Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to JK.
Background: The boys are back at Hogwarts for their missed seventh year and though there's still a fair bit of animosity between them, they mostly just keep out of each other's way.
Please Note: Contains SLASH.
Fireworks
Harry ricocheted off the wall and found himself in a heap on the floor. Somewhat disorientated he sat up and looked down the corridor, wondering which way he had been going before his unexpected meeting with the floor. He had a feeling he'd been heading for his dorm but he had momentarily forgotten why.
With effort, he turned to look the other way down the hallway. For a long moment he stared at a black wall, wondering when it had appeared, before painstakingly forcing his head back to look up the length of the obstruction.
It wasn't until his gaze was more than halfway up that he realised the wall was actually a person. And it wasn't until he caught sight of the all too familiar blond hair at the top of said person that he realised the person was Malfoy.
"Potter, why are you on the floor?"
Malfoy had his usual haughty scowl on his face, but the effect was ruined somewhat by the slur in his speech. Evidently Malfoy was just as drunk as Harry.
"Drunk." Harry finally responded to Malfoy's enquiry.
"Typical Gryffindor. Can't take their alcol... alcla... drink." Malfoy finished somewhat lamely.
"Yes, please." Harry grinned.
Malfoy looked disconcerted for a moment, whether due to Harry's (slightly nonsensical) response, or his grin, Harry couldn't be sure.
"What?"
"You offered me a drink – I said yes." It was Harry's turn to look confused.
"I wasn't offering you a drink, idiot."
"Oh." Harry sulked for a second, then leered up at Malfoy. "So what are you offering?"
"What?" Malfoy spluttered in a highly undignified way before evidently deciding Harry was crazy and ignoring the comment entirely.
"What. Are. You. Offering?" Harry repeated more slowly, letting his eyes drift down Malfoy's body and up again.
He wasn't sure where that comment had come from. And he certainly hadn't meant anything by it. But now that he was really looking at the other boy, he began to wonder what might happen if he did mean it.
Malfoy was dressed in dark jeans and a black, tight-fitting shirt that was only buttoned halfway up. A silver snake pendent hung in the gap left by the parted material. Malfoy looked good. Really good. And without meaning to, Harry found himself saying exactly that.
The look of shock on Malfoy's face was somewhat amusing, but Harry pressed on regardless, lifting his gaze from the blond's chest to meet his eyes.
"Well, aren't you going to repay the compliment?"
"What, you want me to hiss back at you?" Malfoy glared at him.
It took Harry a second to realise what Malfoy was talking about, until his gaze dropped back down to Malfoy's chest and the snake that hung there. He concentrated on it for a moment, then spoke again, this time aware that he was speaking parseltongue, and met Malfoy's gaze. The spark of lust in Malfoy's eyes was unexpected but unmistakable.
"What did you say?" Malfoy's tone had dropped a level, and his voice rasped slightly as he spoke.
"You look nice." Harry stated bluntly.
"Oh, well, uh..." Malfoy spluttered, looking rather shell shocked, "I can't say the same for you."
Malfoy's attempt at snootiness was poor at best, but Harry hardly noticed, his attention now focused on Malfoy's ankle. Hooking his finger under the edge of Malfoy's trouser leg, he tugged experimentally.
"Potter, what do you think you're doing?"
"Too tall, sit down." Harry continued to pull on Malfoy's trouser leg until, unexpectedly, the other boy gave in, sliding gracefully to the floor.
"Happy?"
Harry nodded, grinning at Malfoy long enough to totally confuse the Slytherin, before flopping backwards, lying spread eagled across the floor.
Retrieving his wand from his sleeve, Harry didn't notice Malfoy automatically reaching for his own. Confusing the Slytherin even further, however, Harry pointed his wand, not at Malfoy, but straight up at the ceiling. Whispering an incantation, the next thing Draco knew, silent fireworks were exploding overhead, the harmless sparks raining down on them both.
Though he'd never admit it aloud, Draco thought it all looked rather pretty. Deciding there was no harm in staying to enjoy the mini-show, Draco scooted back against the wall, leaning his head back against the rough stone to get a better view.
For a long moment, neither boy spoke, simply enjoying the play of colours swirling above their heads.
"Say something else." Draco's voice broke the silence.
