoy, I thought you liked me."

The blonde made a noise.

" I think a tiny part of my brain just exploded. Quick, Potter, see if it's dribbling out my ear. No! On second thought don't come any where near me."

" Hey! I'm not the one who had his lips..."

" I don't need to hear the end of that sentence, Potter. What ever it was, just forget it. I was not in my right mind. I don't even remember it, so it doesn't count. You could have been a house elf for all I knew."

" Again, Hey! Anyway, you can relax, it was just on the forehead."

Malfoy shot him a look.

" Is that supposed to be better? Listen, Potter, we've spoken far too much already. I'm going to sleep and when I wake up I hope this will have just been a terrible terrible nightmare."

Malfoy didn't wait for a reply.

Harry was so amused with the whole situation he forgot the ask the blonde what he meant about the secret. He'll just have to catch him again.

Stupid bloody Potter. Putting stupid ideas in his head. Draco tried getting some sleep, but his dream of flying across the night sky quickly morphed into black hair tickling his lips. It disturbed him so much he couldn't continue his nap. He laid in bed still aching and wishing he'd been smarter about the whole 'let's get drunk' thing.

He would have been more forceful with Potter, but truth was he didn't remember a thing about last night. He didn't know how he got out of the common room. The last intact memory he had was of Blaise letting out an un-Slytherin like hoot when Draco produced the liqour.

They were all of age, but it was still difficult to get things into Hogwarts. They had to play by the rules of the other students. No drinking, no sex, and no leaving the castle except when given explicit permission.

Which is why Draco enlisted the help of his mother. She'd always treated him as an adult. He'd been forced into great responsibilities, but also given privileges other children might not have had at his age.

Of course, there were some things even his mother refused to let him experience. A little wine with dinner was fine, but nothing more was ever allowed near the youngest Malfoy family member.

Foolishly, Draco had listened to Blaise when he argued that after everything they'd gone through the past few years, they must have proved they were able to handle a little alcohol. Draco had made the same argument to his mother, casually asking for a bottle of what ever she could spare.

Shock came when a two hundred year old bottle of White Crexour appeared on his night stand the following day. It was incredibly expensive and rare. But he should have known, his mother never did anything half way. The drink was potent and Draco was upset over something he couldn't recall now, but at the time had made Blaise's encouragement make sense. He probably would have stopped at two cups if he'd known his mother had laced it with an anti-hangover potion.

Apparently, she didn't agree with his reasoning and decided to make him suffer the consequences of his choice.

Still, he enjoyed the feeling of freedom that came with each sip.

How he ended up in a hall way with a Gryffindor, though, was beyond him.

This morning he woke-up in his own bed, in his pajamas and other then the lack of memory and the throbbing head, he assumed nothing major had taken place. That was until Potter stopped him in the hall way this afternoon. He wasn't even planning on going down to lunch, but Pansy insisted they couldn't stay in the common room all day. They weren't lame Hufflepuffs.

He informed Pansy what she could do with her Hufflepuff and she'd made a threat no man could stand up to. Draco guessed she was still upset she missed the drinking. So, headache, nausea and all, he went. The toast did help a bit, not that he'd admit that to Pansy. Finally, claiming to be tired of looking at him mope about, she waved him away. Draco bit back his pride and took off for the comfort of his bed once more. He would never understand how muggles drank.

Then bloody Potter called him out in the hall.

Did he really kiss Potter? He'd done some unusual things under the influence before, but what would posses him to do that? At least it was on the forehead. Despite his words to Potter, that was slightly better. It was like kissing a child when he's sick.

Yes, Draco felt more comfortable thinking of it like that. He'd only been feeling sorry for the man and apparently he's affectionate when he's tanked.

He could admit his feelings for the Gryffindor had shifted from hateful rage to a...he didn't know what to call it. He felt he sort of understood the man better.

Voldemort was a living nightmare and Harry had been dealing with his crazy much longer Draco. It was like they shared a common tragedy togther. Well, them and the rest of the wizarding world, but Draco was only one man and could only feel so much. He must have had a moment of weakness and tried to make Potter's pain go away.

Draco cringed.

Now that he thought about it, it might have been better if he'd tried to stick his tongue down the man's throat. At least that he could explain. Lust. Not an uncommon emotion in a man his age, especially if he'd been drinking. But if Potter knew he actually felt a connection to him, there's no telling how he might react.

Although his merry teasing hadn't been sign of a man horrified by the events. Potter had no qualms about poking fun at Draco, which proved he didn't see the real significance of it. Instead, it was a source of amusement for him.

And if Potter where any other decent, normal human male he would forget it and move on. Of course, Draco knew that wasn't the case. He could only hope that the strange conversation they shared earlier would quell Potter's curiosity. He didn't need the man poking around his mind anymore. He was vulnerable when he was inebriated, and he didn't trust himself around Potter.

Yet another excellent reason to avoid the beverage in the future. Eventually, Draco felt the tug of sleep and gave in, annoyed at losing the rest of his Saturday. He must remember not to underestimate mother again.

When he woke, his headache had finally subsided. And like the millions before him who woke with the same condition, Draco swore he was never drinking again.

