Warnings: Slash, m/m. Don't like don't read.
Disclaimer: This fic was inspired by Fun.'s song We Are Young. I own neither song nor characters/places/related indicia.
A/N: Canon compliant through DH except for epilogue.
Draco saw Harry the moment he entered the bar.
What Draco was doing there, even he didn't know. He needed to get away, he supposed, pretend for a few hours that he was ordinary. Even being an ordinary Muggle might have been better than being raised as a prince, only to find that the price was living as the lowest of the low come adulthood.
So he chose a random Muggle bar in London and walked inside. And who should he spy at the bar, hunched over but still easily recognizable, but Harry Potter.
But it couldn't be. Draco stopped dead with shock and stared, peering, mentally willing Harry to turn just a little more.
"Harry?" he whispered.
The bouncer nearby heard him. "You know him? Fellow with a scar? On his forehead, shaped like a lightning bolt?"
Draco nodded dumbly.
"We'd much appreciate it if you could remove him," the bouncer said conversationally. He was one of those irritating people who wears sunglasses indoors to be cool. "He's going to give himself alcohol poisoning at that rate. But no one can get near him. It's the strangest thing. Someone'll walk up to him and bugger all if they don't suddenly remember something they've got to do." The description perfectly matched Draco's knowledge of a Muggle-Repelling Charm. He frowned at the bouncer, and then, concealing his wand beneath his cloak, muttered, "Obliviate."The bouncer's eyes unfocused for a minute.
Never mind alcohol poisoning, Harry was going to bring the International Statute of Secrecy down on himself. Draco marched up to the raven-haired man. Being a wizard, the charm didn't work on him.
"Potter," he said, a little more forcefully than he might have intended, "What are you doing sitting in a Muggle bar getting drunk?"
"Not drunk," slurred Harry.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say. Come on. You ought to leave."
"Not drunk enough," amended Harry.
"Get any drunker, and you're not going to wake up," said Draco irritably.
"Good."
"What do you mean, good? You're the savior of the wizarding world," he said quietly. "You've got a beautiful woman, friends who'll do anything for you and have, and the job you've always wanted. What on earth has possessed you to try and drown yourself in alcohol?"
"I died," said Harry clearly. Draco was momentarily lost for words, the first time he could remember being in such a state in all of his life. "At the battle of Hogwarts I went to find Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest and he killed me. Only it sort of killed him too, just like the first time, and so I came back."
"And you're telling me this, why?"
"Just one of the many things," Harry mumbled. He let his face fall forward onto his arms, and when Draco leaned close, he caught, "that no one gets." Well, he supposed you could say that. Dying and living to tell the tale was not something that many people could relate to.
"And I don't want to be the savior," said Harry. "Bloody Chosen One, never ends. Poster boy for the pro-muggle-borns. And now Ron and Hermione are together, and I just want someone to look at me. Someone to need me for being me instead of being oh so powerful defeated Voldemort."
"What about the ginger princess?" Draco asked. "The Weasley girl."
"Don't love Ginny," Harry muttered. "Just a friend." Then, "I think I like blokes."
Well, that was a bit of a shock. Draco ran his hands through his own hair distractedly. That would make a person feel distanced from everyone who claimed to love him, wouldn't it. Draco knew that from experience. He realized after a moment that he was actually feeling sorry for Potter. He cupped a hand under the other man's chin, amazed at his own boldness, and turned Harry to look at him.
"Don't give up on life," said Draco firmly, by now completely convinced Harry would remember none of this in the morning. "You never know what's going to change."
Harry didn't appear to have heard him, though, for he was staring glassy-eyed at Draco, and murmured, "You're beautiful, you know that?" after a moment.
Draco fought down a blush, but failed.
"Everything's on fire with you," Harry continued. "Always has been."
So Harry did know who he was.
"Everything, everything's on fire. Like the Room of Requirement. Was just right."
The bar exploded into flames. Draco realized a second too late that Harry's wand was in his hand.
"This is why wizards don't get drunk!" He wanted to roar the words, but instead hissed them softly. How appropriate. He was, after all, a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor. And he knew better than to announce to a barfull of Muggles that he was a wizard. He couldn't Obliviate them all at once, could he. Or maybe he could. Surely there had to have been large magical events that many Muggles had witnessed that hadn't really been explained away. At any rate, he didn't know how to do it. So, still concealing his wand in his sleeve, he cast Aguamenti wordlessly, spraying water all over the place, holding one of Harry's shot glasses so it would hopefully look as though he'd had a container of water with him the whole time.
