Title: Lesson Learnt

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, or any other associated characters. I merely appropriated them for my own devices, and will return them to Jo Rowling on demand. Maybe.

Rating: T or PG-13. Maybe PG.

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Warnings: Boy kisses. Some swearing. Oooh, I bad.

Summary: Harry did something stupid while he was drunk, but his annoying and sexy roommate won't tell him what it was.

A/N: This was supposed to be an entry for the Quidditch Fanfiction Challenge, but I got very sick for a while and had to drop out. I will be returning to my writing now that I'm doing better, and hopefully you'll enjoy the fruits of my labours. :)

Harry sat up groggily, wincing as he clutched his head. He raked his fingers haphazardly through his messy mop of black hair. Harsh streams of daylight pierced his viridian eyes and he groaned out loud, moving his palms over them in an attempt to shut the light out.

As he slowly acclimated to the light, he glanced around his room. Ordinarily it was a lovely room; the burgundy and gold colour scheme a tribute to his Hogwarts' days; though more muted than the bright red and gold of the Griffindor dorms.

Right now, though, it was a disaster. He hadn't really been keeping it clean for days, but this was ridiculous. What had he done when he got home last night – decided to trash the place? Clothes were strewn about and several drawers hung open. The curtain was on an angle, letting in far too much light for his liking. His closet was open and several items were lying around that he knew for certain had been stored there.

"Well," came a drawl from the doorway. "Lesson learnt?"

"Fuck you, Malfoy," he muttered sulkily.

The blond chuckled, then crossed into the room without bothering to ask permission. He stopped at the foot of the bed, and Harry scowled up at him. Cool grey eyes met his glare and regarded him with a detached expression carved into the pale marble of his flatmate's face, betrayed only by the slow arch of one thin brow.

He swallowed convulsively as he gazed at his friend. His beautiful, utterly shaggable friend. Utterly straight friend, he reminded himself, a trifle bitterly.

"So," the blond folded his arms over his chest. "How much of last night do you remember?"

Harry blinked. He tried desperately to recall what he did the night before, why it might have prompted the question. He drew a blank. He offered a sheepish smile.

The blond rolled his eyes and raised his hands heavenward in a show of mock exasperation. "So I take it you learned nothing?"

Harry stuck out his tongue. "Draco, you're a real spoilsport, you know that? If you're gonna come in here and give me the third degree, you could at least bring a hangover potion with you."

"The third what?" Draco looked baffled, and Harry sighed.

"Muggle thing."

"Ah."

Harry groaned again and clutched his head as another wave of pain lanced through it.

"You know, I should leave you to suffer this out, to teach you a lesson," drawled Draco.

Harry cringed. "Please," he begged. "I learned my lesson, I swear! I need one of your hangover potions; please!"

"Accio hangover potion," Draco said, flicking his wand behind him. The potion came sailing into the room, where he caught it with deft seeker reflexes and tossed it to Harry. Harry smiled gratefully and downed it, gagging on the taste and feeling his weak stomach roil in protest. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, willing himself not to sick up. After a few moments the potion kicked in. Relief rolled through him as the pain and discomfort faded away, replaced by the soothing feeling of normalcy.

He smiled again. "Thanks, Drake."

Draco rolled his eyes again. "I'll thank you not to butcher my name," he said dryly.

Harry just shot him a cheeky grin.

"So, are you gonna tell me what it is that I did last night?" He braced himself for a tale of his stupidity. He usually didn't drink that much, but he'd been in a funk over hearing one of their friends talk about seeing Draco out on a date with some blonde and he wanted to escape his unwanted crush for a little while.

Draco hadn't been out with him – the Friday night get-togethers were just for Harry and his Griffindor buddies – but he had no doubt that his roommate had been briefed on his behaviour when Ron dropped him off. And he knew Ron had dropped him off, because his sole memory that was surfacing of the night before was of being sick all over the carpet in the living room after Ron side-alonged him, before breaking out into a bawdy song.

He winced. No wonder Draco was miffed.

Draco sighed. "You really don't remember, do you?" He stared at Harry with a strange intensity that made the brunet shift uncomfortably.

"Not really," he ventured. "Just puking in the living room and starting to sing pub songs from the Lord of the Rings movies."

Draco smiled slightly; they'd been enthralled by the trilogy and had watched both the regular and extended versions together. "Yes," he said, in a reprimanding tone. "Woke me up; thank you very much."

"You're very welcome," Harry replied sweetly, batting his lashes. Draco snorted and attempted to glare at him, hindered by the smile that kept trying to break through. "So what did I do?" He was resigned to the fact that he'd made a fool of himself, and Ron had seen fit to fill his roommate in on it. The old animosity between the two had faded, but they weren't exactly friends and he must have done something truly spectacular for Ron to be willing to spill to the former Slytherin.

"I don't think I'll tell you," replied Draco coolly. Harry's jaw dropped.

"How bad was it?" He was beginning to be genuinely worried.

