a/n: I really wanted to write a dragon!AU. Happy holidays, everyone! Also a reminder that I do accept prompts/requests.
dedication: It figures that the one muse I want, I don't have.
disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
summary: A dragon and a dragon slayer walk into a bar. Draco can't remember the rest of the joke, but he's pretty sure it doesn't end up with him huddled behind the counter clutching a firewhiskey bottle as Potter hurls insults. – Draco/Harry, dragon!AU.
fire breath
Draco stared morosely into the colorful dregs of his cup. It had tasted faintly of strawberry and lemon, and Draco had only bought to get rid of the god-awful coconut taste of his previous drink.
He wasn't trying to get drunk – he wasn't. After all, drunk dragons were rarely a pretty sight, spewing flames in all directions and jumping off roofs and trying to fly. This bar was pretty decent, even if the drinks sucked, and Draco didn't want to burn it down. He was on thin ice with the Ministry already and had been strictly warned that a toe out of line would send him straight to Azkaban.
His father had gone to Azkaban for his part in following the Dark Lord – the first true dragon in centuries – and he had died there.
So maybe Draco did want to get drunk after all.
"It looks like the dragon slayers are coming here," he heard one excited woman tell another, "I can't wait to see them up close."
Of course. Because dragon slayers had become the darling of society after the Dark Lord's war and no matter where Draco went, they would not stop annoying him.
"I bought a bunch of new dresses just for the festival," the other gushed, "Do you think they'll give us autographs?"
"Bloody dragon slayers and their bloody festivals," Draco muttered lowly, though clearly not low enough. The bored bartender perked up a bit, clearly listening to him. "I mean, what did they really do?" Draco said, raising his voice a bit, "So they got rid of one dragon. That doesn't give them the right to parade around like they're the best thing since Merlin!" He ignored the bartender's wincing expression and subtle cues to shut up. "If I go out and bring back the body of a bear, will people start to worship the ground I walk on?"
It was only then that Draco realized that the entire pub had fallen silent. He groaned and eyed the dregs of his drink again. "They're right behind me, aren't they?"
"Malfoy," an amused voice said and Draco winced. Of all the dragon slayers in all pubs in Britain, it had to be Harry sodding Potter.
The stool next to him scraped back and Potter took a seat. "One butterbeer, and one for my friend here too," he told the bartender and clapped Draco hard on the back. The bartender looked more than happy to go do the Savior's bidding.
Traitor, Draco thought at his scurrying back and flinched when Potter turned to him. "So, Malfoy, spreading discontent in seedy pubs?" he raised an eyebrow and Draco almost forgot how to breathe.
Damn, Potter had grown up. The last time he saw the Savior was when they were both seventeen and shaking in the aftermath of the Dark Lord's death. The scrawny teen had grown up into quite the man, though – he could see the cords of muscles running along Potter's arms and the glint of his green eyes seemed much deeper than before. That annoyingly messy hair had resolved itself into a tousled jumble that looked like Potter had just rolled out of bed and Draco absently licked his lips, wondering exactly what the Savior looked like in bed.
He came back to the present when a bottle skidded into his elbow. He blinked, noticing that Potter was staring at him with a bewildered expression on his face and hastily turned back to his drink.
His non-alcoholic drink.
"What's the matter, Potter, too afraid of the big leagues?" Draco drawled, holding up his drink mockingly.
"Not at all, Malfoy," Potter seemed to have recovered from his confusion, "But I'm here on business and I don't drink on the job."
Yeah, well, Draco didn't have a job. He did have obscenely large piles of gold sitting around, so he felt like he was justified in downing down the butterbeer and signaling the bartender for another drink.
"Of course you don't," Draco said snidely, "Being the Savior and all."
Potter seemed to take some sort of offense at his words because the next thing he knew, Potter was pressing against his side, an arm around his shoulder like they were old buddies. "Oh, Draco," Potter muttered lowly, and Draco could feel the hair stand up on his arms, "I'll show you the big leagues, anytime, anywhere." His fingers tightened into Draco's shoulder and Draco felt himself swallowing rather abruptly.
And just as suddenly, Potter was gone, sitting on his own stool and calmly sipping at his butterbeer. Draco blinked in confusion and looked to the bartender, who wisely sidled away from the pair.
"So what brings you here, Malfoy?" Potter asked conversationally, as if he hadn't just whispered a promise to do dirty things to Draco. Draco found himself rather liking this grown-up Potter.