"Something else."
"Funny, Potter." Draco rolled his eyes, his voice oozing with sarcasm. "What are you? Eleven?"
Harry grinned from his sprawled position on the floor, tipping his head backwards to study the Slytherin upside down.
He watched as Malfoy fought some sort of internal battle over whether to pursue whatever it was he wanted.
"Say something in parseltongue." Evidently his curiosity had got the better of him.
Harry concentrated for a moment before announcing happily, "You're a prat!"
When Malfoy glared at him, Harry's expression morphed, one again, into one of confusion.
"And you're a wanker." Malfoy scowled
"Oops." Harry pushed himself up from the floor, sliding over to lean against the wall beside the Slytherin. "That wasn't parseltongue, was it?"
"No, stupid, it was not. And just because I can't understand it doesn't mean you can insult me in it." He huffed.
Trying again, Harry focused on the pendant hanging between the parted fabric of Malfoy's shirt. This time he was more successful, hearing the snake like quality in his own voice as he spoke.
"You're still a prat. But you're a very sexy prat."
Harry hadn't meant to say the last part, but it slipped out anyway. He suspected it had something to do with the fact that he was staring, somewhat unashamedly, at Malfoy's perfectly sculpted, porcelain coloured chest.
"What..." Malfoy licked his lips, temporarily drawing Harry's gaze away from his chest with the movement, "What did you say?"
"I said you were sexy."
The two boys gazed at each other in shock. Harry, for his part, attempted to review what on earth his brain had been thinking to say the wrong part of the sentence aloud. Eventually he decided that his mouth must have simply bypassed his brain and promptly pressed his lips tight together to prevent said mouth from making any other unexpected comments.
"Why are you staring at my chest?" Malfoy broke the awkward silence that had begun to descend upon them.
At this, Harry guiltily jerked his gaze away, only to find himself staring at Malfoy's lips instead. Opening his mouth to reply, Harry caught himself before he could say anything else stupid. Screwing up his face in concentration, Harry thought long and hard before answering.
"Hav'ta look at a snake to speak parseltongue." Pleased with himself, Harry continued, "So I was lookin' at your necklace, not your chest. Even if it is a nice che..."
Harry snapped his mouth shut before he could finish digging his hole, but from the look on Malfoy's face, the other boy knew full well what Harry had been about to say.
Desperate to distract the blond before he could say anything too humiliating, Harry returned his gaze to the snake necklace and started to speak. It didn't take long for him to realise quite how genius this plan of his was.
Not only did he distract Malfoy's attention from his, er, slip of the tongue, it also gave said tongue free reign to say whatever it liked without landing Harry in trouble. Which was just as well really, since the words that came spewing out of his mouth went something like:
"You're so hot, Malfoy. 'Specially when you look at me like that. In fact, you're kinda pretty when you're not glaring 'n' stuff..."
Suddenly, Malfoy launched himself across the space separating them, fastening his lips to Harry's and cutting the Gryffindor off mid hiss. Not that Harry minded in the slightest.
Reaching up to thread his fingers through Malfoy's silky tresses, Harry kissed him back, licking, sucking and biting at the other boy's mouth until Malfoy's lips parted to allow him entrance.
When their tongues met it was like nothing Harry had ever felt before. It was hot and needy and messy and perfect. It made the fireworks, still twisting silent and ignored overhead, pale in comparison and Harry couldn't get enough.
When Malfoy finally drew back, panting for breath, his eyes were glazed as if he were having trouble focussing, his lips red and swollen, glistening with saliva.
"Perfect." Harry hissed, watching the way Malfoy's breathing hitched at the sound.
The solitary word, which Malfoy could never have understood, nonetheless, had the desired effect on the Slytherin. He lunged forward once more, sealing his lips to Harry's in another explosive kiss.
^v^
When Harry woke the next morning to find himself alone, slumped against a wall in some unknown corridor, head pounding and stomach roiling, he had no recollection of the run in with his blond nemesis the night before.
No recollection, that is, beyond the hazy memory of a pair of near-perfect lips pressed against his, turning his whole world upside down. But then, he also seemed to remember a firework-breathing dragon, so he pushed away the memory as nothing more than an alcohol induced dream and went off to find a hangover potion, none the wiser.