Until later that night when Blaise tried to convince him he needed to relax. That phrase only conjured imagines of Potter standing in the hall laughing at him again, then some other not so reality based images.

He grabbed the bottle from Blaise and downed it before they could fully develop. Then the cup from Pansy and two shots from some one called Earl. That might be why he was standing in the corridor on the third floor, freezing and arguing with a framed elf.

It wasn't his fault all his friends were greedy bastards who didn't like to share. They could have just gotten more drinks, even though they were limited. Still, they didn't have to kick him out completely. And without a cloak was just cruel.

" They use it to clean their ears with."

" That's absurd! You know nothing about muggles! It's clearly a..."


The blonde spun and came face to face with the very thing he was trying to forget. Bloody Potter. He always shows up at the worst time. The elf in the picture made an important noise to show his displeasure at being interrupted. Draco was trying to stop spinning.

" Are you drunk again?"

" Shhhhhh."

Draco moved to stop the Gryffindor from saying something else idiotic. Nearly impossible, but he still had to try. He grabbed the man and moved him away from the elf portrait. This was the last thing he needed spreading around. He just recouped from the war. A rumor that he was a drunk would spread like a wild fire, destroying his carefully refurbished reputation just as quickly.

Another reason he had to be angry at his house mates for. They were supposed to watch each others backs, not send him to freeze to death in the hall and run into loudmouth Gryffindors. But they weren't here to take his aggression out on. Potter was.

" Of course not, Potter. Don't be ridic...uloss."

He made sure to speak loud enough for the elf to ear, confident that his statement should clear things up. When they were far away he whispered to Potter.

" Are you trying to destroy me?"

Potter looked genuinely shocked at the accusation.

" No. I was just surprised."

" What? That I'm capable of having fun?"

Draco swore he saw a smirk on Potter's lips.

" No. I bet you're good at that. I just didn't expect you to be having fun quite this soon after the last round. You looked pretty bad earlier."

Draco tried to follow that sentence, but damn it was long and all his energy was wasted on the elf. He was tired of talking.

" Oh."

Potter just stood and stared at him. It was making Draco itch. His eyes were so bright. Draco felt like he was being appraised. He didn't like the idea of Potter passing judgment on him. Stupid do-gooding Gryffindor.

Bet he thinks he's better then me.

Suddenly Draco got a flash of memory. This was familiar. He felt the same rush of realization not too long ago. Potter wasn't better then Draco. But more important, the Gryffindor knew it. It was obvious the way he sulked around the castle. He owned up to his part of the war and the guilt that's tied to it.

How could Draco have ever forgotten that?

That's what he had seen. He'd discovered the man's secret shame and guilt. And he told Potter that last night. Well, maybe not in so many words. It was hard to talk when your thoughts kept floating away.

But he remembered how he'd wanted to tease the Gryffindor. He didn't want him to know what he knew yet.

All he'd said was he knew the man's secret.

" Malfoy, do you remember what you said last night? About a secret?"

Draco stepped back. Could Potter read his mind? No, that wasn't one of this hero's superpowers. From what he'd heard Potter was awful at Legilimency. Still, it was creepy enough for Draco.


Draco realized he liked having power over Potter. It should always be this way. Potter trying to find out what he knew. Potter should be the one watching his moves around Draco. It should be Potter having to get drunk because he has no other way of getting rid of those thoughts. Potter should be the one having the dreams about him. That last thought seemed very appropriate.

Draco could imagine the embarrassed blush on Potter's face as he woke up or the way he would avoid him in the halls the next day. Try explaining that to your duo, Potter.

But he had to give the hero something to work with didn't he? Yes, the perfect Gryffindor probably never had a decent dirty thought in his life.

Draco stepped closer. Potter didn't move back. He must really want to know what Draco knew. Maybe he had something bigger to hide. Although, Draco doubted it. The weight of dead bodies is enough.

" Do you really want to know what I know?"

Draco brought a hand to Potter's shoulder. He fought his smile at the confused look in the green eyes across from him.

" What do you know?"

Still Potter didn't step back. Somewhere in his inebriated head, perhaps swimming in the alcohol pool in his brain, was Draco's little voice. He couldn't hear it over the rush of liquid as it sloshed against his lobe.

So, he leaned in closer. Again he wondered had he really kissed Potter's forehead? He studied it. It was smooth and tanned accept for the scar. But Draco ignore that. That was not the man. It wasn't Harry. It was piece of something else, something darker. His skin, however that was all Harry.

Draco wondered if it was soft.

" Malfoy?"

Draco snapped back so fast he tipped over. Potter made no move to help as the Slytherin toppled to the ground.

Some hero he is, Draco thought bitterly as he went down. He stayed on the floor and looked at Potter. The boy was frowning at the ground and when he brought his eyes to Draco's level something warm spread out low in his stomach. Draco got up and swayed on his feet.

" I have to go." He mumbled before he turned and walked away.

Potter didn't answer.

When he finally got back into the common room, Draco bypassed a laughing Blaise and ignored Pansy's apologies and headed straight for bed. This time he swore he defiantly wasn't drinking anymore.

AN: Nothing really happened, did it? Maybe, it will next chapter. Maybe it won't. Tune in to find out.

Review, Please.