Title: The Potion
Word Count: 1,273
Summary: One drunken night, a morning hang-over, a surprise, and a potion.
Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing Harry and Draco for a nice romp. I only wish I was J.K.R.
A/N: Reviews are always welcome!
The first thought in Draco's mind as he woke, was that he needed a hang-over potion. Blindly he reached over the side of the bed to grab one off his bedside table. It took him a couple seconds to comprehend that not only was there no hang-over potions, but there was no bedside table. He forced himself to open his eyes and was grateful that where ever he was, the curtains were mercifully shut. Wearily he sat up and maneuvered himself up against the headboard. Looking around, he realized that he must have gone home with somebody last night, and that whoever this man was, they were rich and had good taste. There were no helpful pictures on the wall to give a clue to whose house he was in, and nothing (thankfully) monogrammed.
A couple more minutes of sitting quietly against the headboard, trying to remember something, anything and all he had was a couple small flashes of pounding someone into the mattress, which was a surprise as he was feeling the pleasant burn that usually meant he'd been pounded into a mattress. He remembered leaving the house and entering the first pub, but after that he had no recollection, save for a weird feeling that he'd had an argument with that crazy Irish bloke that had been in Gryffindor. He had a silent moment of horror, thinking maybe he'd come home with the Irish bloke, but then reminded himself that whoever owned the bed he was currently sitting in, had good taste.
Sighing, Draco decided that, if for no other reason than he had no idea where any of his clothing was, he needed to get out of this (decidedly luxurious) bed and find the owner of it. Standing made the room tilt unpleasantly and his head throb in objection. Draco hoped there would be hang-over potion soon.
When he opened the door, Draco realised the room must have had some sort of silencing spell on it, because he could now hear someone banging stuff around and singing something that sounded suspiciously like "Anarchy In the UK". He moved down the hallway cautiously, thinking the voice sounded oddly familiar (and not just in a 'we-fucked-each-other-into-an-oblivion kind of familiar'). When he got to the end of the hallway, Draco peered around the corner to see someone shirtless bent over and checking something in the oven that smelled heavenly.
Draco admired the graceful curve of that back and resisted the stray impulse to grab himself a handful of perfectly-shaped ass. He came the rest of the way around the corner, silently, and just as Draco was about to let his presence be known, the person said in that familiar voice, "I hope you're hungry, because I've made enough food to feed all the Weaslys." And Draco didn't need for the man to turn around to know exactly whose house he was having an aneurism in.
Draco stared incredulously into (surprisingly) glasses-free, emerald-green eyes for a second, before checking the rest of the man out. Potter's hair was still coal-black and just as messy as ever. His lips were quirked in that roguish grin he'd acquired sometime after defeating Voldermort and becoming a social pariah by openly declaring that he was fruitier than Boy George and David Bowie combined. Of course the analogy had been lost on most of the wizarding world, but once Harry had been clear about being gay, he started be shunned by "polite society". Not that the wizarding world was intolerant of homosexuality, but it was different when it came to their beloved hero. Looking at Harry's bare, and subtly muscled chest reminded Draco of his own nudity, and with a decidedly un-manly "eep!", Draco leapt back behind the wall.
"Uh, you wouldn't happen to have the knowledge of the whereabouts of my, er, clothing, would you?" Draco asked with an embarressed blush creeping up his chest and onto his face.
Harry chuckled. "Winky picked it all up from the foyer and is having it washed and, heh, mended. There's pajama bottoms in the bottom drawer in my room. Hurry up and put some on and then we can eat breakfast and talk," he said and started setting pans and plates laden with food on the table.
"Mended?" Draco asked, and then shook his head. "Nevermind. Tell me after I'm clothed." He took off to the bedroom with Harry's laughter in his ears.
Back in Harry's bedroom, Draco quickly located the set of drawers and pulled open the bottom one. It was filled with pajama bottoms in many colors and textures. Draco picked out ones that were plain black, and silky and then padded back out of the room. Coming out of the bedroom for the second time, Draco could hear Harry singing again. This time it sounded like was singing "Magic Carpet Ride".
Draco entered the kitchen, saw Harry standing at the counter glazing cinnamon rolls, sighed, and sat down for breakfast and, hopefully, some sort of explanation or insight into the activities of the night before.
Once Harry had finished glazing the cinnamon rolls and brought them to the table, and they had both dished up heaps full of food, Draco asked the question he'd been begging to ask all morning. "Do you have any hang-over potion?"
Harry carefully set down the fork he was holding and wiped his hands on a napkin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a well-known potion. Then he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a potion that Draco didn't recognize. "Here's the thing. Severus and I-"
"Severus?"
Harry glared at Draco. "Yes. Severus and I have designed a new potion. This potion is very similar to the hang-over potion, only it tastes better and has one new component."
Draco arched an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked.
Harry grinned. "One morning we woke up in the same bed – don't give me that look – and we were desperate to know what and how it had happened. Unfortunately we didn't produce this potion for another three months, so we had to get our information the hard way, by going into each other's minds and checking. As it turns out, we just ended up drinking a lot and talking about the war. But nonetheless we had already begun on a potion we hoped would restore alcahol-clouded memory. That part was hard enough as it is, but then we thought it would be brilliant if we could find a way to mix a hang-over potion with it. This," Harry said, holding up the unfamiliar potion, "is the result. It's not out on the market yet, as we are still procuring patents and getting it registered with the ministry."
"So..," Draco said.
"So," Harry held up both potions, "you can take this one, get rid of your pounding headache, eat a nice breakfast, and leave and never look back. Or," Harry looked hopeful now," you can take this potion, retain your memories, eat breakfast with me, and maybe…stay and get to know each other."
Draco smiled and took a large bite of a cinnamon roll. Then, he leaned forward and plucked the memory/hang-over potion from Potter's hand. At Potter's questioning look, Draco smirked and said, "If you are as good in bed as you are at cooking, I figure I'd have to be crazy to turn that offer down."
Harry smiled back at Draco and re-pocketed the other potion. "I can't imagine you're anywhere near as good at anything as you are in bed."
Laughing, Draco pulled the cork from the potion. "Here's to our skills in bed," he announced and then downed the potion.