"Bad enough," Draco smirked, before turning on his heel and sauntering out of Harry's room. Harry pointedly did not watch his arse leaving. No sir.

Over the next week he tried repeatedly to get Draco to tell him about his Friday night escapades, to no avail. Friday finally rolled around again, and he went out for his traditional drink with his Griffindor friends – Neville, Seamus, Dean, and of course, Ron.

They proceeded to relive their glory days, discussing good old Hogwarts and commiserating with one another over having peaked while still in their teens. Being twenty and twenty-one years old made them so very much older and wiser than they had been at seventeen and eighteen, in their opinions.

They proceeded to get resoundingly drunk. Keeping in mind his behaviour last week, Harry was slightly more judicious about his drinking this time. Speaking of last week…

"Ron?"

"Mmm?" The redhead looked up from his pint, which he had been worshiping with religious fervor.

"What did I do last week?"

"Eh?" Ron blinked at him. He looked mildly resentful at having been torn away from his torrid affair with his drink.

"Last week. I did something really stupid, right? What was it?" Harry was desperately curious now.

"Oh, nothing much." Ron shook his head. "You got wasted, started bellowing in the bar and I had to take you home. You threw up, sang some crazy muggle songs."

Harry felt slightly disappointed. That was it? He felt almost cheated, although he supposed he was grateful he hadn't done anything worse.

"Oh, and you kissed Malfoy," Ron added as an afterthought.

Harry froze.

"I… what?" he asked weakly.

"Kissed Malfoy. Right after you got sick on the rug. I think you used tongue and everything, poor bastard."

Harry made a strangled sort of sound in the back of his throat and pushed his pint away. Alcohol was a bad, evil thing that had damned him to a special kind of hell, he was certain. How could he face the Slytherin now?

Not well, as it turned out. He took to hiding in his room when they were both home and spending as much time out of the flat as possible. He spent so much time at Ron and Hermione's that he was driving them both spare.

Next, he threw himself into work. He put in extra hours, staying at the ministry long after was necessary, studying and practicing like his life depended on it. It was difficult to concentrate during classes and training exercises, due to the fact that Draco was his partner in Auror training. But the extra hours were his alone, and they kept him from falling behind when the blond was there to distract him and make him lose focus.

He puzzled over what to do, and how the kiss would affect their relationship. Draco acted as if everything was normal, as if nothing had happened. Harry couldn't do that. He didn't even remember the bloody kiss, and already it had changed everything for him. He couldn't deny his feelings for Draco any longer. He just didn't know what to do about it.

Draco finally cornered him one day before they left for training. He stood in front of the floo, barring Harry's way.

"Harry, wait. We need to talk."

"Draco, we're going to be late. Budge over."

"So we'll be late. It's only once; not like they'll Crucio us for it. And no, they won't kick us out of the program," he rolled his eyes as Harry opened his mouth to object, "Because we're their most talented recruits. They know that. They'll forgive us being late, for once."

Harry clamped his jaw shut and stared pointedly at the floor.

"Harry, what's going on?"

"I don't know what you mean." He steadfastly avoided looking at Draco.

"You're avoiding me. Merlin, Harry; you won't even look at me! What did I do?"

Harry bit his lip and looked up, looking at Draco for the first time since he'd learned of his indiscretion. His heart clenched at the hurt he saw reflected in the grey eyes.

"It's not your fault, Drake," he said with a sigh. "It's mine."

"What in Merlin's name –"

Harry cut him off with an upraised hand. "Ron told me about the other week."

"Oh." Draco's face changed in sudden understanding. "I see."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," offered Harry.

"Sorry you kissed me, or sorry you did it while drunk and with vomit on your breath?" Draco's lips twitched, but he held Harry's stare in a rather piercing way.

"The last one," managed Harry. "I can't imagine it was much of a kiss."

"I've had better," admitted Draco wryly. "But I might be willing to let you have a second chance. Seeing as you don't remember the first time."

Harry's head was swimming; Draco could not seriously be saying what Harry thought he was saying. Wasn't he straight? He took in the blond standing before him, looking slightly off-balance. Was Draco nervous?

"Yes," he breathed. "I'd like that very much."

He closed the gap between them, and his mouth moved over Draco's. He slid his arms around Draco's waist possessively, and Draco curled a hand around the nape of his neck. Draco leaned forward into the kiss, and their lips met fiercely. Harry opened his mouth, slightly, and Draco parted his lips in response to his questing tongue.

It was hot and wet and perfect. Exploring, gentle, with just a hint of roughness now and then. A sweet, almost tender first kiss, that promised more to come.

Harry pulled away reluctantly. Draco looked as dazed as he felt.

"Better?" he asked, his voice raw with passion.

"Much," whispered Draco.

"I thought you were straight," the brunet admitted.

"I thought you weren't interested in me," countered the blond.

"We were both wrong, then," Harry grinned. "Here's to not making assumptions!" He toasted with an invisible glass.

"Lesson learnt," smirked Draco, then leaned in for another kiss.