A borderline crack fic that pretty much...just happened. Featuring drunk boys, irate ex girlfriends, foaming at the mouth fathers and a very blindsided Harry Potter.
Be nice and review, please!
Theo Nott was having a particularly bad day. Why? His best mate was being…let's call it 'difficult'. And if you knew Theo's best mate as well as he did, you would know that this is a problem. Once again, he tried to assume the daunting role of The Voice of Reason.
"So it's been a bad day," he ventured. "Is that any reason for us to be in this deplorable muggle pub getting completely sloshed out of our heads?"
Draco glared blearily over his third…Johnny Walker? Sprinter? Theo didn't give a damn. Draco was glaring and that was never good.
"I'm gettin' wasteded," he announced accusingly. "Yer not even trying! Look!" He pointed indignantly at Theo's barely touched martini and sneered. "To quote m' esteemed Father- Yer a disgrace, Draco. Now get outta my house!"
He accompanied this declaration with a sweeping motion in the general direction of the door- a surprisingly apt imitation of one of Lucius Malfoy's more dramatic dismissals. Theo hastened to grab on to his hammered housemate's sleeve, saving him from crashing to the floor for the fourth time that night. This was not going well…
"In his defence…" he tried again. "…and yes, yes there isn't any- bad Lucius, etcetera etcetera- you did announce that you were gay and in love with Harry Potter in the same bleeding day. What did you expect him to do, throw you a coming out party?"
Draco was not appeased. "He's a bad man," he mumbled belligerently. "I hate him. And Potter. And…and hippogriffs!"
"Hippogriffs?" Theo enquired, not really sure if he wanted an explanation.
"That manky bird from Third Year!" Draco clarified. "Still have th' bleedin' scars!" He wrestled with his shirt and tugged it off his shoulders, before Theo could stop him. The dark haired Slytherin sighed. "Those are the scars from your altercation with Potter. Remember, Sixth Year?" he said, tugging Draco's shirt back on and buttoning it up rather severely. Belatedly, it struck him that bringing up Potter was probably a mistake.
Sure enough, Draco whimpered and his head slumped forward to meet the table. Theo winced at the audible thunk. That was going to hurt tomorrow. "Shtupid Potter," Draco mumbled. "First he hurts me, then he shaves me…"
Theo's world screeched to a standstill. "When did Potter shave you?!" he demanded, suitably horrified.
Draco scowled at him. "Not shave, y'idiot! Shave! Like…like rescue and stuff. You know, from the…the thing."
Theo nodded soberly. Fiendfyre was a word best left unsaid among Slytherins, even when drunk. Not that Draco wasn't well beyond that stage…
"I think it's time to go home," he suggested. "You can sleep at my place and…"
"Not going," Draco muttered belligerently. "M gonna stay here with Johnny."
"You drank Johnny!" Theo snapped, getting irritated now. Draco sneered and embraced the whisky bottle. Theo scowled. "Enough is enough," he gritted out. "Getting drunk is not going to solve your admittedly impressive number of personal issues. Therefore, you will come home with me and either die of alcohol poisoning or wake up tomorrow and deal with your problems like a grown up! Either way, we are leaving this Merlin forsaken bar right now!"
"No!" Draco snapped peevishly. "I'm gonna stay here 'n drink with someone better than you! Someone who…who understands my problems!"
"Draco, I'm warning you…"
"Oi!" Draco bellowed at the bar in general. "Who thinks Harry Potter sucks?!"
Theo practically cringed with embarrassment as the few muggles present swivelled about to stare at them with alternating looks of disapproval and amusement. Oh well. At least now he could shame Draco into leaving the damn place without making a total fool of…
A teetering hand shot into the air and the next second a slurred voice declared, "Harry Potter totally sucks!"
Draco lit up like a Christmas tree and Theo groaned.
Piers Polkiss wasn't having that fine a night himself. Granted, Dudley had reason enough to get totally hammered but would it have been too much to ask that they shoot a few at his flat? Now he would have to drag his sulking, hulking best friend back to his cramped apartment and frankly, Piers wasn't looking forward to it.
"Alright mate," he cajoled, trying to pry a vodka shot away from Dudley. "That's enough for one night, yeah?"
"No," Dudley replied staunchly, huddling the shot-glass like a baby koala. "M still standing. 's unacceptabable."