"Right," thundered the barkeeper. "Everybody out."
"We've got an hour," someone complained.
"I don't care!" shouted the bartender. "Whenever there's a bonfire in my bar, we close early."
"It's only one o'clock in the morning!" another shouted.
"Out!" roared the bartender.
"Come on, Harry," said Draco, wrapping an arm around the other man's waist and pulling him to his feet.
"Don't want to go," muttered Harry.
"Time to go home," said Draco feeling as though he was talking to a small child. Then he realized that that was exactly the key word, home. He had no idea where Harry lived, except he was pretty sure it was Unplottable. Lovely.
But Slytherin or no, he wasn't sure he could leave him in this state. There was nothing for it. He pulled Harry with him out the door. The other man stumbled, finally collapsing entirely, and Draco, sighing, bent down and picked him up bride-style. He ducked into the nearest alley, and turned on the spot, reappearing in his own dingy flat.
"Where are we?" Harry groaned.
"Home," said Draco.
"Not my house," said Harry. "Not home with my parents, either."
"Bloody hell, Harry!" Draco exploded, now that he could. He set Harry down on the couch and knelt by his face, forcing Harry to look at him again. "We're still young," he said quietly.
"I've seen more in seventeen years than people should have to see in a lifetime." said Harry dully.
"I'm not denying that," said Draco. "But there are things you haven't seen that are worth seeing."
"Like what?"
Draco kissed him. He wasn't sure, really, why he did it. Pity? A desire to show Harry what he was missing out on? Lust? All he knew was that, even drunk, Harry was an amazing kisser. Or maybe Draco just wanted him that much.
"Don't leave," Harry said as Draco turned to his own bedroom.
"I'm not sleeping on the floor," Draco said irritably. "I may have had nine-tenths of my pride removed by your heroics, Potter, but I'm still above sleeping on the floor."
Harry moved, and it was a few seconds before Draco realized he was trying to stand up. "What are you doing now?" But at any rate, he rushed to help the other man, and when Harry fell into his arms again, Draco sighed, gave up all hope and brought the other man into the bed with him. It was a tight squeeze, he wasn't exactly buying king size anymore, but he felt it would be enough. After a moment, he thought to rummage in his potion kit and hand Harry a detox, which Harry drank, though not without much complaining at the taste, and then Dreamless Sleep. He told himself that it had nothing to do with Harry's comfort, and more to do with not wanting to spend the morning being vomited upon.
But it was worth it the next morning. Draco woke up to find himself and Harry in a tight embrace. He was not one of those people who tended to forget what they had done the night before to end up in the position they were in, and so the only thing he was surprised about was that Harry was clinging to him like a grindylow. Harry woke up a moment later and stared blearily at Draco.
"Malfoy?" he muttered. "What am I doing here?" He looked about and seemed to realize where he was. "I didn't sleep with you last night, did I?" he said.
Draco chuckled. "Not in the way you mean," he said. Harry's face showed an odd expression.
"Is that disappointment?" Draco asked, partly to tease Harry and partly because that really looked like disappointment. Harry blushed.
"Only sort of," he muttered.
"Only sort of?" said Draco, astonished at the confession.
"Well, I would want to remember it," said Harry.
"Are you sure you're not still drunk?" said Draco. "Because no sober Harry I know would confess to wanting to sleep with me. Or perhaps you're just not awake yet?" Harry blushed more deeply.
"Well, if I didn't confess my undying attraction to you," he said bluntly, "what am I doing in your bed?"
Draco thought about it, about all the things Harry had said and did that had led him here.
"You were lonely," he said finally.
"Is that all?"
"Pretty much," said Draco. "But I'd be willing to explore the undying attraction."
Harry looked like a tomato by now. Draco grinned and kissed him softly. "You've always been able to get a rise out of me," he said to Harry. "But it never had anything to do with you being the Boy who Lived. Still doesn't." Harry kissed him back.
If Harry never knew, thought Draco, how Draco had known to tell him that, it was just as well. And Harry was just as good a kisser sober.
A/N: I know bars in England are open all night, now, but I also know they used to close at two and I'm inordinately proud of this knowledge.