"I'm not violating my probation," Draco answered and he wasn't. Just barely wasn't. If he walked twenty steps from the pub door in the wrong direction, Ministry wizards would swoop in for the kill.
"I know that," Potter rolled his eyes, "I meant, what are you doing on his godforsaken island in the first place? Surely not a vacation – I've seen Malfoy Manor. You can do much better than this." Potter was wrinkling his nose, like the thought of aristocratic Draco Malfoy in the middle of nowhere was mentally displeasing.
"Well, the summer villa in Paris is off limits for the moment," Draco said, eyeing his empty butterbeer bottle. He didn't think that Potter would let him order an alcoholic drink without whispering something else in his ear and Draco really didn't think his higher mental reasoning could handle Potter's dirty talk.
Potter opened his mouth – perhaps to respond, perhaps to order another baby drink – but was interrupted by the pub door slamming open.
"We hear that the dragon slayers have come to this town," a loud voice boomed out and Draco met Potter's eyes. "Well, them and their fucking festivals can get the hell out!" There was a resounding cheer from the group of men that was spilling into the pub. The leader of the men had a nasty look on his face and Draco felt his stomach drop when he recognized the sharp teeth and curved claws.
Fenrir Greyback – half-dragon, half-wolf, full monster.
Draco felt himself being pulled back across the counter and shot a startled look to see the bartender give one last pull as his glamour faded and red hair and freckles appeared.
"Bloody hell," Draco swore as he fell behind the bar. Ron Weasley made a frantic shushing motion at him before leaping across the counter in one bound. "Bloody hell," Draco repeated quietly.
It really didn't matter. The noise level skyrocketed as Greyback began to attack. Draco peered over the counter to see majority of the pub crowd stand up, glamours fading to reveal dragon slayers. Potter had hidden his entire crew in plain sight and Greyback was clearly taken aback as his horde met a resistance they hadn't prepared for.
No wonder Potter wasn't drinking.
Draco slid back down and looked at the shelves of bottles lining the wall. There had to be something here that he could use as a weapon – the dragon slayers had their wands, which was good for them, but currently Draco's only weapon was fire, which he'd been strictly forbidden to use by the Ministry.
Well, the alcohol bottles looked relatively heavy and glass cut like a bitch.
Armed with a bottle in each hand, Draco peeked over the counter again –
And shrieked as a body crashed right in front of him. Draco attacked it with a bottle and wasted several Galleons' worth of scotch on a dead man. Unfortunately, his shriek was heard over the din of battle and the nearest man turned, mouth open and a glimmer of fire in the back of his throat. Draco threw the other bottle – the man tried to dodge, but went down in a shower of glass.
Draco again knelt behind the counter and picked up a few bottles – if he couldn't have fire, he could at least have firewhiskey.
"Come on, mutt," Potter's voice was loud and clear, "Is that all you got?" It must have been a Muggle taunt, but it seemed to work – Greyback's answering roar of rage toppled a few glasses off the shelves.
"Too old, too slow," Potter laughed, "Maybe it's time you retire! No one wants a doddering grandpa for an Alpha!"
"What the hell are you doing, Potter?" Draco muttered as he chanced another peek over the counter. The battle was clearly favoring the dragon slayers and more and more of Greyback's men went down under the onslaught. Strangely, nothing much was on fire, which strengthened the rumors that Greyback had been recruiting from the werewolf population instead of the dragons.
Potter's insults were clearly enraging Greyback, who was taking wilder and wilder swings. Draco mentally applauded the dragon slayer's tactics. Greyback was formidable in a fight, but taking away his ability to think properly greatly reduced his effectiveness.
Luck was clearly not favoring Draco tonight because Greyback caught sight of him crouching behind the counter. Ignoring Potter, he turned and gave Draco a foul smile consisting of sharp, yellowing teeth.
"If it isn't the baby Malfoy," Greyback growled, "Heard you turned traitor after the war. Repented for all your sins." Draco couldn't do anything but stare, transfixed to the spot. Throwing a glass bottle would be useless and only serve to make the man angrier. "But a dragon can't change its scales, Malfoy." Greyback stalked another step closer and Potter attacked from behind.
Greyback turned with a speed that Draco didn't think was possible, catching Potter in the chest with those wicked claws and sending the dragon slayer flying into a table. Potter fell into the midst of broken, jagged wood and didn't move.