Piers prayed for patience. "Speaking of unacceptable," he attempted. "You don't want to be late for work tomorrow. First day with the new promotion. Can't have a bistro without a head chef, yeah?"
Dudley gave him a sloppy grin. "'M really a head chef," he declared dreamily.
"Yeah, you are," Piers replied with a slight smile. "And you're the best, yeah?" He patted Dudley's shoulder in a show of support.
"M' Dad don' think so," Dudley mumbled. Piers sighed. Here we go. He wrestled a cheery expression on to his sharp face as best as he could. "Hey, who cares what old man Dursley thinks, yeah?" he asked lightly. "So you don't want to be a wrestler. I think your filet mignon is way better than your Nelson hold anyway."
"Can't believe he said I was dead to him," Dudley mumbled plaintively. His blond hair tumbled over his eyes, giving him the look of a forlorn Labrador. "And…and then Laura…"
Piers winced. He'd been hoping that The Ex wouldn't come up in conversation again. "Laura was…" he struggled for the appropriate terminology. "…a bitch." Yeah, that sounded about right. "I'm sorry, Big D. That bird was horrible. You're better off without her."
"I know," Dudley mumbled. "Jus' been a rough week, is all. And I miss Samson."
Of course Laura had kept the dog. Piers sneered and downed the rest of his beer. Well, Dudley wasn't going to get any more sober sitting over here. Piers shook his head and stood up. "Come on mate," he declared. "Let's go…"
"You know whose fault this really is?" Dudley demanded.
Piers slumped back wearily. Dudley glowered at him over a shot-glass. "Well?" he demanded, clearly expecting an answer.
"I don't know," Piers sighed. "God?"
"Harry Potter," Dudley declared confidently.
Piers frowned, trying to place the name. "Your dweeby cousin from when we were kids? The one who disappeared?"
Dudley nodded, looking rather pleased with himself for figuring it out and promptly swiped up another beer. "S his fault," he repeated.
"Sure mate," Piers muttered. Anything to get Dudley out of this dive. "Whatever you say. So how about we go home and…"
"I had it all figured out!" Dudley cried. Piers groaned and subsided again. It was going to be a long, long night. Dudley launched into another spiel. "Was gonna... be a wrestler 'n make Dad proud. Cause…cause I wanted to make Dad proud, ya know? What bloke doesn' wanna make his old man proud?" Piers nodded, but Dudley didn't seem to notice. He just kept on rambling. "S why I used to beat him all th' time…cause Dad was all like proud, when I did. And then…then that thing happened an' he saved m' life. Did I ever tell you 'bout the thing?"
"You did," Piers affirmed. Something about a grey ghost and how Potter had done magic and saved Dudley's life…of course he didn't believe a word of it. Dudley was probably just smoking some really good grass when he dreamt that up. But he was in no mood to get into an argument right now…
"You can't beat up the guy who saves yer life, Piers!" Dudley groaned. "I couldn' do it after that! I changed and…Dad shoulda…he shoulda understood, right?"
And we're back to the daddy issues. "Look," Piers said firmly. "You and me? We were little shites growing up. If I could apologise to that Potter kid, I would. I know you would too. But he's…"
"You shouldn' save someone's life 'n disappear," Dudley muttered sullenly. "'S not decent. Walking in and…and changing everything and then going away…God, I hate that little shite!"
Piers nodded, but shifted uneasily. "Do you think he's dead?" he asked finally.
Dudley shook his head firmly. "Nah," he mumbled. "Prick could survive anything. Survived me, didn' he?"
"Wish I could say the same about myself," Piers grimaced. He could feel a bitch of a migraine coming on. "Come on, Dudley," he pleaded. "It's late. Can we please just go home and crash?"
Dudley blinked at him and then nodded despondently. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Let's go…"
Piers heaved a sigh of relief, and then proceeded to drape Dudley around his shoulders. They stumbled to the door, and he was nearly through when calamity struck. A sharp, rather slurred voice rang out in the silence. "Oi! Who thinks Harry Potter sucks?"
Dudley screeched to a halt and his hand shot up at once, nearly knocking Piers over. "Harry Potter totally sucks!" he bellowed enthusiastically.
"So close," Piers groaned. And then he trudged his way back in the bar, following his lumbering friend.
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