Draco turned back to Greyback, feeling numb. There was a dragon slayer rushing to Potter's rescue, but none coming to aid him. Of course. He was the son of a Dark Lord supporter. He had very nearly been a supporter himself and missed Azkaban by the skin of his teeth.
"Join me," Greyback was at the counter now, holding out a hand topped with curving talons. There was blood on them, Draco noted, Potter's blood. "Join me and we'll rid the world of people like them." He jerked his head to where Potter still lay unmoving.
"No," Draco said rather calmly and Greyback lunged, catching the front of his shirt and half-dragging Draco across the counter. Draco choked on his own collar, but still brought his hand forward and smashed a bottle of firewhiskey on Greyback's head.
The fist in his shirt loosened and Draco took a gasping breath as Greyback staggered back a step, looking truly incensed. "You dare –" he said, but Draco didn't let him finish.
Taking a deep breath, Draco felt for the fire slumbering in his stomach and roared.
Okay, so it was more of a pitiful wheeze. Still, the flames ignited the firewhiskey that had spilled all over Greyback and the half-wolf half-dragon staggered even further back, screaming as he literally went up in flames.
Draco stayed half-slumped on the counter and watched as the fire danced over Greyback's writhing body. Dragon slayers were beginning to ring the dying monster and Draco dimly registered that the battle was over.
"Wow," a voice breathed next to him, but Draco didn't even turn to look. "So these are the big leagues, huh?"
"Shut up, Potter."
"Come on," Potter said in that same amused voice he'd used at the beginning. He held out a hand and Draco took it, wincing as the glass shards he hadn't noticed dug into his arms. Potter pulled and Draco let himself be limply dragged across the counter. Someone had moved Greyback's burning body away and Draco practically fell into Potter's arms.
Strong arms they were too and Draco stayed there, leaning on Potter's shoulder. There was a trickle of blood sliding down his face from his impact with the table and Draco stared at it, watching as it slid down his jaw.
"You hurt?" Potter asked and Draco snorted. Reluctantly, he pushed himself off of Potter, grabbing a stool to steady himself.
"I have glass digging into places that they should resolutely not be and I was practically strangled to death by half a werewolf. What do you think?" Draco glowered at the dragon slayer.
"You also ended Greyback's threat, permanently," Potter said, tracing the edge of Draco's neck where his shirt had cut into skin and probably caused an enormous bruise. Draco tried not to shiver.
"I used fire," Draco groaned as he remembered and sank into a crouch, burying his head in his hands. Now he was never going to hear the end of it. "I actually breathed fire."
"Yes, you did," Potter said, obviously confused by his sudden mood change, "It was pretty awesome, too."
"The Ministry is going to kill me," he solemnly informed his hands. Potter sighed and dragged his hands away from his face.
"It was self-defense and against Greyback," Potter said, "The Ministry isn't going to do shit." He smiled reassuringly, "Besides, you turned down his offer. I'll give testimony to that even if no one else does."
At that, Draco realized that there were in fact a bunch of dragon slayers walking around, waving their wands and clearing up the mess. "I am rather impressed that you managed to smuggle so many of your friends here without alerting anyone that there was a problem," Draco conceded.
"We started herding civilians out at ten," Potter said, "You were just too stubborn to take Ron's hints to go."
"Wait, those horrible drinks were hints?" Draco frowned, "That actually makes much more sense now."
"I'm glad you stayed," Potter whispered in his ear and Draco shivered again. If Potter was going to keep doing this then Draco was going to jump him, Savior or not. "You looked pretty hot at the end."
"Dragon," Draco said in a strangled gasp as Potter bit his earlobe lightly, "'M always hot."
"Not what I meant," Potter laughed lowly and they both startled as Weasley groaned.
"Dear god, would you both stop flirting in public?" he threw up his hands, "It's freaking everyone out!"
"Right then," Potter stood up and offered Draco a hand, "Let's get a room then." Draco smiled as Weasley groaned again and accepted a hand.
"Let's," Draco grinned a dragon's smile, "Then you can show me these big leagues of yours."
"Freaking. People. Out!" Weasley shouted at their backs.
A dragon and a dragon slayer walked out of a bar.
fin
a/n: Okay, so Harry is a bit OOC here, but it's AU, so justified? Maybe? Also, I love sprinkling innuendos. Much fun.